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thefics-that-drip · 12 days

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“No sin, no sinners”.

Bane x reader

NSFW MDNI

When Alfred leaves there’s not enough prayers for how much you ask him to take you with him. Of course he couldn’t do it, and Bruce would never allow it. Even if he had no right over it, over you. A brother who was gone the majority of your life and only when he came back to play villains and hero’s to recluse himself for the better of seven years in a grief. Leaving you once again alone, as lonely as one can get with a living dead under your roof.

There’s no tears left by the time Alfred is gone. No more sorrows as Bruce decides is better to simply go face Bane alone, believing the word of Selena, the words of a woman who would trade him like he meant nothing for the safety of a false promise; and Bruce, in his anger his bitterness had accepted it, gone and left you, left you alone, his ego and cockiness probing to be fatal when he was taken down, when he leaves you behind, alone in the manor. No doubt Talia had already given Bane and his men the location of the house, the location of where you were.

It comes as no surprise when they break into the house. His men rough and menacing, grabbing you as they find you, no time to hide, no time to react as they grab you. One hand on your arm the other on your head as one of them, a man with blue eyes and a stubble, grabs you, pushing your head on the nearest table. A grunt of protest escaping your lips as you try to kick back in vain, the man lifts his radio to his mouth, a quick “we got her” is all he says before it all goes dark.

Most of his life had proven to be mistake after mistake brought on by a life of high egos and hard heads. Mistakes that he came to recognize now, as Bane holds him over his body, his knee about to collide with his back as his last words finally sink in. “Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of your sister.”

Your head is fuzzy, throbbing, all around you is dark, the room is hot, and as much as you try to make sense barely anything seems familiar. The man standing by your feet looks down at you as you move, turning around as he speaks. “She is awake boss” he says, your eyes following the trace of his as they land on the figure crouching down on the floor. His back is the first thing you notice, big, wide, and imposing. A scar that looks deep runs from his neck to under the seam of his pants. He needs no introduction, you are more than sure of who he is. Bane. Bruce had rambled on about him, he had taken his strength for granted and it had costed him everything.

“I told Mr. Wayne you would be my most honored guest. And I intend to keep in my word.” He says, his index finger pointing at me, the tone of his voice, it borderlines in sarcasm and the resonance of it due to the mask only amplifies the figure he presents. He knows who Batman is, that much is clear, as to what he will do with you is still a mystery, a game he will play until he becomes bore and goes to find a new toy.

Your eyes look up and down his body, his mask, your breathes coming in harsh puffs of air. “You are not scare of me” he states, although it sounds more like a question but you both know there’s no questions when it comes to him. “Good, it will make this all the more easier” He says, tilting his head and joining his hands together before he crouches down in front of you, his hand moving to your face, low in your jaw and for a brief of a second you are sure this is how you die. But nothing comes, he just takes a good look at you before telling one of his goons to lock you in one of the rooms down there and keep an eye on you at all times. In a sense it could be so much easier to hate him if he wasn’t such a different character. He had kept good on his promise, none of his men had so much as to lay a finger on you, they kept you fed, they kept you clean and with enough dignity to not try to throw yourself off one of the multiple bridges in here.

Bane didn’t show up often, you ever barely saw him, barely ever heard of him. This men as brave and cuntless as they claimed to be were still as brute as they came when it came to basic things. Basic things like hygiene, like cooking, like healing wounds. Their organization system down here was a mess, and food came only when they remembered to eat.

It doesn’t take long for chaos to begin, there’s always someone, always a loose end you need to dispose of. All it took was one mistake. Getting out of the room you were locked in to go to the bathroom, the only one around, Bane had made sure out of the kindness of his heart that none of his men would go near you while you cleaned yourself. But there’s always one, one that doesn’t listen, one that tries to play it. The man approached you, he had been the one in charge of watching over you for the day, his eyes raking over your body, his hands lingering on your arm as he guided you towards the bathroom. It didn’t take long for him to try something, to try to grab you. A kick to his groin he didn’t expect bought you enough time to run, to run as fast you could until another of the goons stopped you, taking you directly to Bane, your disobedience wouldn’t go unpunished.

“Why are you here?” Bane asks, turning his head around slightly, his eyes on you. “Answer little bitch” the man barks, his foot pushing onto your back, a grunt escaping your lips as your body jerks forward. “I wasn’t asking her” Bane tells him, his tone ice cold, gripping the man by his neck before he speaks.

“Boss” he begins to say before the forceful push of fingers against his skin makes him go quiet.

“Why were you running Miss Wayne?” Bane asks, the tittle mocking on his tone. You don’t reply, your eyes cast towards the floor, looking at his booth, suddenly too interested in the shade of black they are.

“I asked you a question little one… did the cat got your tongue or should I get it myself?” He asks, the cracking of his voice through the mask feels like thunder in the air. Swallowing before finally looking up at him, meeting his eyes before you speak, a part of you sure he will have your tongue either way.

“One of the man tried to grope me.” His eyes don’t change expression at your words but his head nods along, as if he was really interested in your opinion. “Which one?” Is all he says, his hand still around the goons neck, it doesn’t seem to even cost him a breath to hold a man up in the air.

“I don’t know… he was at my door this morning.” You say, trying to recall anything to give away his identity. But Bane knows who, dropping the man on the floor and grabbing your arm to lift you up, dragging you along with him as he walks back to the hall where the rest of his mercenaries are, awaiting for what they think will be punishment for you.

“Brothers” the crackling noise of his voice breaks through the noise, his hands intertwining in front of him as he speaks. “This is my guest, we wouldn’t want her to think of us as savages now” he says, turning to you as he speaks, there’s a tension in the air, his words may seem measured and calm but there’s the underline of a promise there. “Come forward boy, let me see the hands she complained about” he says, the man who had tried to touch you moving up front, a slight fear in his eyes as he looks up at Bane. “You will be the perfect example. Now since you are so eager to be noticed.” Bane speaks, looking at the man, his eyes twisting slightly, a rage inside that seems to always be brewing.

“cut off his hands, let it be a lesson for all of you.” He says, turning around, the man protest, tries to plea but you find yourself looking away, the sound of a blade through skin and bone making your ears ring, your blood rushing cold. They knew now, not to touch you, not to look your way, you were Bane’s property, for whatever use that may had been it was common knowledge for everyone but you.

“There was no need..” you begin to say when he halts to a stop, your body almost colliding with the impossible expand of his back as he turns around, a head or two taller than you. “Would you rather I let them all touch you then?” He asks, there’s a borderline note of sarcasm in his words, the edge of a joke that never comes out but only a fool would know better than to ever disobey what he says.

Your eyes cast down, looking at the floor, he is right, he always is, in way, in this madness, he is the boss, the alpha, and if there’s one thing you know for certain is that no one here will touch what’s his. It isn’t much of a choice really. Bruce is gone, he left you, and as much of grief you want to give him there’s simply no more left, not when he has left you one too many times before, when you have already grieved him one too many times before. Seems in the end he was always the fastest of you both.

“What will you do with me?” You ask, words that leave you before you can measure the repercussions of asking him. The beat of your heart too loud in your ears. You need to know, need to find out what he has plan for you before you loose what’s left of your sanity, and if there’s no use for you, then you must make one, find one before he decides to throw you like a bone for his dogs to eat. The choices are few but they are clear, Bruce left you to his mercy, but maybe it will be what saves you in the end.

He simply looks at you, his head turning to side eye you, there’s in reality no use to your existence other than of torturing what was left of the Batman, you have nothing to offer him, nothing he can think of, but maybe that is the problem, he can’t think of anything, because his mind has been clouded lately, has been on the edge of a knife. He knows, he knows how Talia thinks, how she acts, he knows by now she didn’t take any consideration into his feelings when she accepted Wayne’s offer, when she so smoothly leaned into his bed. Her point had been to hurt Wayne but in the end, the betrayal had tasted bitter in his tongue, she was all he had for certain, all he had ever needed. But that was the funny thing of love. It was only him loving her, feeding himself off the promise of her touch for far too long, a touch she gave to keep him in control, a wild animal on a cage is still just as wild, if only ever more dangerous.

Bane leans down on his desk, one of his hands lift to signal something and one of his man comes to move you, get you out of his sight. It wouldn’t do you good to irritate him. The walk to the room is quiet, but you notice none of the man even lift his eyes to look your way. The lesson was taught.

A sigh escapes your lips as the door behind you closes, the room feels slightly cold, it smells of humidity, but all in all it could be worse. There’s a bed with enough blankets to not be cold, and at least there’s light. It’s better than sleeping in between all the mercenaries as you have seen them do. It’s torturous, maddening, to be locked in this place with nothing to do, no hope to even escape with how tight he runs this place. And certainly no hero to come rescue you, perhaps this time there won’t be salvation, but if you must live in this hell you will make sure is the devil who protects you, there weren’t virgins in hell for a reason, they all needed to give up something to be saved.

The closest to freedom you will ever get will come from how far he lets off your leash, and Bane doesn’t seem the kind to let his animals run wild. You only need a chance, a moment, let him find the use in you, let him find a purpose to keep you here. He is a man after all, and there’s only one thing that can make a man grow weak, even if none will admit it.

Opportunities don’t arise in a place like this, and so you must create them yourself. Opening the door to your room the guard informs you is time to bathe, grabbing the one towel you have been given you make your way to the common bathroom. It’s disgusting, dirty and beyond repugnant but it’s better than nothing. You have been wearing the same clothes for days, weeks even; turning around before you enter the bathroom your head turns to the man, fingers crossed and a silent prayer that this action will set in motion a bigger way for you.

“could you ask Bane for clothes? I cannot keep wearing the same ones over and over”

“You are always free to walk around naked sweetheart” the man smirks, clearly not taking you seriously. “Maybe we should ask Bane what he thinks of the idea, I know he will be thrilled to know what his men are suggesting” you speak, a calm victory when the man’s smirk drops off his face, if the hand incident had taught them anything it was not to mess with what Bane was keeping safe. “Will you ask him or would you rather I walk to his office, naked, as you suggested and see what he thinks about it?” You ask, a condescending tone to your voice.

You aren’t sure what you would prefer, if the clothes or the nakedness, the second one would make this all the more easier.

The man speaks on the radio, his voice echoing to Bane my request, and you know you have won when he rolls his eyes as he speaks “Boss says to take you to his office, let’s go” he begins walking, making sure you are moving in front of him, the end of his gun always within reach of your back.

Two knocks come from the man before he is told to come in, pushing you in slightly as he stays outside, sending you into the mouth of the wolf.

“I hear the little bird is complaining” His metallic voice reaches your ears, his hands on the table as he looks over some papers.

“I can’t keep wearing this same clothes over again” you say, the tone of your voice slightly shaking until you find your footing. How bad could it be, how bad of a person would it make you, desperation was a funny thing when your life hanged by a threat.

His eyes move to you, and before he can speak your words cut through him, “I could always parade myself naked around, I don’t think your men would mind although some of them may loose more hands.” There’s a confidence in your voice that only fear can bring out. His eyes move to your face, staying there as he studies you. He is well aware you aren’t bluffing, he sits back down on his chair, his hands resting on his desk, fingers intertwined. “I didn’t think the little bird had it in her to make demands, not that she is in a position to place them” he speaks, calm, collected.

Your hands are sweating, your heart has either stopped beating or is beating so hard you can no longer feel it.

He gets up, walking around his desk, heavy footsteps resonating in the room, the hand at the front of his desk moving to grip your chin, gripping it tight, forcing your face to look up at him. “There’s no free entrance at this circus little one, you have to find a way to pay or you are out” He says, and you know in his words he means that even if he has you alive for a reason, he could easily throw you aside, find a darker future for you. Your eyes remain fixed on his, there’s a burning hatred festering behind them, a festering need to hurt that you can’t seem to place or hold. His hand moves, from your chin, slightly making their way over your jaw, resting on your cheek, his thumb settling under your bottom lip. He is testing, seeing how far you will allow, even when you both know he has all the power here.

Is this truly what you have come to be? What has come to be of you? The whore of a criminal, but who was anyone to judge you, if it meant staying alive, if it meant keeping some of the sanity you were slowly loosing.

When you don’t move, don’t flinch away or avert your eyes from him, he takes it as his sign, the sign to see just how much advantage he can have, how deep could the wound he wants to inflict be. An eye for an eye. Bruce had Talia, now he would have you. The way he could taste the sweet pain it would cause you. His hand moves softly, the feel of his callous fingers on your cheeks make something akin to tears gather in your eyes that he gracefully ignores. His hand moves to the side of your face, a perfect placement between your neck and the bottom of your head, and he pushes down, his other hand moving to the belt of his pants. You aren’t stupid, you know what he wants, what he is asking of you, and you know there’s a way out, refuse him and he will leave you alone, lock in that room where you won’t see another day. He pushes you lower until your knees hit the floor, his hand unbuttoning his pants, pulling himself out of his underwear, leaving it resting against the black cargo pants he is wearing as his hand moves to the opposite side of your head, both of his hands engulfing your head, a silent thread, that if you so much as to try anything he will undoubtedly break your neck. And you don’t doubt it, you don’t doubt he wouldn’t even consider it twice before snapping you in two.

Your eyes move to his, not out of obedience but out of silent permission to take him in your hand, he looks at you, expectantly, guiding your head slowly, his thumb moving under your bottom lip to feel as you open your mouth. Your hand moves to grip him, semi hard, the foreskin hiding the bead of precum already at the tip, thicker than you thought but what could you expect for a man his size. You are terrified, terrified of not liking it, of gagging, of not being able to handle the taste. God knows when he took a shower last.

It comes as a surprise when you finally wrap him around your hand and put your lips to him, it’s not exactly flowers and candy but it isn’t as displeasing as you thought it would be. Slightly salty, a little tart as you push with your hand his foreskin slightly back to push your tongue under him, cushioning him as you took him further into your mouth, the cracking sound of his breathing coming through the mask, the rhythm of it changed. His eyes don’t leave yours, his chest rises and falls as you look up at him, shifting on your knees slightly to get more comfortable. He urges your head forward when he decides you are taking too long to do it yourself, pushing all the way in until his head hits the back of your throat, a grunt escaping him as he throws his head back slightly. You can feel him growing in your mouth, stretching your lips around him as he pushes further down, and it takes all of you not to gag, your hand moving to his thigh, the muscle taunt.

You move your head back, letting the tip come to your lips before continuing down until all of him is sheltered in your throat, tears and gag be damned, everything be damned when his neck looks so big and his veins pop so deliciously. You can feel the pulse of his cock, the underside of it protuberant with veins, now that he is fully hard you can feel the way it curves to the side, pushing into your cheek. His stomach heaves with every breath he takes, a visible vein traveling from the low cut of his hips to the inside of his vest. Your mouth keeps moving, taking every detail of him you can. There’s a low growing sensation rising from your core, a wetness forming between your legs, and it’s not precisely out of want but out of the power trip it gives you to have such a powerful man rocking his hips into your mouth, the soft hairs at the base of his crotch caressing your nose.

Your hands move higher on his legs, moving to his hips, exposed by his pants, your nails softly tickling his skin and a broken grunt escapes him through the mask, his hands squeezing agonizingly hard at your head, pushing you to move faster, he can feel himself growing hotter, the tingling sensation in his lower back warning him, the tightening of his balls as he grunts, sloppily guiding your head now, controlling how much and how deep you drag him as he grunts, beginning to come inside of your mouth, pushing your head all the way until you feel his pelvis at your nose as he keeps pushing, making sure you take all of it, you swallow all of him. His fingers involuntarily had started to knead at your scalp, stopping and pulling you off of him roughly by your hair. He can see the shine of saliva and his cum in your lips as you stare at him, waiting, expecting to know if you passed the imaginary test.

He moves his hands from you, slight out of breath to he speaks, putting himself back into his pants.

“Clean yourself, you will have some clothes tomorrow.”

Somehow the dynamic changes, your meals get delivered in better timing, your showers are slightly longer, and from time to time one of his goons come to get you, to take you to his office where you spend the next couple of minutes praying on your knees. Never getting anything in return, not physical at least but you are okay with that, or so you tell yourself; until you find it hard, hard to focus, to concentrate, every time you shower your mind starts to slip, to think of him, of his callous hands. Your mind plays tricks on you, everytime he is inside your mouth wondering if maybe today is the day he will give something in return, that perhaps if you do it extra nice he will reward you. How indeed the roles have twisted. It must be the weeks piling up in solitude down here.

You don’t see him for nearly a week, a week where you eat, shower, sleep and repeat. Not so much of a word from the goon at your door, not that you would ask him anyways, but you have to wonder if it’s that he found another entertainment or that he simply lost interest. It’s neither or, he is simply too busy, the expansion of his plan moving forward, his men hard at work, Gotham is slowly falling into his hands, into despair. So it comes as a surprise to you when you are awaken in the middle of the night. One of his men opening the door, barging in to get you. Hauling you off the bed before making you walk barefoot through the hallways, shirt you use to sleep in hanging off your shoulder, sleep in clear in your face as you make your way to a place you have never been before, a door that you know for a fact isn’t his office. Two knocks rasp against the door before his voice comes through, the metallic sound of it sending chills down your spine as the man opens the door and pushes you in.

It’s his room you realize, looking around, it’s cold, dark and empty. Only a bed, big enough to fit him, a desk and a chair. A door is adjacent to it, a bathroom you presume, but what catches your attention is the man sitting at the foot of the bed. His pants the only thing on his body beside his mask. He is looking down onto the floor, his knees parted and his hands on each of them, waiting for your place in between them. It’s a silent transaction this time, he doesn’t speak, barely breathes as you kneel down, waiting for the permission his eyes give you before opening his pants. He is too quiet, so calm that something must be very wrong. He doesn’t usually call for you at night, even less in the middle of it and you know better than to ask him. Swallowing softly as you begin to work, to lick him, suck him, anything to take the frown off his face. But he doesn’t even seem to be enjoying it. His hand moves to your hair, pulling you off of him, your eyebrows kneading together in a silent question, but he doesn’t say anything, simply pulling you to him, your body in between his legs, one of his hands in your lower back, a sight that sounds too tired leaving his mask. “Lay down” is all he says, and a small fear settles in your bones, this isn’t how you want him to do it, this isn’t what you thought about.

But you know better than to ask, simply laying down on the bed, watching as he puts himself back into his pants, moving over to the door that leads to the bathroom. He returns not long after, mask still on his face, his pants still on, but he removes his boots, laying down on the bed, next to you, he doesn’t touch you, doesn’t even look your way but you understand, to a certain level that maybe this is the closest to affection he has ever received, even if he has to force it out of you. Turning to your side you close your eyes, it feels tense, the air slightly charged of an unknown feeling you don’t feel ready to disclose, words you want to speak but your mouth refuses to ask. Sleep soon claims you, taking you down as he looks at you, looks over your sleeping form, taking the details on your face. You would never know this, not that you would ask and he certainly wouldn’t tell you, but that night, along with what’s left of his humanity, he had lost part of the sanity he had left; she was never going to take him with her, she was ready to let him die, to leave him behind when the bomb detonated, Talia never meant to take him, it had all been a game she played, of soft words and night shared, she only needed him to build this empire of chaos for her, never planing to allow him to live it by her.

He falls asleep to festering thoughts of murder and chaos, of hurt and betrayal. But the dreams do not appear that night, the nightmares, the pit, the woman and the child, those ghosts of the past don’t visit him tonight. The only thing he can feel his the soft way you breathe, the way you smell, the warmth of your body, it makes him wish you were to never leave his bed, to never leave his room. He wants to lock you in, to keep you here where you can never betray him, where no matter what he knows he will always have you. A simple dream, an innocent one that men like him won’t ever be allowed. He wants to touch you, he craves it every time your body is between his legs, down on your knees, but he doesn’t deserve it, you didn’t belong to the darkness, you didn’t belong to the pain he knew his world brought, but still, he is selfish, selfish enough to keep you, but the one thing he won’t allow himself is to touch you, to erase Talia’s touch out of his body, even if to her he was simply a means to an end. But he knows deep down, somewhere on what’s left of his sanity, of his heart, there shouldn’t be sinners in a house of God, the way his hands shouldn’t be allowed to worship your body.

Awakening in his bed had been confusing, it smelled of him, sweat and aftershave. Looking around you sit up, noticing that he is gone, the room is empty, but there’s a tray of food in the desk and you can see your things around his room, your shoes, the few items of clothes you had, all located somewhere within this room.

Moving out of the bed you slowly make your way to the bathroom, cleaner than the common one, few items of clothing thrown around the floor, a few personal objects around the sink. There’s an extra toothbrush, and soap, frowning you realize is the one you had back in your room, the one he had given you when he brought you down here.

There’s a slight tremor to your movements as you open the door, peaking your head outside to find one of his men there, “Why… why are my things in here?” You ask, as if he would know the answer, but he simply shakes his head, asking through the radio something before answering you. “You are moving to this room.” He says matter of factly, moving to Banes room with him you assume, because otherwise it wouldn’t make any sense. Nodding your head you move back inside the room, looking around, he has few books, barely any but one of them calls your attention, enough to distract you, it was better than the nothingness you had before.

Bane doesn’t go to the room during the day, until very late at night. You don’t actually see him and not that you would complain, but there’s a certain warmth, a certain feeling that wraps around your body when the occasion occurs, when you wake up so late into the night the sunrise could be close by and you feel him, next to you, his arm next to your body, almost touching you, but the clear weight of his body on the bed is present next to you. The feel of him, warm, his breathing soft and for those seconds some resemblance of safety, of normality comes over you.

Strangely enough he hasn’t asked for you anymore, either too busy with his plans or simply not needing it, or receiving it from someone else, your mind tells you, unlikely but always a possibility. It makes a slow bitter taste simmer deep in your stomach, he isn’t yours by any means, and is not as if you want him to be, but the idea of someone else seeing him as you did brings festering feelings you don’t want to dwell on. It must be the entrapment, the claustrophobic nature of being in the same place for weeks on end, what is making your sanity escape out the door, what is making you miss him, crave the affection even as slim as it was. His threatening touches feeling like a feast when you have been starved of affection for so long.

The soft sound of water awakes you, the room dark except for the soft caress of yellow coming off the semi open bathroom door. Then you hear it, water running from the faucet most likely, and the sound of someone spitting reaches your ears. Spitting. Spitting. Spitting off their mouth. Bane can’t spit, unless….

Unless his mask was off, his mask, he had taken it off. It’s a realization that shouldn’t make your stomach burn in nerves and your toes go numb. Trying to regulate your breathing as to not give away you have awaken but in the end is unlike you will fall back asleep now. It smells slightly of soap, of water, a humidity in the air that gives away he must have taken a shower. And it makes all kind of thoughts run through your head. His footsteps approach the bed as he turns off the light in the bathroom, your cue to close your eyes again.

“I know you are awake little birdie.” He says, his voice sounds soft, unfiltered, his words slightly slurred, slightly mingled.

Swallowing you open your eyes, the room is so dark it makes no difference. Turning around you try to figure out where he is standing but it’s in vain; “does it hurt?” You ask him softly, your voice heavy with sleep. “To have it off I mean” you clarify, but he knows exactly what you had meant.

“It does,” he says, calm, softly, it’s the most the two of you have talked in weeks. Moving around in the bed, feeling your way around with your hand to try and find the edge, you kneel, getting up to try and reach his height.

“You are quiet tonight.” It’s the closest attempt to a joke you can make, out of place, with no humor but this is the first time you have seen him in weeks and you don’t want to let him slip through your fingers for god knows how long again.

“Is the lack of entertainment a complain you want to place?” He asks, the note of sarcasm his mask provides is gone, the electric feeling he gives disappears, leaving behind the dry air of his words. You shake your head, aware that he can’t see you but it felt almost natural to do so. “A man could think that you miss him.” He says, and you can feel his eyes looking at you, searching your face, the darkness will never be an impediment for him.

“Can I touch you?” Your words are soft, your breath warm agains his chest, your hand already half way in the air, moving slow enough to give him time to stop you if he wants. But he doesn’t move, doesn’t even flinch when your hand makes contact with his face, touching his cheek, your fingers slotting perfectly around his jaw. The skin feels rough, bumpy, like ragged scars that never fully healed. Your thumb moves, moving to his chin, finding soft broken lips, full and lumpy, and he swallows when the pad of your finger finds his bottom lip, caressing the marred flesh, the nerves under his skin crying in protest.

“Careful” he barks out, not loud enough to startle you but enough to give you a warning.

“Go back to sleep little bird.” He commands, grabbing your wrist, removing your hand from his face, turning around to get his mask and once again securing it over his face, the hum of his breathing audible in the air.

He begins to move towards the bed, and you move away, moving to your side of it, laying on your side, the bed dipping slightly when he lays down on it. He stays quiet, you don’t know if he is awake but you won’t check either, but as for you, you remain alert, all through the night, your fingers itch and your mind won’t quiet down. All of your thoughts are consumed by him.

His mood isn’t the best since the day started, and it for sure soured now that Talia walked in his makeshift office. His eyes drop at her presence, disdain and some measure of pain tantalizing his mind. But he knows, he knows deep down he could never lay a finger on her, not even if she threw him out the board like he meant nothing.

“I will be taking the girl with me, I have plans for her” she says, and he knows she means plans to make her an example, to display her corpse or worse, when he doesn’t reply right away, like a good dog on a leash her eyebrows frown in his direction. Suspicion crawling into her mind.

“I am afraid that is not happening.” His tone is cold, colder that she has ever heard him speak to her. It makes the nerves on her stomach twist, the cruel realization that she is loosing her grip on him settling in her bones.

“You are giving her to me, she is part of our plan, our fire, my love we need to destroy all the loose ends.” She tries, softening her words, her eyes soft, her hands moving to his over his desk, but his fingers don’t even flinch, they don’t grab hers to hold them as they used to. She is slowly but surely loosing him.

“You are not taking her. I have business to attend, you better take your leave.” It shocks her, makes her blood run cold. Her protector, her safety, leaving her behind, she has lost the ability to use him to her every whim and desire.

She leaves, anger coursing through her, a pain she hasn’t expected settles in her chest. She leaves the hideout, and she knows better than betray him, than to do anything stupid now, he is rabid, and pained, an unpredictable dog that could end up costing her everything.

He sits back on his chair, hands over his head, his fingers intertwined. A deep sigh leaving his mask, he has come to realize the pain of Talia’s betrayal has dulled to a calm numbing sensation. Your words from the other night coming back to his mind, your hands on his face. It’s been a long time since anyone has touched his bare face, since anyone has felt his skin. It sends a chill down his spine to think of you, to think of how you came to him, how slowly that fear you harbored for him has transformed into something else, into a feeling he doesn’t dare put even near close to caring. He would never deserve to touch you, to feel the softness of your body, the warmth it could provide him.

It makes him numb, it makes him worried, worried that your presence has become a testament of his sanity. If he were to ever loose control of your company, it would send him into a spiral he isn’t ready to discuss yet.

He returns to the room late at night, tired, his body aches and his head throbs. He removes his mask, he needs air, real air. Making his way to the bathroom he looks over at you. He knows you are awake as soon as he enters the room again, even in the darkness he can feel your breathing. You were waiting for him, a softness to your voice as you speak.

“Bane?” It’s the first time you have said his name, your voice soft, a whisper. He wants to pull away, to simply stop your hand from reaching him but it’s too late, the soft caress on his skin is like electrical shock through his system.

“Little bird…” he tries to warn you, his voice tired, rough, a pain in it only those who have had nothing can understand.

Your hand moves lower, tracing the shape of his neck, your fingers meeting the dip of his collarbones, your eyes never leaving his. His throat swells around a swallow, your hands tracing soft patterns over his chest, his shirt long forgotten. Your other hand settles on his cheek, your face moving towards his, slowly, giving him time to retract if he wants to, but he doesn’t, he allows your closeness, your nose caressing his and the soft breath that escapes him when your lips meet his bumpy ones is not lost to you. For such a powerful man he is sure as heavens falling apart in your arms.

His kiss is soft, shy almost, his lips unsure of how to move and it dwells on you that perhaps he hasn’t been kissed many times before. Your body presses against his, his hand moving painfully slow to your waist, fingers gripping the fabric of your shirt, like he is scare he will hurt you. Your lips open slightly, your tongue tracing his bottom one, waiting for him to allow you in; the hot soft muscle meets yours, his kiss is slow, sensual even, the way his tongue shyly pulls you into his mouth, like a trap in which at any moment he will snap his teeth and bite you. But it doesn’t happen, he simply kisses you, he kisses you like a man who has been starved of water for too long. He lets you undress him, he lets you feel him, he allows you to tear him open, skin to bone, taking all the slow pieces of him, destroying him until he is nothing in your hands, and only then, he feels at home.

When your hand move to the button of his pants a low growl escapes his lips. You pull him towards you, crawling backwards on the bed and bringing his body down with you. His arms cage in your face, your hands working to open his pants. It’s a silent exchange, words are not needed, not when his eyes speak so loud. His hands move under your shirt, feeling the skin of your stomach, finding their path forward towards your breast, squeezing the flesh, a groan escapes him, and he isn’t prepared for how delicious you would feel in his hands. Wiggling his hips to help you put his pants down, taking his underwear down with them. His lips find your neck, soft kisses and nips marking your skin, his hand moving to remove your shirt, the need to feel your skin against his overwhelming his senses. He moves away from you simply to remove his pants completely. Moving over you again, this time completely naked as his hands move over your thighs, gripping the edge of your underwear and pulling it down, his eyes trained on the treasure he finds there, his pupils dilating when he sees the shine of your wetness for him.

He moves over you again, his hands holding your leg, the muscles of your thigh burning as he makes space for his hips in between your legs. His thumb moves over the skin under your navel, before moving lower, the pad of it softly grazing over you, feeling how moist and hot it is. Your hand moves next to your face, your finger catching in between your lips as you look at his hand moving over you, your eyes half lidded as he teases your clit, tracing a line up and down over it with his finger.

A whimper escapes you, your eyes closing when his pointer finger enters you, a groan escaping his lips when he feels the tightness inside of you.

“This is what you do little bird, you rip open what’s left of my sanity.” He growls, his middle finger joining the other inside, opening them in a scissoring motion as your back arches slightly.

For how gentle he is being he is awfully impatient, the vein on his neck prominent as he moves over you better, his eyes moving to your face, he doesn’t want to miss any of your facial expressions as he grabs himself with his other hand, opening his fingers once again inside of you before he pushes them down, stretching you open, pushing himself inside of you at the same time that his fingers remain buried in your heat. A cry leaves your lips as he begins to settle in, the burn of the stretch is a maddening threat between pleasure and pain, your hand flying to his forearm as he keeps pushing in, only stopping when he is settled completely in. He loves the way your face breaks, how your eyebrows are furrowed. He moves his fingers out of you, leaning over you completely as his hand holds your face, the other moving over your head and his lips collide with yours as his hips begin to move, hard and deep, he takes himself all the way to the tip before slamming in again, and the weight of him over you feels suffocating, his hand moving down your back, until he finds the curve of your lower back, his hands gripping the skin there, drawing you to him, deepening himself as much as he can into you.

It’s a pleasure he hadn’t experienced before, the soft cries and quiet touches, how your face breaks and you put your hands over his shoulders, how he can basically feel himself so deep inside of you he swears he can feel your heartbeat every time he thrust deep into you. It’s nothing like he has done before, with Talia it had always been fast and hard movements, no soft touches, no kisses, no cries of pleasure. It makes him feel like he has missed the point of living until he stumbled upon you.

“Light in my eyes…” he murmurs as you writhe absolutely wrecked under him. His lips on your neck, on your cheek, on your mouth, claiming you in a possessive kiss that threatens to break you apart.

His hand moves down your stomach, his fingers trapping your clit between them as he pinches it, a cry escaping you as he massages it, playing with it, feeling how you squeeze him, how you tighten around him.

“D…don’t stop… gods don’t stop” you beg him, feeling the coiling sensation rising inside of you, the warmth threatening to spill and take you over the edge.

Bane’s eyes never leave your face, a growl adorning his lips as his fingers move, the muscles in his arm taunt and his hips relentlessly connect to yours. He feels it, how you squeeze him, how your body swallows him in and refuses to let him go, your back arching off the bed as you come apart in his arms.

His hips keep moving, his pace faster. He hides his face in your neck, his arms tightening around you as he moves, sloppier, his mouth opening in a silent cry when the feeling in his lower back snaps, the pleasure coursing through his veins as he begins to come, your hand reach for the back of his neck, holding him, afraid he may disappear; his hips slow down, his movements uneven as he comes back from the high of his orgasm.

He holds you, not moving at all from you, not even letting you get up, it’s like a new vice he discovered, a new drug he can’t let go of his system anymore. You are the venom that curses through his veins, that alleviates his pain, the only thing in this world he refuses to let go off now. It doesn’t matter what happens with Gotham or the future, wherever he goes he will take you with him, it doesn’t matter to him if he has to tear cities apart to keep you by his side, even if he has to threaten the whole world just so you stay. It’s a shame, a tragedy. The moment his eyes fly open and the realization dawns upon him, a fragment of his broken mind. A hope to have some light in the dark, and maybe, if life was to ever be kind to him, someday he will have you willingly giving yourself to him.

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thefics-that-drip · 12 days

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Bonita (Alfie Solomons x fem!oc)

"Did you take my phone this morning while I was taking a shower, Al?"

Alfie was behind the reception counter working when his girlfriend called him. "I don't know, did I?""

"I had a meeting and when I opened my phone to show the client some designs, I found your pictures. You're adorable."

"Glad you mention it, Rosie. Because I felt bonita."

From the other side of the line, he heard her laugh "Do you still feel bonita?"

"I feel bonita, yes."

"Good. You're bonita, but you know that."

"Also took some pictures of Cyril sleeping on our bed because he looked adorable. And I made a playlist for Beast and also your brother called in the process. There's also more pictures in a private album, but I highly recommend you not to open them in public."

"Oh God... You didn't."

"I did, luv, I told you... I felt bonita."

Based on this post. Thanks for your tag @peakyswritings ❤️

Alfie x Rose masterlist

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thefics-that-drip · 14 days

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thefics-that-drip · 15 days

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Johnny Comforts You After A Bad Dream

Self indulgent hurt/comfort. Complete fluff. Warnings: vague allusions to abuse/violence, reader has a scar. Also Johnny calls himself daddy.

Also this is the fic I drafted perfectly and then lost. This is not as good as that fic (rip) but it is longer, and actually here so... Also I might write more for this, I'm taken with her tragic backstory now.

"Johnny... Johnny!" In the dead of night you were all trembles and tears. Fragile and forlorn, growing more so with every second that went by without your Johnny waking up. "Johnny please wake up..." You whimpered, your heart stuck in your throat as you did your best to hold back the sobs choking you.

It had been another bad dream, you knew that but it didn't help ease the fear, the panic in your heart, the ringing sound in your ears. Nothing was going to stop the ache except your Johnny. But he was a heavy sleeper and by the time you had managed to stir him there were tears streaking your cheeks and you could hardly hold back the sobs.

"Hey honey..." he yawned, his voice gravelly with sleep as he pushed himself up to rest against the headboard.

He didn't need to ask what was wrong, you didn't need to tell him either. The moment he saw your wide eyes brimming with tears, the moment he saw the wrinkle of your nose as another tear rolled down your cheek and over your lips, he knew exactly what was wrong. Exactly what you needed.

He offered you a sympathetic pout, one which wrinkled his forehead and put a little smile on your lips as he opened his arms for you wordlessly and beckoned you to him with a nod.

"C'mere my honey," he cooed, "come to daddy..." his voice was still gruff and gritty but the way he spoke to you was so tender and sweet as he took your hand and lightly tugged you into his embrace. His arm came to wrap around you, his hand stroking through your hair and then down your back as he bundled you up in his lap. "S'okay my sweetheart, daddy's got you..." He hushed you as you nuzzled into him, his scruff tickling your cheek as you endeavoured to nestle in as close to him as you possibly could.

With one hand cradling your head to him, the other holding your waist, he rocked you gently, soothing you. He let a tender kiss linger in your hair as he continued to utter comforting sentiments to you.

"S'alright my honey you're safe, Johnny's here, nothins gonna happen to you baby, don't worry, Johnny won't let anything happen to you." He said, every word sincere. Every word a truth intended to comfort you, not just now but in the morning too and the next time you'd dream the same dream which had left you in tears tonight.

He didn't know much about your life pre, well, meeting him. What he did know however is that it was much darker than the life you led now, with him. You didn't talk about it, ever. Not even when you'd awoken in the middle of the night the way you had tonight. He'd tried to ask you before, what happened in the dream, why you were always so scared - not just scared but fuckin heartbroke - every time you awoke, but you'd always pouted and made one flippant comment to shake his questions off.

"What's wrong, you want me to start crying all over again?"

He knew why you did that too. Knew it was because whatever you didn't want to talk about was real bad, something that would curdle his blood, set of a rage in him he wouldn't want to control. He knew you were trying to keep your heartbroken history quiet because you didn't want him to think any less of you, didn't want him to think you were too melancholy, too much of a vibe kill. You were worried he'd leave of he found out all the trouble you'd seen and felt.

He only wished you would tell him so that he could prove you wrong. So that he could stay. Because he would. He'd stay with you through anything. He'd burn alive to stay by your side if he had to.

"S'okay my honey," he said, taking solace in the sensation of your nose nuzzling into his neck. It was comforting to hold you so close, to feel your breath on his skin.

You took comfort in that too.

In feeling your body rest so close against his, his heart beating against you so that you could feel yours slowing to meet his.

"S'jus me an you here angel, nothins gonna hurt you, you remember what I told you?" He asked waiting to feel you nod against him.

Instead you let out a timid "uhuh," that tugged on his heartstrings.

"So go on... You tell me what Johnny told you?" He said nudging your gaze up to his with his nose against your cheek.

You sat up a little then, a small smile tugging on your lips. Shy. You let him shift you in his lap so that you were straddling his waist, your knees sinking into the mattress. Him looking up at you, his hands on your waist to hold you steady.

"Always be safe with you," you whispered, your voice barely audible even in the still of the night. "Cause you'd kill anyone who ever wanted to hurt me..." You said, one hand holding his, the other holding your cheek, your thumb dangerously close to your mouth.

"That's right," he smiled, "and don't you ever forget it... You're my little angel and there ain't nothin I wouldn't do for my little angel..." He said, his hand catching yours, guiding your thumb away from your mouth so that he could hold your face in his two hands instead.

He stroked his thumbs over your cheeks slowly, brushing away the tears you'd long stopped crying. His eyes so full of the most determined kind of love as he let his fingers stray, knuckles brushing gently down your jaw, down your neck where he let them linger for a moment following the line of a telltale scar. One Cal had called gnarly the first time he'd seen it, his thoughtless comment meaning that for weeks after you'd tried your best to cover it with turtle necks and bandanas.

Johnny didn't know how you'd come to wear such a scar but he knew it bothered you. Knew it saddened you whenever you were reminded of it. Knew he hated to see you so sad when your fingers hovered over it and traced the line. Just as they were doing now.

So he sat up a little straighter and grazed your fingertips with his lips before chasing them away from your scar with his kisses. Until you giggled and your fingers curled into his shirt instead. When he kissed your scar he felt you tense a little, felt you relax in the next moment when he closed his eyes let his lips linger against your skin.

As he pulled away he held your gaze. His eyes pooling with tenderness, so quietly trying to communicate his adoration for you.

"Now," he said a little more firm that before, "now you c'mere angel, c'mere and let me hold you," he said guiding you down to lie against him, your body on top of his, your head to his chest which felt so comforting and sturdy beneath you. He stroked his hand through your hair as your eyes fluttered shut and tried not to lie awake wondering what had happened to you. Where his little angel had been before she'd stumbled into his bar one night and found him.

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thefics-that-drip · 26 days

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thefics-that-drip · 1 month

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thefics-that-drip · 1 month

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Pregnant and Pampered

Johnny x Cal x Benny x you (one by one; platonic)

Word Count: 874

CW: pregnancy

Summary: Your pregnancy was unexpected, but so welcome. The Vandals relish in spoiling and pampering their first Vandals mama and baby-to-be. SFW. Super cutesy, mushy feel-good fic.

You’d always been the Doll of the Vandals, but now that you’re pregnant, the boys have tripped all over themselves loving you; gushing over your cute belly and your little waddle.

Upon hearing the good news, Cal immediately started building a toddler-size bike from scratch.

Corky and Wahoo learned how to sew, and made a blanket to bring the baby home in.

Brucie bought a couch for the bar, “So you can be comfortable here as you grow.”

And Johnny. He had a little Vandals jacket made up in a few baby and toddler sizes- “To getcha started.” He waved his hands like it was nothin. ”Only the best for our first Vandals baby.”

Any time you arrived at the bar, Johnny would clock you at the door and let out a LOUD whistle. Every Vandal immediately put their cigarettes out. Then whoever was closest to the back and front doors would prop em open for fresh air. Every time. No complaints.

God, they couldn’t make you feel more loved if they tried.

Today as you walked around greeting everyone, several loving hands reached out to pet your belly.

All the guys were amazing uncles. But Johnny was so tender and affectionate with you, that an untrained eye would think he was the father.

The way his hand would always find your belly when you chatted. Palming gentle circles while he listened about your day; and the latest craft you’re making. Getting a kick out of the little bumps and kicks on his hand as he loves on you two. Speaking sweetly to your bump. Nodding his head while he listens to both you and baby.

Whenever you were lookin a little extra tired, Johnny would motion for you to come over. He’d give you a big, gentle hug; and rub your back.

“How’s my Baby?”

He’d cup your face.

”And my little one?”

Dropping kisses on your forehead and your belly.

“Oh we’re hanging in there.” You rub your belly with a sigh. Leaning your hands into your lower back to help hold up your belly.

“Turn around honey, let Johnny help ya for a minute, mmm?”

The hums always got you. Such a Johnny thing. So sweet.

You dutifully turned your back to him and lifted your arms a little off your sides.

“Ok you ready?” Johnny talks softly in your left ear. His arms are wrapped around you, hovering just below your belly. You look to your left and lock eyes with Johnny.

“Mmm yes please,” you coo. You know what’s coming.

Johnny’s fingers link together and his arms wrap under your belly, lifting the weight of your belly from you completely. The relief is immediate. Your lungs expand fuller than they’ve been in a while. Blood rushes down your legs. Your back pain eases off the pedal.

You can’t help the little hum that escapes your throat as your head falls back onto his chest.

“Ahhh, there you go Sweets. I’ve got you. Now just relax, mmm?

For the next hour, Johnny held your belly up; cradling you against his big, steady body. Dropping kisses on your cheek. Swaying you both slowly side to side. His bulky muscles made for a cozy cocoon that you could stay in forever.

When your feet got sore, Cal scooped you up bridal style as soon as Johnny gently released your belly.

“Cal, what are you-“ you giggle.

Cal sets you down on the couch. “It’s my turn angel. Gimme those feet.”

You shake your head with a smile, and reach to take your shoes off. Cal stops you.

“I got it. You lay back.”

Cal slips your shoes off and sets your feet gently in his lap. As if on cue, Brucie walks by and hands Cal a damp, steaming hand towel.

“No way, you guys- this is too much.”

“Hey-“ Cal raised his eyebrows. “Nothing is too much for you. C’mon.” He makes grabby hands, ”Piggies.”

Cal tickles your feet just enough to get you laughing and relaxed. Then he rubs each foot with the towel. Squeezing your toes; your heels. The searing heat and soothing moisture release the tension in your swollen feet.

Your head drops onto the couch. This must be what heaven is like- you, and a bunch of bikers that love ya.

When the towel eventually cools, Cal sets it on the coffee table and continues to massage your feet. Moving up your ankles. So much delicious pressure. Riding those 500 pound bikes gives them killer hand strength.

The bell at the door jingles.

“Hey,” Benny walks in and crouches next to you. Giving you a kiss.

“Sup man?” Cal greets.

“Not much, man.“ Benny stands and hugs Cal, with a few back slaps. “Thanks for taking care of my girl’s feet.”

”Ah, it’s my pleasure.”

“Mind if I join?” Benny drags a chair over next to you and picks up your hand.

“Hey Johnny!” Benny calls. He starts massaging your hand.

Johnny walks over and stands behind the couch.

“Mmm,” Johnny picks up on the cues and takes your other hand in both of his; pressing and massaging it lovingly.

Benny nods a “thank you.”

You spend the rest of the evening under the loving care of your boys.

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thefics-that-drip · 2 months

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Challah (Alfie Solomons x Reader) [Request]

Can I please get an alfie solomons with Angst and ending with Fluff.

Maybe she’s been coming home late and he thinks she’s cheating or something, when in reality she’s been practicing how to make challa or something?

Thanks either way <333—Requested by @misselsbells06

Warnings: none

Gif Source: thesoldiersminute

Alfie fumed.

The rage permeated the apartment, filling up the space as much as his presence always did, working itself into all corners until there was not air but ire to breathe. The weather outside his balcony matched his mood, the clouds darkening as the last vestiges of sunlight clinging after sunset finally dissipated, bright tendrils dragged back behind the froth-lined horizon.

An hour passed, then another, deepening the fury boiling in Alfie’s guts. He grew very still on the couch, every muscle winding tighter and tighter as the anger roared lead-hot through his veins.

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thefics-that-drip · 2 months

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Couch Cuddles

Johnny Davis x Reader

Cw: none

Word count: 287- tiny drabble!

Summary- period hurt/comfort. Cozy. No smexy time. Just hands-on mush 💕

🎀🌈For anyone who needs some love and physical touch from Johnny today🌈🎀

“C’mere Baby.” Johnny motions for you to sit in front of him on the massive couch.

Resting low on his stomach was a heating pad. Plugged in. 💕

“Awww thanks Johnny,” you brighten as you make your way over.

“Couldn’t let my baby go hurtin all day without some love, now could I?” He pats the cushion between his legs. “That’s it, right here Little One.”

His hands caress up your back as you sit, palming gently.

A kiss is lovingly pressed into the crown of your hair. He tucks your head under his chin as you lean back into his chest. The heating pad sears your lower back pain; dulling it to an ache.

“Ah, there you go,” Johnny affirms.

He feels the heat slowly entice your body to release the tension it’s been holding. Limbs go soft. Your head rests heavy on his shoulder.

“Now you just relax. Johnny’s got you. You’re gonna feel better in no time.”

He starts a movie on the tv- your current favorite.

You two laugh along; quoting the best lines to each other in near unison. In between laughing fits, Johnny takes tender care of you.

His gentle, firm fingertips massage your scalp. He loves the way you melt beneath his ministrations.

Steady hands deeply knead your shoulders. You can feel the muscles bending and giving under his pressure.

When your shoulders are loose, he tucks you into him so that you’re flat against his chest.

He presses both hands firm on your lower belly. Keeping up the pressure. After a few moments he notices that you’re breathing deeper now.

He’s dropping kisses along your neck.

Slowly kneading your belly like bread dough.

The relief is exquisite.

#johnny davis fanfiction #johnny from bikeriders #the bikeriders johnny #johnny the bikeriders #johnny davis x reader #johnny davis #johnny davis imagine

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thefics-that-drip · 2 months

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“No sin, no sinners”.

Bane x reader

NSFW MDNI

“Boss” he begins to say before the forceful push of fingers against his skin makes him go quiet.

“could you ask Bane for clothes? I cannot keep wearing the same ones over and over”

You aren’t sure what you would prefer, if the clothes or the nakedness, the second one would make this all the more easier.

Two knocks come from the man before he is told to come in, pushing you in slightly as he stays outside, sending you into the mouth of the wolf.

“I hear the little bird is complaining” His metallic voice reaches your ears, his hands on the table as he looks over some papers.

Your hands are sweating, your heart has either stopped beating or is beating so hard you can no longer feel it.

He moves his hands from you, slight out of breath to he speaks, putting himself back into his pants.

“Clean yourself, you will have some clothes tomorrow.”

“I know you are awake little birdie.” He says, his voice sounds soft, unfiltered, his words slightly slurred, slightly mingled.

“Careful” he barks out, not loud enough to startle you but enough to give you a warning.

“Little bird…” he tries to warn you, his voice tired, rough, a pain in it only those who have had nothing can understand.

A whimper escapes you, your eyes closing when his pointer finger enters you, a groan escaping his lips when he feels the tightness inside of you.

“D…don’t stop… gods don’t stop” you beg him, feeling the coiling sensation rising inside of you, the warmth threatening to spill and take you over the edge.

#bane #bane x reader #bane smut #tdkr bane x reader #tdkr bane smut #Tom Hardy love of my life #daddyhardy

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thefics-that-drip · 2 months

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visits | alfie solomons

fits into the twin!reader verse, i love this ridiculous, dysfunctional couple and i’m so glad to have them home

props if you catch the hiram reference in here bc the kids might not exist yet in this fic but my sweet children

“Alright sweetheart. Could you do something about this?”

That was how you’d answered the door to find Alfie with blood trailing down his arm.

“Oh, for fucks sake” you moaned, dragging him out of the hallway and into the flat.

Your hand stayed gripped in the front of his shirt, dragging him behind as you navigated the way to the kitchen. A glare told him to damn well stay put where you’d left him against the cabinet, and he obliged, moving only to take his coat from over his clean arm and throw it onto one of the chairs.

“What the hell happened?” you questioned, grabbing a clean cloth and wrapping it snug to the wound.

“I had a disagreement with a car window”

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thefics-that-drip · 2 months

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A good dad || J.D.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

pairing is johnny davis x wife!reader

in which your daughters want to keep the stray puppy they've found outside, and you have to convince Johnny that it's a good idea. it is, right?

word count: 2,2k

warnings: fluff, a bit of angst, allusions to sex, Johnny's such a grumpy dad, sixties relationship clichés?

A/N: : while I’ve convinced myself numerous times that writing one-shots isn't for me, Benny and Johnny have stuck in my mind and never left. why shouldn’t I fantasize about them and share these moments with you?

English isn’t my first language, but I’m having fun and that’s the most important <3

(my gif)

“Oh, your dad’s gonna be pissed,” you sighed, eyeing the girls as they watched you back with cute pouts.

Maybe cute, but not enough to make you fold. That puppy right there, at your feet, wouldn’t be part of the family for long. You remembered broaching the subject once, trying to convince Johnny that having a dog could only be good for the girls. Running low on arguments, his response to you was just a look with a serious ‘What the fuck would we do with that?’. You had never talked about the idea again.

“We told you he was near the trash cans,” Lynn, your eldest, nearly burst into tears at the thought of letting go of the dog. “All by himself.”

The dog nudged your bare legs, tail wagging. You took a step back, knowing it would be harder to leave him at the vet if you only stroked him once. You were too damn kind for these kinds of things, and the girls knew it damn well.

The brown fur went to nuzzle against Joan next, who scratched him with more intensity than necessary. Her smile was huge, and her little giggle of happiness nearly melted you on the spot.

You shut your eyes for a second. Focus.

“Look at his ears!” Joan squealed, comparing her small hand to his head.

“Careful, baby,” you warned her, willing yourself to have some sort of authority back. “Don’t scare him off.”

“I want to keep him!”

“And who would be feeding him when you’re at school?”

Your question raised a moment of silence you had expected. It made you sigh loudly again, leaning your back against the kitchen table.

“That's what I thought. You exhaust me, you two,” you said in a breath, watching the girls hustling back to the living room on a mission to find the little beast a name.

You were fucked. All of you.

Rolling your shoulders back, you spun around and ignored the noises above your head. You were fairly certain a family of mice had taken up residence in the walls, but it didn’t matter. You had greater issues as of now, starting with the dog jumping around the girls.

While their laughter filled the house, you finished pouring boiling water into your cup and dunked a teabag inside, watching the clear water turn a bloody red. What could you even tell Johnny? Maybe you could lie and tell him the girls’ new school project was to take care of a puppy for a few days. Make them more responsible. After all, your neighbor's son had taken care of a guinea pig once.

No, you scoffed at yourself. Your husband was more clever than that. He would see right through you and ask for the truth that you would deliver because you were like that. You hated lying to him, just as much as you hated him lying to you.

Ten minutes later, your eyes were focused on the tea between your hands. You almost jumped out of the armchair when you heard the jingle of keys being thrown into the drawer in the hallway.

The front door closed with a thud and the girls looked up at you, waiting for any instruction.

And here you were, sacrificing yourself again for those two little monsters. Setting your cup down on the coffee table, you tried to appear as serious as possible and pointed a finger at them.

“Don’t move, okay? Don’t move and keep the dog with you both.”

“‘Kay Mommy,” Lynn grinned up at you, stroking the dog’s head resting on her lap.

You gave them a brief nod and cursed at yourself when you stepped across the dolls lying on the carpet, those poor things looking as crazy as you. So you quickly smoothed down your hair and waltzed to the kitchen, where Johnny was removing his leather jacket and boots. Seemed like he had finally heard after all those times you had yelled at him to stop getting the floor dirty with soil and grease.

“Darlin’?”

Johnny snapped his neck to face you with that charismatic smile he was always giving you, hanging his jacket on the coat rack. He was always making your heart flip too.

You crossed the room in no time, wrapping your arms around his neck. Sometimes you just greeted each other with a quick peck, and that was okay too. But you had missed him more than usual today, huddling up to shed warmth.

“Hi,” you whispered, hoping you looked as innocent as you sounded.

His forehead knocked against yours, and you could feel the love rolling off him in waves when he pressed a quick kiss on your mouth. And another. His face went to the crook of your neck, pressing into the sensitive skin as he pulled you as close to his body as possible. So he had missed you too, maybe more.

“We just had dinner,” you muttered, breathing in the scent of smoke clinging to his skin. “Didn’t know when you’d be back.”

“It’s okay,” Johnny’s lips grazed your cheek. “I’m not hungry tonight.”

“You’ll change your mind when you get a taste,” you grinned, pecking his lips and forgetting for a second about the dog taking shelter in your living room. “C’mere.”

Johnny’s steps were heavy behind you, trailing to the kitchen counter. His body nearly collided with your back when you faced him again, lifting a wooden spoonful of tomato sauce to his mouth and thumbing his bottom lip gently.

“How’s that?” you asked, biting down on your lip.

“You know it’s fuckin’ delicious, as usual,” Johnny hummed, giving a smile that made you smile too. "Love it."

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” his hand slithered back down your pants, steering around your backside and fondling you.

A small chuckle escaped your lips, happy to be still feeding your man after six years of marriage. It was almost unimaginable how after all these years of being with him, you still wanted nothing more than to be close like a lovesick teenager.

“Where are the girls?” Johnny asked before he could do anything to you, licking his lips as he stole a glance toward the living room.

That’s when the dog decided to bark. A low, high-pitched bark that made you want to kick him out yourself.

“Shit.”

Johnny stared back at you, no trace of that amused grin anymore. “What’s that?”

But he was already making a beeline for the other room, and you beat him to it to block his way.

“Listen to me first,” you ordered, pointing that finger again at his face and swallowing when he looked down at you that way, the same look he gave in bed sometimes. “Alright? Listen. Joan found a puppy in the garden earlier, and I’ve told the girls we can't keep it.”

“And?”

“And they–well, they were waitin’ for you to come home,” you chickened out, making him huff. “C'mon, what was I supposed to do, hmm?”

Johnny scowled, staring impassively at you and skirting past your figure to have a look at the intruder.

Mumbling another inaudible curse, you dared to look at the scene too. The dog was now curled on Joan’s lap, sleeping softly. They all looked so damn cute. Meant to be, you could say, if your husband didn’t look so unpleased.

“You’re kiddin’ me,” Johnny’s eyes widened at the sight and darted back to yours.

“We asked everyone around if they knew him and they said no,” Lynn explained enthusiastically. “That means we can keep him. He must have lost his parents.”

“They did ask,” you muttered, though only Johnny heard you.

“He's gonna be sad if we abandon him,” Joan was now the one gazing at you both dramatically, giving those sad eyes that usually made her father change his mind.

Johnny stared at the moonlight slanting through the blinds. Ten seconds felt like forever. And eventually, he retreated to the kitchen.

“Take him back where you found him.”

The girls' protests were in vain. Both were already calling for you, sniffling tearfully while the dog snored like a little king on his throne. They begged you to do something, and you knew you had to try. You hated fighting with Johnny, but you hated your daughters’ heartbreak even more.

“Honey,” you started smoothly when you found him by the front door, wide shoulders and thick arms, a cigarette dangling between his lips.

At least he had opened the door to let the smoke out.

“Hmm?”

“We need to talk about this.”

“We don’t,” Johnny sounded casual, as though the matter was already settled.

Angry, it was now your turn to scowl. You were already getting upset at his close-mindedness. Your dad had been like that–talking to your mom like she couldn’t have an opinion. Johnny knew you despised that attitude, and you certainly wouldn’t be the one to let a man get in your way. Even less when it came to the kids.

You stepped closer to him, speaking lowly so the girls wouldn’t eavesdrop. “So you’re the only grown-up making a decision here? Is that it? You’re being selfish and… and clearly blind. You know how happy it makes them.”

Johnny’s eyes met yours, a breath of smoke separating you for a second.

“You want the dog too?” his tone was dry. “Keep it then.”

“Hey, you’re acting like a jackass right now,” you snapped, so close to his face you could feel his breathing over your nose. “It’s a decision we both have to make. I’ve never seen the girls looking so excited by the same thing, Johnny. Taking care of that dog would give them a memorable childhood. Like mine.”

He let out a dry laugh, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Playing with my feelings now, aren’t you?”

“I don’t care,” you almost whined, so tired that the discussion wasn’t going anywhere yet. “Do you fear dogs? Is that why you don’t want it?”

“What?” Johnny scoffed. “No. The tiny shit isn’t goin’ to scare me anytime soon.”

“Tiny shit,” Joan sing-sung lowly, making her way toward you both.

Beside her, Lynn was covering her mouth to suppress her giggles. The sisters exhanged a glance, more hopeful than you really were.

“Bad word, Joan,” you warned, glancing down at the dog she was struggling to cradle in her arms.

Deciding any of this wasn’t worth a fight, you let out a sigh and wordlessly turned your back on Johnny, kneeling before your daughters.

“You’ll have to leave him at the doorstep, baby,” you said quietly, brushing a strand of her hair out of her forehead. “We’ll find him a new family tomorrow, okay?”

“Why?” Lynn asked, a sob catching in her throat.

Joan was already tearing up, holding on to the oblivious dog like it would kill her to let go. You had no doubts she would be sad for an entire week, if not more. She was too kind, too.

“We’ll talk about that in the morning,” you nodded at them, waiting for a nod back. When they did, it was truly the saddest thing you had ever seen. It nearly made you cry, too.

That night, it was Johnny’s turn to tuck them in. You heard his voice from across the hallway, telling his girls he loved them. Small voices said I love you back.

You walked from the bathroom to the bed silently, Johnny hot on your heels.

“How long are you gonna be mad for?” his raspy voice broke through your inner thoughts, bringing you back to the present.

You slipped beneath the white comforter, a foot bumping into his.

“I don’t know,” you shuffled, turning your back to him and burying your head in the pillow. “How long are you gonna be an ass for?”

You had been expecting a response, but nothing came. Just a slight touch over your stomach to test the waters, slipping under your top when you didn’t tell him to stop.

“He’s downstairs,” Johnny muttered, clearly fighting to keep his eyes open.

“What?”

“The dog,” Johnny moved your hair so he could kiss your neck lazily. “He’s downstairs.”

Out of instinct, you tilted your head, allowing him to devour the side of your throat. It was hard to stay mad at him. You squeezed your eyes shut, focusing on his warm fingers.

“How long for?”

“A week to start with,” Johnny replied, though you knew the dog was part of the family now. A week would turn into two, and then he would just forget about it. “Longer if he’s not a pain in the ass.”

You tried hard not to smile out of victory, reminding yourself how hard he had been to deal with. And how he was a pain in the ass.

Johnny's hand slipped over your hip when you rolled over to face him, a hand beneath your pillow.

He swallowed, not quite smiling but not frowning either. You knew he was feeling guilty, always wondering if he was doing the right thing. If he was a good man. A good dad. Yet, you couldn't think of any man who would sacrifice himself like he did. Johnny never hesitated to work overtime and make sure you had all you needed, just like he had promised you all those years ago.

Your lips neared his, a bit bashful, just wanting him to know he could be forgiven easily. It was he who made the final leap by pressing his mouth to yours. His large hand filled the dip of the small of your back, remnants of the cigarette he'd smoked on his lips. A shiver trembled down your spine as your hand stroked his cheek gently.

"Don't sideline me," you pulled away, keeping him close to you. "Please. I know what's good and what's wrong for them."

"I know, darlin'," Johnny muttered back. "I wasn't implyin' that you didn't."

You nodded, keeping your eyes on him. “I’m sorry I got upset. I've had a long day."

Johnny’s lips turned into a smile. “And I’m sorry your man’s a jackass.”

You chuckled, eyes boring into his. “Yeah. Yeah, he is. But he’s a good dad.”

He nodded at your words, kissing your temple and holding you as though he would burn down the city for you. Another kiss was pressed on your forehead and all you had to do was drift asleep peacefully, hoping that dog wouldn't betray you.

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thefics-that-drip · 3 months

Text

What Makes a Grown Man Wanna Cry?

“Give, in.”

He doesn’t want to admit that he’s wrong.

He doesn’t want to admit that he should’ve just listened to you, hear you out.

He doesn’t want to say that touching that woman was a part of his job, his livelihood, and yours.

But, he lied to you.

And, you didn’t take it very well.

You specifically said no more sex scenes in the acting business. Acting is his passion, that doesn’t mean it should come out as disrespecting you. You understood his passion, but you refuse to understand the part where he needed to do it in spite of his passion.

He grunted, holding onto the cuffs as if his lives depends on it. Stubborn by nature—You didn’t mind it at all as you could do this all day. Increasing the speed of the toy that wraps around the head of his reddening cock, he yearns to let go though not with the cock ring hugging his shaft tightly. Entertained, is what you feel—watching the way he gritted his teeth with his eyes shut, eyebrows scrunched together either in pain for he couldn’t shoot everything he’s got or pleasure for little did both of you know that your beloved secretly enjoys this.

“Ugh.” You grunted, straddling his face—aiming your glistening cunt, who is dying for the touch of his tongue or his hands, towards his face. He sensed you, slowly he opens his eyes as he couldn’t help but let out such a slutty moan coming from a man. His visions are welcomed by your hands aggressively rubbing your slippery cunt, playing with your clit. Your hands coated with your own fluid.

“Just, give in. Baby, I’ll put this around your needy cock and fuck you like our life depends on it.” You purred. He grunted, his cock throbs even more if that’s possible, longing for your tight cunt sucking his cum to come out and fill you.

“All of this would be easier if you’d just give in.” You breathlessly spoke, your hands never stop playing with your cunt throughout the whole promises that you sell. His body never stopped producing sweats, his chest heaves, his heart thumps like a big fat bass. A smirk expressed on your face, he’s bargaining with his willpower to give into you than holding onto his pride. Tiny bits of sweats formed against his forehead, his whole figure soaking wet as if he received a wave from the ocean.

You pulled yourself away from him, straddling his chest—leaning down towards his face stopping just an inch from his lips, your eyes watching over him. Tilting your head to the side before you look over at his pulsating cock, who looks like he could be coming in just a few seconds.

“Come on, admit it. Admit that I’m right, and you’re wrong. You’re a selfish human being who wouldn’t want to listen to his wife who practically begged you to stop acting if there’s a porn script.” The words spoken out of you intended to coax him, sounded so delicate yet you were trying to spit at him. Surprised as you watched a tear escaped from his closed eyes, his breathing turned ragged, his chest heaves even more, lips tremble.

The man of action is crying.

“Aw, you’re crying?” You purred, slowly making your way down towards his hips. “You’re fucking crying?” By the end of your words, he is practically sobbing.

You breathily laughs before you turned off the toy on his cock, and take out the cock ring. Once both objects are off of his precious cargo, he lets out a big sigh of relief only to be quickly exchanged with a loud moan from his mouth when you harshly shove his cock into your warm cunt.

He opens his eyes to find your ass in his vision, as you ride him cowgirl reverse style. You take a look at him from your shoulders before you started to move your hips to bounce on his throbbing fat cock. You knew this shouldn’t take long as you’ve been edging him for 30 minutes. You knew, sooner or later he would spill his warm seed in your cunt.

“Tell me honey, are you sorry? If you are, I’m gonna let you cum in my pussy.”

He grunted, his whole body shudders to the thought of making a mess in your pussy. “Fuck! Yes! Yes! I’m sorry, it’s my fault! I shouldn’t be touching her other than you! Please baby, let me cum. Fuck, let me fucking cum please!”

You let out a scoff laugh, “You wanna cum baby? You wanna cum on my pussy?”

“Yes! Fuck, I’m gonna-” And before he could spill his load inside of you, you lifted your ass—made his cock fell out of your pussy hole. He choked out a breath, his body launching forward, his eyes opened wide in surprise.

You smirked, looking at him from your shoulders. Clicking your tongue, your head shook from side to side as you turn your body towards him.

“Oh honey, bad boys don’t get to cum in their wives pussy.”

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thefics-that-drip · 3 months

Text

just finished watching The Bikeriders again and god. Tom Hardy. the man that you are.

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thefics-that-drip · 3 months

Note

May I ask for a headcanon with Tom Hardy where he is really angry and just really wants to fuck the reader and of course she takes it? You're a doll❤️❤️❤️

Yeah, you may!!!! Thanks, sweetheart!

Headcanon Sunday has started! Send me your ideas, I’ll be writing all day!

I like to think of this as something you guys both agreed upon pretty early on in your relationship

Because he is such a hot-head, you came up with this idea so he could have a way to let off some steam without hurting anyone

Well, anyone who didn’t want to be hurt

But you liked the hurt

You liked feeling him for days after he was done with you

That emptiness and soreness, just reminding you of what he’d done to you

Brought you to immense pleasure

And so a tradition was born

“How do you want it?”

That was all he had to say

You knew then that for the next hours, all you’d be to him was a little fucktoy, an object he would use to get rid of his anger, in the search to replace it with his pleasure

But an evening of egoistic delights would always start with his acknowledgment of how you would like to be fucked

“On my stomach,” was your choice most times

And that would be the last words he’d hear you say for a long while because very quickly, he’d leave you a drooly, stupid mess

There was nothing slow about the way he fucked you when he got this way

He’d do the bare minimum of running his digits over your lower lips, checking to see your wetness before stuffing his dick inside of you

Lucky you or lucky him, you were always at least a bit wet when you were around him

And then he’d fuck you hard and fast, uncaring of his usual goal of making you cum as many times as possible

He didn’t fuck you like a whore

He fucked you like a toy, like an object

Something he didn’t even care about other than for the feeling your walls provided when clenching around him

And maybe you should hate it

But the truth was, you loved being in this place

Underneath him, with his cock spearing you open

You loved that he needed you, that you were his medicine, his “chill pill”, if you will

“Open your mouth,” he’d order just before finally cumming, shoving his fingers inside of you - probably to shut up your cries of pleasure

And as he slipped out of you, allowing his cum to seep from you, you already knew what you would answer when he came back with a glass of water and asked if he’d hurt you

“Yes, but it was so worth it.”

uh... too much? I think this one is very self-indulgent for me 🤷‍♀️

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thefics-that-drip · 3 months

Note

For event:

Alfie Solomons with

A - “Ask me to stay” + N - not good enough

Please. Thanks

A/n: hiiiiiii, i realized after i wrote it that i got over-excited and forgot the quote (the trope is there though!!) but i like this too much not to post it!

Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2229 Tags: angst, steam, canon-divergence, swearing, misogynistic themes

Alfie Solomons was a man of many vices and few virtues. He’d gone to great pains to ensure that.

Usually this fact was one he lived proudly. He lived violently, lavishly, and with reckless abandon. Spent his money foolishly, shot his pistols carelessly, and slept with women thoughtlessly. This earned him a larger-than-life reputation in Camden Town. It impressed his employees, amused his business partners, and irritated his enemies. Alfie Solomons was a thorn in the side of propriety, and he loved it.

That changed quickly after meeting you.

Alfie wasn’t entirely sure when that change happened - he couldn’t finger a specific moment or blame any particular feeling - but he had realized some time ago that the man he’d spent his entire life growing into was suddenly a hindrance.

And it had never been clearer than now.

“Mr. Solomons, I am not a man prone to jokes or levity, especially in moments as grave as this.” Your father was sitting across from Alfie, his back as straight as a whipping rod, hands splayed on the small kitchen table between them. He was taller than Alfie remembered, with shrewd dark eyes that bored straight into him. The absent smile of regret slid off Alfie’s face when he snapped back into the moment, dragged out of wistful reverie.

“No, n-no sir.” A stutter? Alfie Solomons had never stuttered a day in his life, but here he was, reduced to a stuttering, sheepish shadow of himself in your kitchen. He could hear the slightest creak of a floorboard outside the kitchen door - no doubt you and your three younger sisters listening intently to the near-midnight conversation about your future.

“I must admit, Mr. Solomons, I am utterly perplexed. My daughter is a young woman with no means, very few prospects beyond that which marriage will afford her. It is my understanding that she intends to pursue a life in the church, in fact.” Alfie’s heart froze to solid ice in his chest. A nun? My god, what was this woman doing to him. Alfie Solomons swore silently to himself that he’d die before he saw you don a habit and wimple. The mere sight of that alone would kill him.

“Yes sir, yes, I understand. I understand well.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed as it was rather obvious that Alfie Solomons did not, in fact, understand at all.

“She is a good girl, but plain and modest in both looks, prospects, and background. Surely a man of your… stature-” your father’s voice pressed down on this word with distaste “- would have his pick of eligible brides.”

Alfie stifled a chuckle, recognizing that it would do him no good to appear cocky or dismissive of your father’s concerns. Your father was right on all accounts: Alfie Solomons was a gangster, a womanizer, and a criminal. You, on the other hand, were… well, words failed Alfie when it came to describing you, but to say you were everything that he was not was an understatement of the worst kind.

He settled on what he hoped was an appropriately chaste nod. Your father leaned back slightly in his chair, eyeing his eldest daughter’s apparent suitor with bald antipathy. Alfie wasn’t used to people - especially other men - regarding him so openly. It made him uncomfortable in a manner he was quite unused to, as if he was being truly seen for the first time in a long time. He squirmed slightly in his chair, clearing his throat and fidgeting with the wide-brim of his best hat, something he’d had commissioned specifically for this occasion.

The silence between the two men was widening into a chasm. It was more than you could take. Suddenly unable to stop yourself, you leapt up from the crouch you’d been in for the last half hour, eavesdropping from the stairwell with your mother and younger sisters. You launched down the stairs, despite your sisters grabbing at your nightgown. Your mother gasped as you flung open the kitchen door, almost unseating Alfie in the process. Your kitchen was as modest as your future prospects, and with the three of you crammed into the space it was mighty tight. The added pressure of your nearly-dashed hopes, your father’s broad disappointment, and Alfie’s hopeless attachment to you turned the meager room from cozy to positively stifling.

“Papa, please! I love him! You can’t keep me from him, I won’t let you!”

Childish and painfully simple, not nearly the eloquent protest you’d been mulling over all day. And a lie to boot. If push came to shove - as it so often did with your father - he could very much keep you from marrying Alfie Solomons. Your cheeks reddened in embarrassment at your outburst.

Alfie, for one, thought you’d never looked more perfect. Your eyes sparkled in the dim lamplight, your hair was undone and slung over one shoulder in a lazily constructed braid, small curls breaking free around your temples and forehead. Your skin flushed with the unseasonable warm of the September night in Camden Town, those beautiful pillowy lips he couldn’t get out of his head parted and pink. If he was a coarser man and the situation less important, he felt sure he’d grab you and pull you onto his lap right then and there, bystanders and naysayers be damned.

“Saints above, m’dear, come away and cover yourself!” Your mother had been only a few steps behind you. Unable to step fully into the kitchen, she settled for tugging on your arm. Your blush deepened to a shade of red bordering on purple as you realized you were standing in nothing but a summer-thin nightgown. Alfie’s gaze hadn’t made its way far enough from your face yet to take in the ample expanses of skin on display, but your father was glaring daggers into the opposite wall, his jaw set so tight you wondered his teeth didn’t break.

Appropriately embarrassed, the element of surprise now lost to you, you bowed your head and let your mother tug you out of the kitchen. Your mother - a soft-souled romantic at heart - made gentle soothing motions against your back as silent sobs began to rack through you. You climbed the stairs in a fog, your sisters scattering at your mother’s insistence that ‘the show’s over, girls’. With each step higher, you felt certain that the future you’d imagined for yourself with Alfie was destined to be nothing more than a far-flung dream.

The kitchen had sunk back into a tense silence, however for subtle reasons not quite clear to Alfie, your father seemed infinitely more disquieted by your scene than he’d have expected from the sour old puss. Those gnarled, knobby hands that had, until just a moment ago, been laid out like piles of kindling on the table all evening were suddenly clasped together and fidgety. Your father seemed shorter, his spine bowing under an invisible weight. Against himself, Alfie Solomons found himself leaning forward with a hint of concern.

“Sir? Are you quite alright?”

Your father’s gaze had lost none of its venom, although behind that mask of derision was a spark of emotion.

“How did you manage it, Mr. Solomons?” The question was as quiet as snowfall in winter. Alfie almost had to ask him to repeat it.

“What, sir? Manage what, sir?” More stuttering. Gods be damned, Alfie Solomons was a mess. The image of you bursting into the kitchen, all softness and outrage and girlish desire, had tied him into knots.

“My eldest daughter is many things, Mr. Solomons. A diligent student, a kind voice to her sisters, a steadfast helper to her mother. A pious child of God.” (Alfie struggled to keep himself from breaking into an impish grin, knowing that if your father had any inkling of the enthusiastic midnight rendezvous the two of you indulged in frequently that he most certainly would not dub you pious.) “And a passionate spirit, I confess. Yet… that part of her is… locked away.”

Alfie found himself nodding, his memory dragging him back to the first few weeks of your acquaintance. You’d been all business - all ‘yes, Mr. Solomons’ and ‘right away, sir’. But he’d seen that fire in you, the same fire your father spoke of. It simmered deep in your eyes and bubbled up when you laughed. It had sent Alfie to the brink of madness to come so close to something he wanted so badly and to be denied it. But with diligence, patience, and focus - all virtues that Alfie Solomons had gone to great lengths to rid himself of - he’d finally won you over. He’d finally found that the fire inside you burned wild and free. You were raw and open and unfettered with him now. A gift he’d kill for. Hell, he’d die for it too.

“But not with you, apparently.” Your father’s voice trailed off into quiet. Alfie wondered what he was meant to say. He settled on a noncommittal grunt of agreement.

“How that came to be, I find myself unable to hazard a guess…” Another probing gaze, the kind that made Alfie squirm. “And perhaps I wouldn’t like the answer. In fact, I…” Your father stopped suddenly, clearing his throat and straightening his crisp Sunday jacket. A ridiculously formal choice for the occasion, Alfie thought, although he realized he could hardly cast stones as he looked down at his freshest suit, newest hat, and shiniest shoes. It seemed both of them had understood the importance of this night, and of the things that hung in the balance with their words.

“I am quite shocked to hear myself say this, Mr. Solomons, and I urge you to leave quickly lest I reconsider. But yes. You may marry her.”

Alfie wondered if he’d finally drank himself into madness. This surely was a dream, a whiskey-addled fever dream. He gaped openly at your father, stammering out nothing more than shocked noises.

“You don’t have my blessing, although I won’t stand in your way.”

The door to the kitchen burst open again, and in you came once more, squealing and flying into a pair of outstretched arms. Alfie smiled as your father engulfed you in a surprised hug. You were bouncing on your toes, peppering the side of his freshly shaved face with kisses and earnest expressions of ‘oh thank you Papa! Thank you!’ Alfie was glad to see that you’d thrown on a housecoat and pinned up your hair in a style more akin to what he was used to seeing you wear. He didn’t trust himself around you with that just-woke-from-sleep blush on your lips.

Always trailing behind you, in rushed your three sisters and your mother, exclaiming and clapping their hands as if it were a jubilee. How the entire family - plus Alfie Solomons - managed to fit into that pint-sized kitchen was nothing short of a miracle. Hugs were exchanged, and Alfie kissed so many hands he wasn’t sure who’s high-pitched voice was talking to him anymore.

It wasn’t until he felt your familiar weight balancing on the toes of his boots that he felt himself begin to swim into reality. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you tightly, lifting you up off your feet into his embrace. You squeaked with joy, your soft hands finding their way to frame his face. Tossing all rules of propriety to the wind, your lips connected with his in a defiant, joyful, and soft kiss. You were warm under Alfie’s hands, and he was glad that no one but you could hear the groan of need he let loose as he tasted you on his tongue. For a moment, he let himself lose time in your mouth, hands resisting the urge to roam across your backside and around the swell of your hips.

A pointed throat cleared, bringing Alfie Solomons down from the high.

“As I suggested, Mr. Solomons, a timely exit would be a wise decision.”

Despite his generally somber countenance, Alfie could detect the faintest note of happiness in your father’s words. A confident declaration you’d made earlier that week drifted back to Alfie: Papa loves me, Alfie. He’ll have no choice but to say yes when he sees how in love we are.

Alfie hadn’t believed a word of that back then, but he was grateful for your prescience. With a broad smile and a swelling heart, Alfie nodded graciously to your mother, sisters, father, and lastly to you, his bride-to-be, before making his exit. He donned his cap on the front steps outside your door, not minding the oppressive warmth of a sticky night even under his three layers of wool suit.

You stepped halfway out the door to wave shyly as Alfie retreated into the night, his feet barely touching the pavement beneath. He turned back more times than he could count to see you still standing there, bathed in the streetlamp’s light. He rounded the corner at the end of your street with the warm realization that, in a few weeks time, there’d be no more goodbyes from front stoops between the two of you. Only goodnight kisses - likely much more than that, if Alfie had any say at all - as one of you would turn down the bedside lamp, turning off the light on another happy day together in a future neither of you were sure would ever come to be…

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