#Alfie solomons fanfic | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

potter-solomons · 3 days ago

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I don't think even know which parts to pick out because they're magnificent.

I know that I'll only have a baby with a man this feral over me. And this feral over the idea of putting a baby in me.

Oh and please be a menace at family dinners because that scene TOOK ME OUT. Alfie you're incorrigible.

Thank for these two 💛💛💛.

“Family”

Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

Part seven and final of Camden’s sin

Check Alfie’s Masterlist here to read the previous parts

Summary: Just as tensions explode between your brother Tommy and the man you love, Alfie, the family begins to grow—you’re carrying Alfie’s child, and that could shift everything forever.

WC: 12k

Warnings/Tags: smut, minor DNI, dirty talk, unprotected piv, creampie, oral (f!receiving), breeding/pregnancy kink

It had been brewing for days—the suspicion curling low in your belly like the smoke from one of Alfie’s cigars. Your breasts were tender, your appetite unpredictable, and every morning the nausea hit you with the precision of a ticking clock. More than once, you’d caught yourself crying for no reason at all—over a burnt piece of toast, or the way Cyril tilted his head at you. It wasn’t just your body changing; it was the weight of what those changes meant, pulling you deeper into something both terrifying and wonderful. You knew your body. And you knew what this meant.

You’d made up your mind. Tonight. You would tell him tonight.

The night air seeped through the cracked window, heavy with the salt of the Thames and the faint tang of coal smoke. London’s quiet was always unnerving, more a prelude to chaos than peace. You lay curled in Alfie’s bed—your bed now, too—draped in one of his shirts that smelled of his cologne, the fabric soft and worn. Your legs were bare, tucked close to your chest. One hand rested lightly over your stomach, fingertips brushing against the still-flat skin. It didn’t feel different yet, but you knew it was. You could feel it. It was strange, knowing that something so monumental could exist without anyone noticing. Not even him.

The moonlight pooled on the bedspread, casting everything in soft silver. You rehearsed the words again in your mind, the ones you’d been repeating all day, the ones you’d whispered to Cyril when no one else was around. You’d burned toast pacing the kitchen, told the dog your secret like it was between you and God. It was easier to say in the stillness, without his intense eyes watching you, waiting for answers you weren’t sure how to give.

The sound of the front door slamming yanked you from your thoughts.

It wasn’t the usual slam. This one was different. Violent. Like a warning shot, rattling the walls and sending a stack of books tumbling from the desk. Cyril barked sharply, but then—silence. A tense, ominous silence. Your heart leapt into your throat. You sat upright, clutching the edge of the blanket as the sound of heavy footsteps began pacing below. Circling. Uneven. Like whoever they belonged to was trying not to break something.

Or someone.

The bedroom door flew open.

Alfie filled the doorway like a storm. His coat hung askew, as if it had been half-ripped off in a fit of rage. His hair was wild, and his eyes burned with a fury that made the air feel thinner. His fists were clenched, veins bulging against his skin, and his jaw worked furiously as though holding back words that might burn worse than fire. He looked like a man who had lost everything and couldn’t stop himself from taking it back.

“Alfie?” you whispered, your voice small, trembling. “What’s happened?”

He didn’t answer. For a moment, he just stood there, staring at you like you were the only thing tethering him to the earth. But his breathing was sharp, his chest rising and falling in jagged bursts, and the silence between you felt like it might shatter any second. The way he looked at you—raw, broken, furious—made your skin prickle.

“Warehouse,” he muttered at last, voice gravel-thick and slurred at the edges. “East End, yeah? Big bastard—loaded with the good shit. You know the one I’m talkin’ about?”

You nodded, your pulse thudding painfully in your ears.

“Gone,” he snapped. His voice cracked like a whip, harsh and unrelenting. “Set alight. Went up like a fuckin’ lantern.” He stepped further into the room, his shadow stretching long against the walls. “You know how I found out?” His voice rose, dangerous and biting. “Your dear brother Tommy. Left me a fuckin’ note, he did. Real polite, real proper. Like he was sendin’ condolences after a bloody funeral.”

Your breath hitched.

“Three of my men,” he hissed, shaking his head. “Trapped inside. They didn’t stand a fuckin’ chance. Burned to ash.” He made a harsh sound in the back of his throat, something halfway between a laugh and a growl. “And all my stock? Years’ worth of work? Gone. Just gone.”

You crossed the room carefully, the floor creaking beneath your steps. “Alfie—”

“Don’t,” he barked, his voice breaking. The word was sharp, almost a plea. “Don’t you start with that look. You didn’t see it. You weren’t there pickin’ teeth out of rubble, tryin’ to tell what bit used to be a man, smellin’ a man’s skin burnin’ off his back like meat on a spit. He’s started a fuckin’ war.”

He grabbed a bottle from the sideboard, yanking the cork out with his teeth before downing a mouthful. The burn made him wince, but he didn’t stop. You didn’t move to stop him either. Not yet. His boots left muddy prints on the rug, soot smudging the floorboards. You didn’t care. You only cared about the fire in his chest, threatening to consume him whole.

He paced like a caged animal, one hand dragging through his hair. “I’m going to return the favor.”

“No,” you said firmly, stepping in front of him. “No, you’re not.”

He stopped short, his eyes narrowing. “The fuck I’m not.”

You reached for him, your fingers brushing his wrist. His pulse was wild beneath your touch, like a drumbeat out of rhythm. “Alfie,” you murmured, softer now. “Please.”

For a moment, he didn’t move. Then, with a shuddering breath, he let you pull the bottle from his hands. You set it down on the sideboard, ignoring the way his shoulders shook beneath your palms.

Then you held him.

And he broke.

Not fully. Not loudly. But enough. His arms came around you, crushing you to him like you were the only thing keeping him upright. His breath was fast and uneven at your neck. You felt the rage, the grief, the vengeful weight of his anger cracking open in his chest. It wasn’t weakness; it was survival. A moment to breathe before the storm took him again.

“You don’t walk away from this kind of thing,” he said hoarsely, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Not now. He set fire to my house, love. And I ain’t lettin’ that go unanswered.”

“Alfie,” you said, your voice trembling. “I need to tell you something.”

His hand came up to the back of your neck, rough and shaking. He looked down at you, his eyes searching. “What is it?”

You swallowed hard, your heart pounding. “I’m pregnant.”

He stilled completely.

For a full five seconds, he didn’t blink. His chest rose once, then again, slower this time. You could see it—the exact moment the words sank in, the rage bleeding out of his eyes and being replaced by something raw and electric.

“…Come again, yeah?” he rasped, blinking slow, like he couldn’t quite believe he’d heard you right. “Say that again for me, love. Nice and slow.”

You stepped closer, your voice steadier now. “I said I’m pregnant. You put a baby in me, Alfie.”

It hit him like a punch to the gut, all the anger from moments before completely forgotten. He staggered back a step, his mouth opening and closing as if he were trying to form words but couldn’t. Then, finally, a sound burst out of him—a half-growl, half-laugh that was so full of pride it sent a shiver down your spine.

His breath caught, voice going hoarse as the truth hit him like a punch.

“You—you’re tellin’ me you’re serious, yeah? That you got my fuckin’ kid in you?” His eyes searched yours, wild and glassy with disbelief. “Christ.”

You nodded, breathless from the force of him. “Yeah.”

His face lit up with something wild and primal. His mouth fell open—then came the laugh. Low and dark and utterly deranged with pride. It rumbled up from his chest like something that didn’t belong to the man but to the animal that lived just under his skin. He sank to his knees in front of you like you were royalty and pressed his face against your belly.

He let out a low, reverent groan, mouth dragging down your shirt, brushing skin, lips moving like he was whispering prayers straight into your belly.

“Fuck me,” he muttered, rough and raw. “Look at you, yeah? That’s mine, innit. My baby, right there. Growin’ in your sweet little belly like it belongs. Fuckin’ Proof, that is. Proof you’re mine.”

You carded your fingers through his wild curls, your breath hitching when he looked up at you with those blazing, filthy eyes.

There was hunger there, yes—but something else too. Worship. Terror. A kind of mad devotion that made your knees weak.

“Alfie…”

“I fuckin’ knew it,” he growled, voice turning darker, hungrier, as he pushed the shirt off you, kissing up your torso like a starving man. “Knew you’d keep it, love. Knew your little body’d take me—take all of me—like it was made for it.”

His mouth was everywhere, devouring the shape of you as if he could taste the future through your skin. Every kiss was a promise, every breath a vow.

He stood up and scooped you into his arms before you could argue. Carried you like a ragdoll to the bed, laying you down gently, like you were porcelain.

But there was nothing delicate in the way his eyes drank you in—dark, dilated, searing through layers of flesh and bone straight to your soul.

“You alright, yeah?” he asked roughly, like he didn’t trust his own voice. “Nothin’ hurtin’? ‘Cause I swear on every drop of blood in me—I’ll murder every fuckin’ doctor if they so much as look at you wrong. You’re royalty now, yeah? And they better treat you like it.”

His thumb stroked your cheekbone, trembling faintly—he was trying to control himself, to not fall apart entirely. You could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his lips parted like he couldn’t find enough air.

Your legs wrapped around his hips without thinking, dragging him in, anchoring him there like gravity had shifted just for you. You felt his cock already straining in his trousers, thick, hot, twitching with need, pressed right up against your soaked core like it knew exactly where it belonged.

The heat between you flared like a match to gasoline—raw, immediate, inevitable, a spark turned inferno as your soaked cunt clenched around nothing, already aching for him.

“Alfie—”

His tone shifted fast, low and guttural now, thick with want. “Nah. Nah, don’t stop me now, darlin’. Can’t. Not after what you just said. Can’t walk away from that. You don’t say shit like that to a man like me unless you want him inside you again immediately.”

He lowered his body onto yours, forehead against yours, his hips grinding slow, deliberate, right against your throbbing clit through the fabric.

The friction was maddening, even through the layers—like fire dragging against silk. You felt every ridge, every pulse of him—thick and leaking, trapped behind his clothes—your body already weeping, pussy so slick you could feel the mess soaking through your knickers and into his trousers.

“Fuckin’ bred you,” he whispered, voice ragged. “Put my seed so deep you’re still carryin’ it. Jesus Christ. Do you have any idea what that does to me? What that fuckin’ means to me?”

Your hips bucked up. “Tell me.”

His grin was pure sin. “Makes me wanna do it again. Right fuckin’ now. Deeper. Slower. Meaner. Make you drip for a week.”

He undid his trousers, the sound of his belt unbuckling sharp in the haze, shoved your knickers aside, and dragged the head of his cock through your wet folds—slow, reverent, almost shaking.

Your slick coated him instantly, strings of it clinging to his cock as he slid it through your folds, nudging your swollen clit with every pass.

His breath hitched like it hurt to touch you this way—like the sweetness of it was too much for his rough, bloodied world.

“Gonna fuck you,” he growled, “soft and deep, the way you like it, so it settles in even more. Gonna make sure you never forget who did this to you. Who got you like this.”

He slid inside you slow, with a deep, guttural groan—like it physically hurt him to go at anything less than brutal. But he did it. Because your body was different now. Precious now. His now.

And his rough hands moved with almost reverence over your hips, gripping you like you were a sacred thing as he pushed all the way in.

The stretch made your breath leave in a rush, your hands clutching at his back like lifelines. You could feel the thickness of him—every vein, every inch— the deliberate press of him splitting you open all over again, dragging against the swollen walls of your cunt like he wanted to leave a mark on your insides.

“There she is,” he breathed. “Sweet little thing all full of me—fuckin’ hell. You feel different, d’you know that? Already. Swear I can fuckin’ feel the change… can feel my baby inside you.”

You gasped as he bottomed out, thick and pulsing, so deep you swore you could feel him in your belly.

His slow rolls of his hips ground perfectly against the spot that made your spine light up, made your thighs tremble, your belly tighten.

Pleasure sparked up your spine like electricity. Your belly tightened, nerves blazing, the whole world narrowed down to the rhythm of his body inside yours.

The drag of his cock was sweet torment, every inch leaving you raw and wanting.

“You like that, yeah?” he murmured, watching your face. “Still takin’ me so sweet after I’ve already knocked you up. Jesus Christ, love… look at you. Look how you grip me—like your cunt knows I belong here. Like it’s never lettin’ me out.”

The words alone made your walls flutter around him, tight and wet and greedy.

Shame and heat flooded your chest, your whole body reacting to him like it was built for this. He did belong there. You didn’t want to imagine what it felt like not to have him inside you.

“It’s too much, fuck, but I don’t wanna stop—” you sobbed, overwhelmed by the pleasure. “Your cock feels so fucking good. So right.”

He dipped down, kissed your neck, your cheek, your mouth—then nuzzled your jaw as he thrust again, slow and deep. His cock dragged along every trembling inch inside you, painfully slow, like he was carving the shape of himself into your memory. Like he wanted to live there.

He grunted against your neck, hips rocking forward again, thick length pushing deeper than you thought possible. Every thrust was like a heartbeat—anchoring you, binding you, melting you into the sheets beneath.

“I’m gonna keep you like this,” he muttered, voice shaking with how fucking gone he was. “Gonna keep you barefoot and full of my fuckin’ baby, over and over. Yeah? One’s not enough. Wanna see you waddling, belly round as a moon, tits full of milk, so every bastard in Camden knows who ruined you.”

Your breath caught—because the heat in your belly said yes. Fuck yes. His filthy obsession was infectious, and it made your thighs tremble.

You could see it now—feel it: his hand on your belly, his cock buried deep, grinding slow and heavy into your overstretched cunt while his teeth dragged over your throat, his beard scraping your skin.

“Alfie… Don’t stop. Don’t ever stop. Just keep fucking me like this.” You breathed, voice thick with lust and something deeper.

“I’ll fuck you in the bakery,” he growled, voice going deeper. “On the rum barrels. On the fuckin’ counter. I’ll bend you over with flour still on your tits and cum inside you ‘til you’re drippin’ in front of everyone. I’ll take you everywhere, till the whole fuckin’ city smells of your cunt and my cum. I’ll be feedin’ you pastries while you ride my cock—big belly in my face—fuckin’ dream come true, that is.”

You clenched around him, moaning shamelessly. Your body sang for him, thrummed with need, already teetering on the edge. Your pussy pulsed around him like it was trying to milk him already.

“Oh, you like that, don’t you?” he grinned against your throat. “Yeah, you do. ‘Course you fuckin’ do. You’re mine. Mine to fill, mine to breed, mine to ruin.”

He braced one hand under your thigh, dragged it up high around his waist, angling his hips just right—and that was it.

Your nails raked down his back, dragging angry red lines as you came, gasping, your whole body locking up around his cock.

“Yes, yes, fuck—right there, Alfie, that’s it, gonna cum—” you cried, hips chasing every deep grind of his.

The orgasm tore through you like a storm, blinding and wet and violent. Your back bowed off the bed, mouth open in a silent cry, slick pouring down your thighs as your cunt spasmed around him, milking every inch.

Alfie’s face twisted like he was in pain. “Ffffuck—Jesus, darlin’—gonna make me do it again—gonna—shit—”

He pulled out just enough to watch himself disappear again into your slick, fluttering cunt—then slammed forward, one last thrust, and came with a hoarse groan that sounded half like a prayer and half like an exorcism.

His whole body shuddered, muscles locking, cock pulsing deep as he emptied himself inside you. Thick, hot ropes spilling into your cunt, so much you felt it dripping already, leaking from where you were stretched open around him.

He spilled deep inside you, trembling from head to toe, collapsing half on top of you as he breathed against your neck.

His heart pounded hard enough to rattle your ribs.

He pressed his forehead against your shoulder, lips moving in reverent, broken murmurs you could barely catch.

And even while still inside you, cock softening, he murmured:

“I’m not stoppin’, you know.”

You laughed weakly against his chest. “Stopping what?”

He raised his head, eyes wild, grin crooked. “Fillin’ you. Every fuckin’ week, I swear it. I’m givin’ it siblings. Six, maybe seven. Peaky fuckin’ brood, yeah? Little gang of curly-haired monsters.”

“Alfie—”

“Shut up, I’m talkin’. We’ll name the first one after me. Or maybe after you, if it’s a girl. She’ll be beautiful. Mean as fuck. God help us.”

You giggled, and Alfie leaned in to kiss you again, slow and filthy, his thumb sliding over your still-trembling cunt as if he couldn’t stop touching you.

The kiss was messy, desperate—full of tongue and need and too much love to fit between teeth. You whimpered into it, drunk on him, on the future he’d already built in his head.

“You,” he whispered, “are the best fuckin’ thing that’s ever happened to me. And now you’re makin’ more of you.”

His voice turned reverent again, a little cracked.

“Thank fuckin’ God for this miracle.”

The late afternoon was cloaked in a thick, gray sky that seemed to press down on the city like a weight. The streets of Birmingham smelled of rain and smoke, a constant reminder of what had been lost—and what might be lost still. The thick clouds seemed to echo the tension in your chest, heavy and unyielding, as though the city itself braced for what was to come.

You and Polly sat in the back room of the Garrison, the air thick with cigarette smoke and whispered tension. The wood paneling felt colder than usual, and every tick of the clock seemed amplified in the silence. The room, dimly lit by a single flickering gas lamp, felt suffocating. You ran your hand along the edge of the table, trying to ground yourself in something tangible, but even the rough wood felt distant.

“We need this to work,” Polly said quietly, her voice steady but serious. “This war… it’ll kill us all if it’s not stopped. And now that you’re carrying Alfie’s child—Tommy needs to know. Needs to understand there’s more at stake than just revenge.” Her voice softened slightly, the steel giving way to something more vulnerable. “We’ve lost too much already, love. This can’t go on.”

You swallowed hard. The truth felt like a weight in your chest, heavy and fragile all at once. You thought of the life growing inside you, a tiny spark of hope in the midst of all this chaos. It was too soon for you to feel it move, but sometimes, when you were alone, you placed your hand on your belly and whispered prayers for its safety.

“He won’t like it,” you said quietly.

“No, he won’t,” Polly replied, her tone clipped. “But he’ll listen. He’s still my nephew, and deep down, even Tommy Shelby knows when to shut up and take advice.” Her words were confident, but there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes that she couldn’t quite hide.

You weren’t sure if that was true. Tommy’s temper had only grown worse since he declared war on Alfie, and every action he took seemed more reckless than the last. The destruction left in his wake was a constant reminder that the brother you once knew was slipping further away, consumed by vengeance and pride.

“He’s a stubborn son of a bitch,” Polly added with a bitter smile. “But he’s not a monster. Not completely. We’ll see if he can still be reasoned with.”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “When are we doing this?”

“Tomorrow night,” Polly said. “Neutral ground. Somewhere they can’t pull their guns without the whole city knowing.” Her lips pressed into a thin line as she exhaled sharply, flicking ash from her cigarette into the tray. “But don’t expect miracles. These are men we’re dealing with, not saints.”

…

Later that evening, you found Alfie in his study. He was leaning back in his chair, reading over some papers by candlelight. The room smelled of leather and smoke, the warmth of the hearth casting flickering shadows across his face. The glow softened the usual harshness in his features, though his furrowed brow made it clear his mind was far from restful.

“Alfie,” you said softly, stepping into the room.

He looked up, his eyes instantly softening when they landed on you. “Ah, look who it is—my little treacle and my tiny tot,” His voice, usually gruff and sharp, had an uncharacteristic warmth to it when he spoke to you. “What’s this then, eh? What’s got that pretty face lookin’ all troubled?”

You moved closer, sitting on the edge of his desk. He reached for you instinctively, his large hand covering yours. The callouses on his palm were rough against your skin, a stark contrast to the gentleness of his touch.

“I spoke to Polly today,” you began.

His brow furrowed. “Yeah, well, that don’t sound promisin’, now does it?”

“She wants to arrange a meeting. Between you and Tommy.”

The tension in his jaw was immediate. “No.” The single word hung in the air like a thunderclap, final and immovable.

“Alfie—”

“No, no, darlin’. No fuckin’ way am I sittin’ in a room with that fuckin’ cunt. Just so he can flap his gums and call it ‘negotiation,’ yeah?” He leaned back in his chair with a groan, crossing his arms like the decision was already carved in stone.

You leaned forward, gripping his hand tighter. “This war is going to destroy everything, Alfie. And not just for you or Tommy—for me, for our baby.”

“Don’t you bloody start bringin’ the baby into this,” he grumbled, his tone sharp, though his gaze briefly flicked to your stomach with a softness that belied his words.

“The baby has everything to do with this. It’s the reason this fucking war between you two has to stop!” Your voice cracked, but you didn’t care. If there was ever a time to fight for something, it was now.

His gaze dropped to your belly, and for a moment, the anger in his eyes dimmed. “And you think he’ll listen to reason, do you?”

“He’ll listen to Polly,” you said. “And you’ll listen to me.” Your hand rested protectively over your stomach, a silent reminder of what was at stake.

Alfie smirked, but there was no humor in it. “Oh, I always listen to you, don’t I, treacle? ‘Specially when you’re screamin’ my name and beggin’ me not to stop—”

“Alfie.” You cut him off with a glare, though your cheeks flushed.

“What?” He feigned innocence, his grin widening at your reaction. “S’true, innit? Maybe I should jog your memory later, yeah? Just so you don’t forget who’s runnin’ things ‘round here.”

You sighed, fighting a smile. “I’m serious, Alfie.”

“So am I,” he murmured, leaning forward until the rough tip of his nose brushed yours, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “But alright then. I’ll go. For you, right? And for this little one.” His hand rested gently over your stomach, his calloused fingers strangely tender. “But I’m tellin’ you now, treacle, if your brother so much as breathes wrong, I won’t be held responsible for what happens next, yeah?”

…

Alfie even promised he’d go unarmed. That, of course, had been a lie. You saw the glint of steel as he tucked his revolver into his coat before leaving the house. You begged silently that he wouldn’t have to use it, clutching your belly as if to shield the baby from the chaos brewing.

The warehouse Polly chose was abandoned and quiet, sitting on the outskirts of Birmingham. The air was cold and damp, carrying the faint metallic scent of rust and decay. The only sounds were the distant hum of the city and the occasional creak of the old building’s walls, like a living thing groaning beneath the weight of its history. It was an eerie kind of peace, the kind that pressed against your ears and made every breath feel too loud.

You arrived first with Alfie, his hand gripping yours as he surveyed the space with narrowed eyes. The weight of his presence was grounding, even as his tension radiated like heat. You could feel the restrained energy in him, the readiness to pounce, like a predator pacing the edge of its territory.

He glanced around the space, his nose wrinkling in disdain as the faint echo of his cane tapping against the floor punctuated the silence. “This?” he muttered, waving his free hand dismissively at the building. “This is what you lot are callin’ neutral ground, is it? Fuckin’ ‘ell. It’s a shithole, love. Thought the Shelby name carried more weight than this.”

“Behave,” you murmured, squeezing his hand. Your tone was soft, but there was a firmness beneath it that only he could draw out of you.

Before he could respond, the creak of the warehouse door interrupted. Tommy entered with Polly at his side. His sharp blue eyes locked onto Alfie immediately, his posture tense and coiled like a spring. It was the look of a man walking into a trap he’d already planned ten ways to escape. Polly walked slightly ahead, her heels clicking against the concrete with a deliberate rhythm, her presence commanding enough to keep the room from erupting—at least for now.

“Tommy,” you greeted softly, stepping forward.

Alfie straightened beside you, his posture loose but his presence commanding. The smirk tugging at his lips was deliberate, sharp, and as much a weapon as the revolver tucked into his coat. “Ah, Tommy-boy,” he drawled, the nickname stretched out with a mocking lilt. “Come to kiss and make up, have we? Thought you’d at least bring flowers.”

Tommy’s gaze flickered between you and Alfie, his jaw tightening. His hand moved like lightning, drawing his gun and pointing it straight at Alfie’s head. The air crackled with sudden, electric tension, every breath frozen in anticipation.

“Tommy!” you gasped, stepping between them. “Put that down right now.”

“Yeah, mate, go on then—put it down,” Alfie said, chuckling in that maddening, gravelly way of his, like he already had the upper hand. “Don’t wanna leave your niece or nephew without a dad now, do ya? That’d be a bit cold, even for you, eh?”

Tommy’s brow furrowed, his aim steady as a rock. His voice cut through the air like a blade. “What’s he talkin’ about?”

The question hung heavy in the air, the room shrinking around you as all eyes turned to you. Your heart raced, each beat reverberating in your ears as you swallowed the lump in your throat.

“There’s something you need to know,” you said, your voice trembling but determined. You took a steadying breath and said the words that could change everything. “I’m… pregnant.”

For a moment, time stood still. Tommy’s eyes narrowed, disbelief hardening into something colder. It wasn’t anger—it was worse. It was calculation, the quiet devastation of a man piecing together a puzzle he wished he hadn’t started.

“That’s right,” Alfie said, his grin growing wider, more brazen, as he pulled you closer with a casual arm around your shoulders. “Went and put a bloody baby in this one, didn’t I? Bound to happen sooner or later. Every time I tried to pull out, she dragged me right back in.”

He winked, eyes glinting with wicked delight, utterly shameless, enjoying the effect his words had on the room. “Can’t blame her though, right? Warm little thing like that? She was like ‘Please, Alfie, I want it insi—’”

Tommy’s jaw tightened, the muscles in his face ticking with barely suppressed fury. His tone was flat but dangerous. “I didn’t come here to listen to your bullshit, Solomons.”

“Well, that’s unfortunate, innit?” Alfie shot back when Tommy snapped, his tone a mockery of sympathy. “Real shame, ‘cause my mouth’s got plenty more to say. Like how while you’ve been busy throwin’ your little war games, I’ve been takin’ real good care of your sister. Knocking her up and all—seems I’ve been a bit more productive, eh?”

Tommy lunged, his gun lowering slightly, but Polly stepped between them, her voice cutting through the tension like a whip. “Enough!”

The room fell silent, the weight of Polly’s command pulling everyone to a standstill. Her eyes blazed as she turned to each man in turn, her sheer presence silencing even Alfie’s retort.

“We’re here to end this,” Polly said, her voice steel. “Not to throw punches like bloody children.”

Tommy’s gaze shifted to you, cold and hard, his disappointment barely hidden. “You had to get yourself pregnant, didn’t you?” The words were spat like venom, deliberate and sharp.

“You don’t know the half of it, mate,” Alfie cut in, grinning like the devil himself. “Beggin’ for it, she was. Practically pullin’ me into bed every night. What can I say? She knows what she wants. But I bet you remember my little letter too well.

“Alfie,” you hissed, your cheeks burning with mortification.

“What?” he said when your mortification bubbled over, his grin refusing to waver. “I’m just bein’ honest. Tommy oughta be thankin’ me, truth be told. His sister’s looked after. Gonna make her a mother, give her a family. Done him a favor, really.”

Tommy’s hand twitched, finger toying with the trigger, his fury threatening to boil over. You stepped forward, your voice breaking through the chaos. “Enough! Both of you!”

Tommy sneered. “You shut up. This is between me and him.”

“Oi, you watch your fuckin’ mouth when you talk to her,” Alfie growled, his voice low and razor-edged when Tommy barked at you. The shift in tone was immediate, dangerous, and unmistakably protective.

His head turned slightly, his icy stare fixed on you. “I’ll speak to my sister however I damn well please.”

Alfie took a step closer, his body taut with barely restrained violence. “Listen to me, you fuckin’ cunt—”

Screams, reproaches, and obscenities flew from one side of the room to the other like cannon fire, the echo of their voices bouncing off the walls, leaving no corner untouched. Alfie’s booming laughter and sharp retorts clashed with Tommy’s seething growls, creating a cacophony that rattled your bones. Polly stood to the side, her arms crossed and her face taut with frustration, her sharp eyes darting between the two men like a general assessing the battlefield.

It felt endless—a storm without a lull, a fight that would never find resolution.

“Fucking stop with this nonsense!” you yelled, your voice slicing through the chaos like a lightning strike. The force of your words silenced them, leaving an aching quiet in their wake. Even Polly turned to look at you, her expression unreadable.

You took a shaky breath, your hands trembling as you stepped forward. “I’m not asking for you two to be friends,” you continued, your voice cracking with emotion. “Not asking for family dinners, or for you to act like you don’t hate each other’s guts. I’m just asking for the man I love and my brother not to kill each other in front of me.” The words came out in a rush, a desperate plea that left your chest heaving.

Tommy’s cold eyes fixed on you, but the hardness in his gaze faltered for a brief moment. You pressed on, the weight of your desperation driving you forward.

“Please, Tommy,” you begged, your voice softening. “If you love me, if even a shred of that love still exists, and if you want to see me happy, you’ll put an end to this. Before it’s too late. Before I lose my brother and the father of my child at the same time.”

Your voice cracked on the last words, tears welling in your eyes as the raw emotion spilled out of you. The sight of your pain seemed to pierce through Tommy’s defenses. His jaw tightened, and his shoulders slumped slightly as if the weight of your words had landed squarely on his chest. He looked away, his mouth opening and closing like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

After a long, tense silence, he spoke. His voice was low, rough, but there was a heaviness to it that you hadn’t heard before. “You know I’ll never accept this decision you’ve made,” he said, each word deliberate and firm. “And don’t think for a second I’ll ever call this… dog family.”

“Don’t worry, mate,” Alfie interjected, his voice breaking through the solemnity like a crack of thunder. “The feelin’s mutual.”

Tommy’s head snapped toward Alfie, his glare sharp enough to cut, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned back to you. “But at the end of the day it’s your choice,” he continued, his tone softening ever so slightly. “And I’ll respect it.”

Your breath hitched, relief mingling with the ache in your chest. “You’ll stop with all this war nonsense?” you asked cautiously, your voice barely above a whisper.

Tommy nodded, the motion slow and deliberate. But his eyes shifted to Alfie, the tension between them still tangible. “You’re gonna marry her?” he asked, his voice low and controlled, though the simmering anger beneath was unmistakable.

You froze, the question hanging in the air like a challenge. Your heart pounded in your chest as you turned to Alfie, whose ever-present smirk softened into something more serious. He leaned slightly on his cane, his posture as steady as his voice when he spoke.

“Course I’m marryin’ her,” Alfie said plainly, as if the answer was obvious to anyone with a brain. “Ain’t that right, love?” His eyes softened just a fraction when they landed on you, but the intensity was still there, as unrelenting as ever.

“Ain’t about to let my kid be a bastard,” he added, his grin widening into a cocky laugh. “Just waitin’ to find the right bloody rock, yeah? Can’t propose to a woman like her with some cheap little trinket. She’s worth more than that.”

Tommy’s fists clenched, his knuckles whitening. “Good,” he said, his voice dropping to a near growl. “Because if you don’t—or if you hurt her—I will make you suffer in ways you can’t imagine. Doesn’t matter where you go or how many men you hide behind. I’ll find you. And when I do, you’ll wish for death long before it comes.”

Alfie’s chuckle then wasn’t warm—it was the sound of a man issuing a challenge, his words a provocation. “Oh, you’ll kill me, will you? That’s cute, mate. Real cute. But let me tell you somethin’, yeah?” He stepped forward, his grin turning razor-sharp, his voice dipping into that deep, rumbling mockery that made men uneasy. “I’m not the type to hurt her. Unless, of course, you’re countin’ all the times I’ve made her scream my name loud enough to wake the bloody dead.”

“Alfie!” you hissed, mortified, but he didn’t stop.

“See, Tommy,” Alfie continued, gesturing lazily with his cane. “Your sister—she’s happy with me. Proper happy. And if you’d just pull that stick outta your arse, you might just see it for yourself.”

Tommy’s hand twitched at his side, his restraint hanging by a thread. For a moment, you thought he might actually hit Alfie. But instead, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, forcing himself to step back.

“I don’t like you, Alfie,” Tommy said plainly, his voice cold. “And I never will. But for her…I’ll give you one chance. Just one.”

Alfie raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “How generous of you, mate.”

Polly, who had been silently fuming, finally stepped forward, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Enough of this back and forth,” she snapped. “You two are going to spit and shake on it like men, or not? Agree to keep out of each other’s business and leave it at that.”

The two men exchanged a long, loaded look. Then, with a reluctant grimace, Tommy spit into his palm and extended his hand.

“Fine,” he said curtly.

Alfie mirrored the gesture, his grip firm as he shook Tommy’s hand. “Fine,” he echoed, his tone laced with irony.

The handshake was brief, a brittle truce that felt more like a fuse waiting to be lit. But it was enough.

Polly let out a sharp exhale, muttering under her breath, “Men and their bloody pride.”

Two months later…

The sound of laughter and clinking glasses spilled out of the Shelby dining room before you and Alfie even made it through the front door.

The muffled din pulsed against the cold air outside, a boisterous warmth pressing against the quiet tension coiling in your growing stomach. Alfie’s large hand hovered protectively at the small of your back, radiating heat even through the fabric of your dress.

“Right, then,” Alfie muttered, glancing sideways at you, brows lifting. “What we reckon, eh? Who’s first to sling a bloody insult across the table? My money’s on Arthur—bloke’s wound tighter than a knackered watch.”

You sighed, already regretting this. “Please, Alfie, for once in your life, just try to behave.”

Your fingers twisted together at your side, the air sharp with the scent of roast meat and tobacco seeping from under the door.

“Behave?” He scoffed, tilting his head with that crooked grin, hand brushing gently over the small swell of your stomach. “Right, listen, yeah—if it’s quiet you lot wanted, then they shouldn’t’ve invited me, right? I’m not a fuckin’ church mouse, love, I’m Alfie fuckin’ Solomons.”

“I invited you.”

“Exactly.” He grinned. “You knew what you were gettin’.” His smile was crooked, dangerous, but softened when he glanced at the curve of your belly again, his thumb brushing there just long enough to make your breath catch.

Before you could respond, Polly’s voice rang out from the other side of the room. “If you’re going to stand in the doorway all night, Solomons, you might as well piss off now.”

With a low chuckle, Alfie strode into the dining room, his heavy boots thudding against the floorboards.

He walked like he owned the house, his coat brushing the backs of chairs, his presence sucking the air from the room like a shifting tide.

“Lovely to see you too, Pol,” Alfie said, voice dipped in sarcasm and the ghost of affection.

The room went momentarily quiet as you stepped in, Alfie at your side.

The Shelby clan turned their heads in unison—like wolves scenting an intruder. A dozen eyes settled on you, cold, curious, calculating. Your spine stiffened.

Arthur pointed his fork at Alfie, eyes blazing. “Who invited this—”

“Arthur!” Polly’s voice cracked like a whip, silencing him before he could finish.

Your pulse thudded behind your eyes, the thick scent of whiskey and roasted meat suddenly cloying.

“Please sit down,” Polly asked you.

You joined the table with the rest of your family. Alfie beside you, his thigh pressing against yours beneath the table like a quiet promise of chaos.

Tommy’s eyes hadn’t left Alfie once. Ice blue, unblinking. Sizing him up like a gun with one bullet left. The air between them was electric, coiled like wire, and you could feel it crackle along your skin.

Ada broke the silence first. “So, Alfie. How’s the bakery?”

He took a sip. “Still full of flour and Jews, thanks. No shortage of either.”

Ada choked on her wine.

Arthur laughed, even if he tried not to. “He’s fuckin’ mental, innit.”

“Oi!” Alfie said brightly, gesturing with his glass. “Don’t talk about me like I’m not sittin’ right fuckin’ ‘ere, yeah? It’s rude. I’m sensitive, me.”

“It’s been a month since the wedding,” Ada said. “How’s marriage life going?”

“It’s goin’ very well, thank you kindly,” he said, eyes glittering. “Plan is I’ll keep shaggin’ her ‘til me legs give out, and if she still fancies me after I’m knackered and half-dead, I’ll let her chain me to a bloody chair and spoon-feed me soup ‘til I croak.”

Silence.

Tommy blinked.

Arthur spit his drink.

Ada was howling.

“Jesus Christ,” Polly muttered.

You just sighed, resting a hand on your forehead. Your cheeks were hot with equal parts exasperation and reluctant amusement. A flicker of warmth curled in your chest despite everything.

“That’s romantic for him,” you said.

Alfie turned to you, grinning like a man in love. “Ain’t no higher praise, is there, darlin’? You shagged the knees right off me.” His voice was rough velvet, eyes glittering with mischief and adoration that sent a flutter through your ribs.

Tommy’s voice cut through the laughter. “Don’t talk about her like that.”

Alfie didn’t even glance at Tommy. “I talk about my missus like I want every bastard in this room to know she’s mine. Because she fuckin’ is.”

“You’ve got a fuckin’ death wish,” Tommy said.

“It’s a family dinner,” you reminded everyone, though your voice was lost in the chaos. “Can we just… eat and have a good time?”

“No,” Tommy said, exhaling smoke in Alfie’s direction, “because your man here invites himself and thinks he can sit at this table, in my house, and pretend he’s anything more than a cocky little bastard with delusions of grandeur.”

Alfie smirked, leaning back in his chair now, his broad shoulders filling the space like he was born to it, chest broad, posture loud as a shout. “She invited me, didn’t she? And you, Thomas… you’re just a boy in a big bloody coat, marchin’ around like you’re Moses with a gin problem. You’ve got the charm of a wet sock and the temperament of a rabid dog.”

You groaned. “Alfie.”

“What?!” Alfie barked, gesturing toward Tommy like he was on trial. “I’m defendin’ meself, love! Man’s been givin’ me the stink eye since I walked in—like I pissed on his horse or somethin’.”

“That’s because you don’t belong here.” Tommy snapped.

“Don’t belong?” Alfie’s voice shot up, tone biting now as he gestured to you, eyes blazing. “I’ve got a baby on the way with your sister, mate. Your sister, yeah? The one I married. So if we’re talkin’ about who belongs, maybe it ain’t the geezer who tried to burn me out of business three months ago, eh?”

Tommy stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor. “And I’d do it again if it meant keepin’ you out of my family!”

He stood now too, chest puffed, voice booming. “Your family?” he sneered. “Hate to break it to ya, mate, but she’s mine now, right? That little one in her belly—also mine. So how about you sit the fuck down and stop actin’ like you’ve got exclusive rights to what’s best for her.”

Polly stood then, slamming her palm on the table so hard it silenced everyone. “Enough!” she roared, her eyes sharp and unforgiving. “Both of you, sit down and shut up before I knock your heads together!”

Alfie turned to you, his expression softening just slightly. “Love, I was just—”

“I don’t care what you were just,” you snapped, glaring at him. “I brought you here because I thought—God knows why—that we could try to be a family.”

“Family?” Tommy scoffed. “He’s not family.”

“Neither are you,” Alfie said coolly. “Not when you torched my fuckin’ warehouse.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake!” you yelled, throwing your napkin onto the table. “Can we get through one bloody night without bringing that up?” Your voice cracked with exhaustion, the words punching through clenched teeth.

Polly raised her glass, her voice cutting through the tension. “Here’s to family. Dysfunctional as it may be.”

Tommy and Alfie exchanged one last glare before reluctantly raising their glasses.

“To family,” Alfie muttered, though his eyes never left Tommy.

“To family,” Tommy echoed, his voice dry as ash.

The toast landed like a lead weight, the clinking of glasses little more than the sound of temporary truces. And yet you felt a flicker of triumph low in your belly. After everything that went down, after threats and near bloodshed, you had them both seated at the same fucking table without pulling their guns at the other. You knew the insults would always be there, but still… this was the closest you could be to a family.

The dinner began awkwardly, but as the whiskey began to flow freely, so did the shoulders loosen.

“Well, Alfie,” John drawled, his grin wide and mischievous as he leaned back in his chair. “The man, the myth, the legend. Didn’t think you’d have the bollocks to show up at a Shelby dinner.”

“This one…” He jerked his chin toward you, eyes gleaming with both admiration and amusement. “She’s got a knack, right? Twists a man’s arm without ever liftin’ a finger. Fuckin’ lethal, she is.”

“Twists a man’s arm or breaks his back,” John quipped, his grin wide. “Which, by the way, mate, I’m still strugglin’ to figure out how someone your age managed to, y’know, put a little one in her. Must’ve been a fluke.”

The table erupted into laughter, and you felt your cheeks burn as Alfie barked a laugh of his own.

“Ohhh, Johnny boy,” Alfie drawled, leaning forward, voice oily and smug. “You ever seen a bull past his prime, mate? Still fucks like thunder, doesn’t he? You think it’s a fluke, do ya? Nah, mate. That’s heritage, yeah? That’s lineage. Generations of Solomons. You won’t find stronger swimmers unless you dip your bollocks in the Thames and pray for divine intervention.”

You kicked him under the table, mortified, but Alfie only smirked, popping a piece of bread into his mouth as the entire table roared. He was impossible. Completely, delightfully impossible.

John snorted, lifting his glass with a grin that bordered on scandalous. “Well fuck me, old man’s got some kick left in him.”

As the night wore on, the barbs and jokes gave way to something softer. Alfie was still loud and impossible, but he made Arthur laugh so hard he choked on his drink, traded insults with Polly that left even her smiling, and somehow managed to charm Ada.

You watched him with something between awe and disbelief, the way he fit himself into this jagged puzzle of a family like he was always meant to be there.

Alfie behaved—for a bit. Ate with a knife and fork. Mostly. Chewed like a man forcing civility down with each bite. But beneath the table, his hand had other plans.

You felt it creep to your thigh, fingers rough and warm, dragging up the side of your leg with infuriating slowness. A warning. A promise. A test. You cleared your throat, shifting your legs, but his grip only tightened, thumb brushing maddeningly close to the seam of your underwear.

“You sittin’ there all proper, yeah? All neat and nice in that fuckin’ dress like you don’t know it’s killing me? That’s cruel, darlin’. That’s fuckin’ warfare, that is.”

“You’re at my brother’s table, Alfie.”

“I know exactly where the fuck I am,” he muttered, eyes fixed on you like a man possessed. “Right here, under your brother’s nose, with my hand halfway to heaven and my cock beggin’ for mercy.” His hand crept higher, fingertips brushing dangerously close to where you were now clenching around nothing.

“Then behave.”

“That dress, yeah?” His voice dropped even lower, “It’s murderin’ me. Gonna be the death of me. Hope you’ve got a fuckin’ black veil ready.”

You didn’t dare look at him. “Eat your roast, Alfie.”

“Can’t eat,” he said matter-of-factly. “Got a hard-on so big, I’m surprised the fuckin’ tablecloth ain’t risin’.”

Yo nearly dropped your fork.

He leaned in close—closer than necessary—his breath hot at your ear, his beard tickling your neck.

“I’ll behave,” he promised, low and wicked. “But after this, yeah? You’re sittin’ on my cock in the car. Legs wide, skirt up, not a single scrap between us but the sound of you moanin’ like a bloody hymn. My hands on your tits—big fuckin’ tits, yeah?—and you’re gonna take it like you owe me somethin’.”

Your face burned so hot you thought it might peel the paint off the walls.

Alfie, the bastard, was delighted.

Tommy’s voice sliced through your haze. “You alright?”

You cleared your throat, nodding too quickly. “Fine.”

Alfie popped a bite of roast into his mouth, chewing slow and smug. “She’s just eager to leave, ain’t she?” he said, voice syrupy with fake innocence. “Knows what’s waitin’ in the backseat, don’t she?”

“Alfie,” you hissed under your breath.

“What?!” Alfie barked, throwing his hands up in full theatrical disbelief. “We’re all bloody adults here, ain’t we? I’m givin’ her a compliment, right? That’s all. She’s divine, this one. Fuckin’ divine. Walks into a room and the walls start sweatin’. Can’t blame me for sufferin’ a bit.”

Tommy’s jaw locked, the muscle ticking in his cheek. “Keep your compliments off my fuckin’ dinner table.”

“Yeah, well that’ll be difficult now, won’t it, mate?” Alfie said, voice bright and bold. “She’s sittin’ right fuckin’ next to me. And I happen to like where she is.”

Tommy stared him down. “Not excited to hear the details about you sleepin’ with my sister.”

Alfie snorted. “Mate, I’m not sleepin’,” he said, casually reaching for another piece of bread. “You seen her? Ain’t no fuckin’ sleep happenin’. She’s like a fever dream with legs. Keeps a man up all night beggin’ for salvation.”

You kicked him under the table—hard.

Alfie didn’t even flinch. His smirk grew into something feral, victorious. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to you, and he’d double it just for the thrill.

The table buzzed with tension, amusement, and the kind of dangerous energy that came right before someone either kissed or threw a punch.

And Alfie? He just chewed his bread like a king at a feast, hand still claiming your thigh like territory he’d conquered.

The front door barely shut behind you before Alfie had you pinned against it.

The slam echoed like punctuation to the hunger in his eyes—his body caging yours, heat rolling off him in waves. His chest heaved, breath ragged as his hands slammed flat against the wood on either side of your head, trapping you.

“Upstairs. Now.” His voice was a low growl, thick with something primal. He didn’t wait. Just grabbed your hand—hot, rough, shaking with restraint—and hauled you through the hallway like a man possessed.

The moment you reached the bedroom, he turned on you.

“Get on the bed,” he rasped, already tugging his shirt over his head. “Let me see you.”

You backed toward the edge of the mattress, breath short, heart hammering, the look in his eyes making your knees weak.

You sat, slowly, spreading your knees apart just enough to tease, your dress riding up over your thighs. Alfie stood at the foot of the bed, his chest rising and falling like he’d run miles, one hand working at his belt, the other dragging through his beard.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he muttered when he looked at you—really looked. “You know what you do to me lookin’ like that? Open for me with my fuckin’ baby in you?”

He tore the belt open, the buckle clattering to the floor. “All glowy an’ soft and full. S’drivin’ me outta my fuckin’ mind.” His voice cracked, throat thick with reverence and lust, eyes wide with something close to awe.

You didn’t have time to answer. He was on you. Lips crashing into yours like a man drowning, drinking you in with starved desperation.

“All night I’m sittin’ there watchin’ you—dress clingin’ to your belly, tits heavy, eyes on me like you knew exactly what you were doin’. You tryin’ to fuckin’ kill me?”

His mouth was on yours, kissing you like he needed you to breathe, hands everywhere. One gripped the back of your neck, the other palmed your belly with such aching reverence it made your throat tighten, like he couldn’t quite believe you were real—like worshiping something divine.

“Look at you,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to pant against your mouth. “So fuckin’ perfect. So round. Every part of you just beggin’ to be touched.”

He pushed you down onto your back, and hauled over you like a man possessed, settling between your legs, his mouth already working at your breast the second your bra was off.

His eyes drinking in every inch of you like you were the altar and he the worst kind of worshipper.

“These fuckin’ tits, swollen with milk already—Christ.” He cupped them, heavy and tender in his hands, thumbing your nipples until you whimpered. “So heavy for me now, yeah? Full and achin’. Like they know I’m gonna be suckin’ from ‘em every night.”

His thumbs rolled over your nipples with maddening slowness, watching your body shudder beneath him with unspoken satisfaction.

“Look at how they bounce when you breathe,” he muttered, voice thick with hunger. “Beggin’ for my mouth. My tongue.”

You moaned, arching into him, back bowing as he suckled at your breast like a man starved. His lips sealed around you with heat and pressure, drawing moans from deep in your chest, as if he could taste the shift in your body’s purpose.

“Could suck on these for hours,” he muttered, mouth already descending, tongue dragging over one aching bud. “Bet they’re sensitive, eh? Bet you like bein’ touched like this now.”

He latched harder, like he meant to draw every drop out of you, slurping noisily, tongue flicking over your nipple until it was red and glistening. His beard scratched at your skin, rough and possessive.

“You were leakin’ this morning,” he muttered, thumbing your nipple. “Nearly lost my fuckin’ mind. Want you like that again. Want milk in my mouth, my beard wet with it.”

You groaned as he licked a slow circle around your nipple, then sucked hard—drawing the softest taste from you with a guttural sound of approval.

“Fuckin’ sweet,” he groaned. “You were made for this. To be fucked, bred, worshipped. Gonna suck you dry one day, love. Gonna fuck you full while I drink from your tits, taste both ends of you at once.”

He let go of your nipple and dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed. Hands ran up your thighs, thumbs dragging up the insides until he reached your soaked underwear. He hooked a finger under the band and dragged them down, slow, keeping his eyes locked on yours the whole time. His breath hit your skin in hot, heavy bursts, lips parted like he was praying silently before a feast.

“Gonna worship this wet little cunt tonight,” he muttered, voice nearly broken with hunger. “Swear to God, gonna make you cum so hard you see stars.”

You whimpered his name, lifting your hips to help him, desperate for friction, for anything. Your thighs trembled as the cool air hit your slick folds, your body open, throbbing, already soaked just from the way he looked at you.

“You carryin’ life in you, and I still wanna fuck you into the fuckin’ mattress. What does that say about me, eh?”

“Says you’re a depraved old bastard,” you breathed, fingers threading into his hair.

“You carry it so good. You know that?” He looked up at you, eyes dark and full of something between worship and possession. “Tits full, belly round, cunt hot all the time—fuckin’ miracle, innit?”

He leaned forward and kissed your belly first. Soft. Devout. Then he dragged his tongue down over the curve of your skin, over your hip, and into the wet heat between your thighs. One lick, two—and you were already shaking.

His tongue parted you, slow and deliberate, licking from your hole to your clit with a long, obscene groan. “Sweetest thing I’ve ever tasted,” he muttered. “Your cunt’s fuckin’ singin’ to me, love.”

He groaned into your cunt like it fed him, mouth sealing over your folds with reverence, filth, and fire. The sensation was overwhelming—slick heat, obscene sounds, and the slow swirl of his tongue on your cunt that had your whole body locking up with need.

“Tastes sweeter now,” he groaned, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your swollen lips. “Your body knows, yeah? Knows it’s mine. Knows what it was fuckin’ made for.”

He sucked on your clit, loud and messy, pulling lewd little noises from your soaked flesh. “Fuck, you’re clenchin’ already,” he growled. “Like your cunt’s tryin’ to pull my tongue in deeper.”

He fucked you with his mouth like he meant it, like he’d die with your scent in his nose and your taste coating his tongue. Your hands twisted in his hair, moaning as he feasted like a man starving, the sounds vulgar and wet and perfect.

His tongue circled your clit with practiced filth, then sucked it between his lips, groaning into you. Your hips jerked but he held you still, thick arms locking around your thighs.

You thrashed beneath him, pleasure flashing hot and high, but he pinned you down like a predator savoring his kill.

“That’s it, treacle,” he murmured, breath hot against your folds. “Cum on my fuckin’ face—give me everythin’. Want it all, yeah?”

You shattered with a cry, hips arching off the bed, thighs trembling against his shoulders. The orgasm hit you like a wave, pulling sound from your throat you didn’t recognize, stars bursting behind your eyelids.

He held you through it, never stopping, licking you through every aftershock until you begged him to stop— but he didn’t. Not yet.

“Alfie—fuck—can’t—”

“Yes you can.” His voice was raw, ragged, wrecked with the kind of need that bordered on madness.

He pulled back finally, mouth wet, eyes blazing. His beard was matted with slick, chin shiny with the proof of how hard you’d cum.

He pulled down his pants and underwear at the speed of light and climbed up the bed, kneeling between your thighs, undressed and painfully hard, cock flushed and leaking.

His cock throbbed in his fist, flushed an angry red, veins bulging. The tip was slick, resting against your belly like he needed to mark you everywhere, he leaned down to kiss you again. You could feel it throb against your skin, searing heat, a promise of what was to come.

“Feel that?” he rasped, hips rolling as he dragged the thick, leaking head of his cock through your slick folds, grinding it slow and punishing against your clit before nudging down to your soaked entrance. “That’s need, love. That’s the kind of cock that doesn’t care you’re already full. Doesn’t care you’re stretched and stuffed. It wants to go deeper. Wants to fuck you to the womb.”

You whimpered, thighs trembling as your fingers gripped his shoulders, nails sinking into his skin. “Please, Alfie—inside. Now.”

“Look at this,” he breathed, cupping your stomach. “You carryin’ my fuckin’ child. My legacy. And you’re still the filthiest little thing I’ve ever known.”

He lined himself up, teasing the head of his cock against your soaked entrance. “I’m gonna fuck you slow first,” he said, dragging the tip just inside, watching your face twist in need. “Real slow. Wanna feel you stretch around me. Wanna watch your pretty tits bounce while you moan my fuckin’ name.”

You nearly sobbed when he pushed in—inch by inch, thick and unforgiving, until he was buried inside you, panting into your neck.

He groaned like it hurt. “Fuck, you’re tight—so tight now. Hotter too. That’s the pregnancy, innit? Your body knows it’s mine. Clings to me like it knows I put that baby there.”

“More, Alfie—” you sobbed, one hand clawing at his back, the other fisting the sheets. “More, please—”

“You feel that?” he rasped, voice wrecked with awe. “That’s me. All of me. Deep where I fuckin’ live now, innit? Right up against your womb—fuckin’ home now, yeah?”

You nodded, moaning against his shoulder. He thrusted once—hard, deep, slow—and you screamed.

“I’m in there already, buried so deep in this cunt,” he muttered, pressing his forehead to yours. “Laid the claim. Fuckin’ planted there. And now you’re carryin’ it. You’re mine, love. All the way.”

“Alfie—”

“Shh. Just let me fuckin’ feel it.”

He didn’t move, just held himself there, buried deep, letting your cunt flutter around him, adjust to the stretch, feel it all. Then he rocked—just a little. Slow. Rolling his hips until you gasped.

His rhythm was slow, deep. “Gonna fuck you soft, yeah? Real soft. But deep. Deep like I’m fuckin’ etchin’ my name in your womb.”

He rolled his hips again. Slow. Deep. One slow thrust that made you gasp, then another that had you clutching his shoulders.

“Every time I’m inside you now,” he whispered, eyes locked on yours, “I’m talkin’ to it. To them. Gonna make sure they know who I am, right? Who you belong to. From the fuckin’ start.”

The stretch burned, sweet and brutal, as if it was your first time all over again, your body yielding around him with aching slowness, every inch making your breath hitch.

“Jesus Christ,” he groaned. “So warm. So full of me already, yeah? I can feel it. Can feel how different you are now. Grippin’ me tighter. Like your cunt knows I’m the one who knocked you up.”

His hips rolled more now, grinding thrusts that had you clawing at his back. You dug your nails in, dragged red lines across his skin, every movement pulling a needy moan from your lips.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels pressing into the backs of his thighs to urge him deeper. He obliged, growling.

“You want it deep, yeah?” His voice was ragged. “Want me fuckin’ that pretty little hole like I’m tryna put another one in you?”

You cried out—words lost to pleasure, head thrown back. He grabbed your thighs, pulled your legs up over his shoulders, shifting deeper, angling until you cried out and clenched hard around him.

“That’s it,” he grunted. “Give it to me. You take me so fuckin’ good, every time. Knocked up and still hungry for cock, yeah?”

You whimpered, nodding, breathless. “Y-Yes, Alfie.”

“Yeah, you like the sound of that. Takin’ cock like a good little mum. My fuckin’ girl. All round and swollen and—”

He was groaning now, nearly lost in it, sweat beading at his temple, eyes locked on the bounce of your tits, the movement of your belly. He looked ruined, feral—his body pounding into yours like it was the only way to stay sane.

“Makin’ me lose my fuckin’ mind,” he groaned, grabbing your hips, pushing your legs higher. “Can feel your cunt suckin’ me in like it wants another load. That it, love? You want more? Want me to fill you up again, right while our baby’s inside you?”

He started thrusting harder, faster, the headboard slamming against the wall. His hands found your tits, heavy and swollen, and he groaned into your mouth as he palmed them greedily.

“So big,” he panted. “So soft. Taste like fuckin’ honey, they do.”

He leaned down and took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard, and you swore you nearly came again.

“Mine,” he snarled against your skin. “Every fuckin’ inch of you. Mine to love. Mine to fuck. Mine to keep.”

He grabbed your hips harder, anchoring himself. “You wanna cum? You want your husband to make you cum on his cock like a good girl?”

You nodded, tears in your eyes, body too close to the edge.

“Then fuckin’ cum for me, darlin’,” he growled. “Cum while I fill you again, yeah? Fuckin’ perfect little wife.”

And then his hand—hot, wide, filthy—slid between your bodies, fingers finding your clit with terrifying precision. He rubbed in cruel, devastating circles, slick with your wetness, pressing just right, just hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs.

Your second orgasm tore through you like lightning—loud and shaking and too much. Your walls clenched around him and he lost it, roaring into your shoulder as he came, deep and endless, hips jerking wildly, flooding you.

His release was brutal and overwhelming, his whole body shuddering against you, the weight of it anchoring you both in something beyond words. His cock pulsing and spilling inside you like he was trying to breed you all over again.

He stayed there, buried deep, chest heaving, forehead resting against yours. His hand cradled your belly, thumb stroking over the curve of it like it was the most precious thing he’d ever touched.

“Never loved anythin’ more,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “You, this—our baby. You make me fuckin’ feral, treacle. You know that?”

You stroked his back, his hair, pressing kisses to his temple as he finally started to calm. He didn’t pull out. Didn’t move. Just stayed locked to you, hand between your thighs, keeping every drop inside.

You lay there together, tangled in heat and sweat and sated silence. His hand rested protectively over your belly, thumb stroking slow circles as he caught his breath.

“Don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now,” he murmured. “You—all soft and full and mine. Gonna spend the rest of my life fuckin’ worshippin’ you, I swear it.”

You felt full in every sense—body, heart, soul—like the universe had collapsed to just this bed, this man, this love.

“Look at you,” he whispered. “Strongest fuckin’ thing I’ve ever seen. Carryin’ a life in there. Carryin’ me, in a way, too.”

You blinked, the words catching somewhere in your throat. “You soft bastard.”

He looked up with a crooked smile. “Told you I ain’t soft, just possessive.”

He pulled the covers over both of you, dragging you into his chest with a grunt of satisfaction. One arm tucked around your shoulders, the other around your middle, hand still splayed over your belly.

“Oi,” he murmured finally, voice a low rumble in your ear. “You feel that?”

You nodded, not knowing if he meant his cock, his hands, the way your pulse was still racing—or all of it at once.

“That’s fuckin’ peace, that is,” he muttered, nose nudging against your shoulder. “Fuckin’ perfect,” he whispered against you. “Better than any deal, better than money, better than a whole empire full of posh cunts tryin’ to talk in circles. I’d trade all of it for this, right? Just this. You. Me. And that little thing you’ve got brewin’ inside you.”

“I think this little thing’s gonna be a boy,” you whispered after a while.

He hummed. “Yeah? That your sixth sense talkin’?”

“Mm-hmm. He’s gonna be loud. Just like his dad.”

That made him laugh, a warm rumble that vibrated through your back. “God help us both, then.”

You smiled against his skin. “You’ll be good with him.”

Alfie was quiet a beat too long. Then: “I’m gonna try. Try real fuckin’ hard, treacle. He’ll never go without. Not while I’m breathin’.”

“I know.”

“Gonna be good, I will,” he muttered. “For you. And ‘im. Or her. Or whatever the fuck we made. Long as it’s got your bloody eyes.”

His head dipped again—and this time, instead of mouthing at your tits like a feral thing, he just… rested there. Face pressed between them, beard scratching against your sensitive skin. His breathing slowed. Deepened.

Even in sleep, he held you there. As if some part of him—mad, possessive, and utterly yours—never truly shut off.

And you let him.

Because for all the filth and madness, the chaos and clawing need, Alfie Solomons was yours too.

And this? This was his version of love.

Epilogue

He stood in the nursery doorway like a man lost at sea, one large, calloused hand cradling something impossibly small and warm against his chest. The soft knit blanket—cream-colored, handmade, stitched with love and trembling hope—was wrapped tightly around the little bundle, only the top of his dark hair and the faintest trace of his nose visible beneath it.

And fuck, he was so small.

“Right, now, listen ‘ere,” he muttered under his breath, voice thick. “Didn’t even know they made ‘em this small, yeah? Like—fuck me, you’re not even a full loaf, are ya? Half a bloomin’ baguette, maybe, and already rulin’ my whole fuckin’ life.”

The baby yawned, his little fists flexing against his chest, and Alfie froze like he was made of glass. His heart thudded a little too hard.

“Nah, nah, I got you, alright?” he murmured. “You’re safe. That’s the fuckin’ arrangement, innit? You stay soft and small, and I… I stay close. Always.”

He walked the room in slow, measured steps, careful not to jostle him too much. The nursery was soft and sun-dappled, pale curtains swaying slightly in the breeze. The scent of powder and fresh linen hung in the air, mixed with the faintest trace of you—something warm and sweet that always made him think of home.

You stepped quietly into the room, barefoot, wearing one of his old shirts, eyes bright with exhaustion and affection.

“He settle?” you asked softly.

“Mm. He’s got his claws in me already, that one.” He glanced down at him, and his face changed in a way that still made your throat tighten. “Won’t sleep unless I’m holdin’ him, the little manipulative beast.”

“He’s a newborn, Alfie.”

“Yeah, well. He’s also a criminal mastermind already. I can feel it. Lullin’ me in with the cuteness and all that, but I see it. Fuckin’ schemin’, he is.”

You crossed to him slowly, resting a hand on his back, peering down at the baby nestled against his chest. His mouth was open in the faintest O, his breath coming soft and even. Alfie looked like he might crumble from the weight of him.

“He’s got your scowl,” you murmured.

“Oi. He’s beautiful. Don’t slander the boy already. I’m very expressive, thank you. This face won me wars. Got me outta a few, too.”

“I meant that lovingly.”

You kissed his bicep, and he turned just enough to press a kiss to your temple.

“He’s got your mouth too,” you added. “Your nose. Looks just like you.”

“’Course he looks like his fuckin’ daddy, don’t he?” Alfie said, puffing out his chest like he’d personally handcrafted the child with divine hands. “Strong jaw, big miserable eyes, bit of a frown goin’ already—yeah, that’s me, innit? Poor sod never stood a bloody chance.”

You leaned against him, both of you watching your son sleep. And for a long, quiet moment, everything stilled.

No violence. No fear. No war waiting at the doorstep. Just the three of you, wrapped in the silence of a warm afternoon, a love that had nearly destroyed you both—now rebuilt, tiny and pink and sleeping in Alfie’s arms.

He looked down at him one more time and whispered, “I’ll kill for you, alright? Anyone, anytime. I’ll die for you too, if that’s the ticket. But more than that—look—I’ll live for you, yeah? Which, let me tell ya, is harder some days. But I’ll fuckin’ do it. Every single one.”

And you believed him.

Because for the first time in his life, Alfie Solomons had something worth being soft for.

A/N: As you might know, this is the final part of this series—at least for now. You never know what the future might hold.

I’d truly love to hear your thoughts and opinions on the ending. I hope I didn’t let you down with this last part. I hope it met your expectations and gave the story the closure it deserved.

Thank you so much for sticking with me through it all. Your constant support and kind words have meant the world to me. You’ve made me so happy and inspired me to keep writing. Seriously, thank you.🥹🫶🏻

If you enjoyed it, don’t worry—I’ll be writing more stories for Alfie. And if you’re part of the hardy nation, I’m also writing for Harry Da Souza and planning something for Eddie Brock too. Let me know if you’d be interested in that!

That’s all for now. Thank you so, so, so much. I love you all.🩷

@rach5ive @namelesslosers @meetmeatyourworst @itisjustwhatitis

dividers by: @/saradika-graphics

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loulouwrites · 1 year ago

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THE NIGHT WATCH . ALFIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie's eldest son is sick - he won't leave his bedside. warnings: illness, swearing, thoughts surrounding the death of a child, melancholy, unedited, angst, violence, discussions regarding the death of a child word count: 1.5k a/n: a lil drabble form the home series! i'm honoured by the love people have for this family. i know i'm not the most active on here but i just wanna say if anybody wants to talk to me (about anything) don't hesitate to hit me up! (i am still putting my taglist together but I completely forgot about it when I wrote this - forgive me pls)

It had been going around for a while now.

Some illness spreading around London that had children dropping left, right and centre.

Some children barely got a sore throat, and those that did were usually better after a few days, but he had heard the stories of the unlucky few, the children that had been bed bound for weeks before silently passing in their sleep.

He hadn't thought much of it at first - he found stories about other people's children mind numbingly boring - even the saddest accounts he had heard had barely registered in his mind.

When Benjamin had started coughing one morning, he had rolled his eyes, insisting he wouldn't get out of school that easily. His wife - who was gentler and kinder than he could ever be - had laid her hands on her son's cheeks, instructing him to go back to bed with a kiss on his forehead.

It had caused quite a tiff between the couple.

"You're too fuckin' soft," Alfie had told her, pointing an accusatory finger in her face.

"And you're too fucking hard on him," she had spat back, smacking his hand away.

She had been right, of course.

When Alfie returned home that night, the house was eerily quiet. No children greeted him at the door, even Bubbe the dog had barely looked up from her bed by the fireplace.

He had found them in the master bedroom, his wife had pulled up a chair next to the bed, and was dabbing a damp cloth on his son's forehead.

He would never forget the way Benjamin looked lying on the bed, his face pale and his hair sticking to his forehead, the wheezing breaths he took being the only sound in the room.

"I sent the children to my mum's," his wife had said, sitting with her back to him, her eyes completely focused on her little boy lying in the bed. "The doctor said it's highly contagious so they shouldn't be around him - or us."

He could tell she had been crying, her voice quiet and shaky.

Alfie didn't say anything in response, because what could he say? He stepped further in the room, moving to sit at the foot of the bed, his eyes trained on Benjamin's limp body.

"He's fucking boiling, Alfie," she choked out a sob, "he's so hot but he won't stop fucking shivering, I don't know what to do."

Alfie watched as his wife's body shook with sobs, putting her head in her hands as he sat on the bed, silent, confused, and so very scared.

"He'll be alright," his voice held no conviction, almost as shaky as her's was. "He's a tough lad-"

"No, he isn't," she cried, lifting her head from her hands to look at her husband. "He isn't. He's sweet and gentle, he isn't tough."

"Love," Alfie shook his head, leaning forward slightly, but she cut him off.

"It doesn't matter anyways, it doesn't matter how tough he is - or isn't - kids have died, Alfie, they've died from this."

She stood from her seat, pacing the room as he looked on helplessly. He had seen her scared before, he had seen her sad and everything in between, but nothing compared to how she looked now. Her hair was a mess, her makeup had smudged, and there was already dark circles beginning to form underneath her damp eyes.

"Listen," Alfie rose from the bed, placing his hands on her shoulders to keep her in place. "He's going to be fine."

"You don't know that," she whispered, hanging her head.

"And you don't know he won't be," he bowed his head to meet her eyes, "but we're going to do everything we can do to help him, yeah?"

"Yeah," she sighed.

That had been hours ago.

It was almost three in the morning as Alfie sat on the chair beside the bed, a dimp lamp casting a soft glow on his son's pale face. His wife had fallen asleep on the bed next to Benjamin, and the room was silent apart from the occasional raspy breath from his son.

This was all he could do.

All he could do to help his son was to sit by his bedside and watch him breathe, watch for any sign that Benjamin was struggling, and to press the damp cloth to his face whenever a shiver broke out of his body.

He had never felt more useless in his life.

If it were any other situation, they would know what to do. If Benjamin had cut his knee when he was playing, his mother would be able to patch him up and make him feel better, if he had gotten into trouble at school, Alfie could pay the teacher's a visit to make sure it never happened again.

But this was completely in the hands of God.

Alfie wasn't a particularly religious man - not in the common sense of the word, at least. He was proud of his identity, he enjoyed the community and sense of belonging it gave him, but he fell short when it came to the believing part of his religion.

He had always thought God was something people used as a comfort in their darkest times, or as an excuse for things not working out the way they had wanted it to, it was never particularly real to him. Yet, as he sat at his son's bedside, with nothing to offer him but a damp cloth, he found himself bowing his head, and silently praying to God that Benjamin would be okay.

He hoped this would be the first time God listened to him.

The doctor had arrived early the next morning, prodding and poking the sick child and humming to himself.

Alfie stood by the doorway with his wife, both of them shuffling slightly on the feet as they waited for the doctor to finish his assessment, their patience wearing thinner with every passing second.

The doctor sighed when he turned to face the parents, a frown on his old and battered face, his beard moving as he scrunched his mouth.

"I see no improvements," he had spoke, and Alfie had to grasp his wife by her waist when he body began to collapse, another sob racking her body.

"What does that mean?" Alfie asked, his hands still secure around his crying wife.

"It means that you should prepare for the worst."

"No, no, no, no," she whispered, her legs giving way for the second time.

"If he recovers it will be a miracle, I've seen stronger boys succumb to this illness."

Maybe it was the doctor's tone of indifference when he spoke, maybe it was the feeling of his wife's body shaking uncontrollably in his arms, maybe he was just looking for somebody to take his frustration out on, whatever possessed Alfie in that moment to let go of his wife and grab the doctor by the collar, slamming his body into the wall, was as fierce and raw as the fear gripping his heart.

"Now you listen here," Alfie growled, his face inches away from the doctor's. "My son will not die. You know how I know that?" the doctor shook his head, his face reddening in fear. "I know that because you are going to fix him. If you don't, it'll be your body they wheel out of here."

The doctor's eyes widened, and Alfie was sure he was about to start crying. "Mr Solomons, there's nothing I can do, I would if I could-"

"You will," Alfie roared, pulling the doctor back slightly only to slam him back into the wall harder. "You will find a way."

Just as Alfie pulled his arm back, his hand curled into a fist, his wife's voice called out to him.

"This won't help Benjamin, Alfie. Just stop it."

Alfie released the doctor, who gasped for breath, his face pale. He turned to his wife, his face softening. "He can't die."

She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "He won't die," she muttered into his chest, "you won't let him."

It was nearing nine o'clock at night when Benjamin started to stir in the bed. His mother had yet again, fallen asleep at his side, and Alfie was sat in the uncomfortable chair by the bed.

"Dad?" He whispered, his voice weak.

"I'm here, mate," Alfie said, his voice catching in his throat. "I'm here."

"I don't feel well."

"You're not well, mate," Alfie leaned forward, placing his palm on Benjamin's forehead, which was already beginning to cool.

"I told you I wasn't just trying to get out of school," Benjamin choked out, and Alfie let out a hearty laugh, startling his wife awake.

"Oh, thank God," she breathed, sitting up and cupping Benjamin's face in her hands. "Thank God."

"You might catch it, mum," Benjamin groaned when his mother bent down to pepper kisses on his face.

"Still sharp as ever, I see," Alfie muttered, the tension in his body seemingly disappearing.

"We need to ring the doctor," his wife said, and Alfie shot her an unimpressed look in response. "A different doctor," she conceded. "Though him being awake means the worst is over."

"What did I tell ya?" Alfie grinned. "Tough as nails, this one."

#alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders imagine #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons x reader

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dyns33 · 4 months ago

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Family's dog

The Solomons family is composed of three members and it was time to focus on the tiniest.

A dog's life wasn't an easy life.

Born on the street, hungry, sleeping in the cold, he had been happy the first time he had a master.

Some might say he wasn't a good master. He sometimes forgot to feed him, he didn't let him inside when it rained, considering that the kennel he shared with the others was enough and he forced him to fight when he didn't want to.

But as a dog, he was grateful.

Still, it was a shock to be adopted by his new master.

"Hello, love." the man had said when he saw him, putting his cane behind him and leaning down with difficulty to pat his head. "No, it's not a toy, and it's not a weapon either. I don't want to hit you, you don't hit nice boys. Don't you, Mr. Collins, nice boys like this don't deserve to be hit ?"

"Yes, Mr. Solomons, certainly."

"Certainly, innit ? Then why does he have marks all over him ?"

"The other dogs, sir. For the fights."

"Ah, yes, those barbaric spectacles. In our fair country, what a disgrace. Poor boy, is this where you sleep ? Mr. Collins, it takes no heart to make such a brave dog sleep in such a place."

"I can bring him inside if you…"

"Nah. He's coming with me, on top of what you owe me."

Mr. Solomons gave him a new home. A real home you could say, where he could walk everywhere, with food and water every day, gentle pats on the head, a basket for him, the right to climb on the sofa and the bed, and a name. Cyril.

Well, as for the bed, Cyril wasn't sure he understood. His master growled as soon as he jumped up near him, mumbling 'no', a word he knew well, but then he put his arm around him and fell asleep without trying to get him down or punish him.

Everything was wonderful with Mr. Alfie Solomons.

He also took him outside with him. At first, Cyril was afraid that it would make him fight or abandon him somewhere, but no. Holding him with a leash and swearing obscenities while asking him to slow down because of his back, they only went around the neighborhood or on the beach before going back.

There was the car too.

"Yes, stick your head out, it'll be better for you and me."

"Woof !"

"Isn't that right, love ?"

There were times when his master would have clearly wanted Cyril to be more aggressive. He would sometimes growl when strangers approached in a threatening manner, which was often enough to scare them off.

But most of the time, he would sit next to him, salivating, simply happy to be with his master.

"Cyril, I'm going to ask you to be a perfect gentleman, okay ? A perfect gentleman, even nicer than usual. If there's a bite, a bark, anything that ruins it, I should get angry, and I don't want to get angry."

The request was strange. Tilting his head to the side, Cyril watched as Mister Solomons got ready for an important meeting, as he often did. Except he looked nervous.

Not nervous like he could be, mumbling nonsense or complaining about his back, really nervous. His master didn't seem to be afraid of anything though.

For the first time since he had arrived in his new home, his master brought someone home in the evening.

Y/N Shelby, he introduced her with great ceremony. They obviously knew each other well, because the young woman ignored Alfie's long, wacky tirades to crouch down in front of Cyril with a huge smile, offering her hand for him to sniff.

A lot of humans didn't do that. They touched him without permission or kept their distance.

This pleased Cyril very much, who thanked her by licking her fingers, which made her laugh. A very pretty sound, which enchanted him as it seemed to enchant Mr. Solomons.

Faced with his acceptance, Y/N began by scratching his head, ears, neck, and he ended up on his back, in complete ecstasy, while she took care of his belly.

"You were right, a real menace. A terror. Alfie, I'm so scared of your dog." she joked at the sight.

"I must say he seems to adore you, treacle. It's a good thing, I wasn't joking when I said he was difficult, he only listens to me."

Mr. Solomons called him 'traitor' while continuing to treat him kindly. Strange, because Cyril did exactly what he asked, obeying his new mistress perfectly, probably even better than him. But Mr. Solomons often said strange things without thinking them.

It was the first time that there was a woman in Cyril's life, and in addition to seeming important to Alfie, she treated him with great affection and respect. She also took very good care of the one she called 'her husband'.

So it was very quickly obvious that she was the most important person, the leader of the pack. The one who had to be made proud and protected first.

"He only listens to you, huh ?"

"What can I say, damn woman ? Lovely witch. You seduced my dog, just like you seduced me. There's no other explanation, otherwise why would we both be staring sadly at the door until you come home, then following you everywhere ? One day, we'll fight for your attention, and you know what's worse ? He'll win. He's already stealing my place in the bed and you're not saying anything."

"I don't see you punishing him much either."

"I'm a criminal, love, not a monster."

It wasn't even true that he was stealing Mr. Solomons' place. Cyril couldn't sleep until both his masters were present, curled up against each other with him at the foot of the bed. He only stayed close to Y/N to keep her company until Alfie arrived.

If he didn't mean it when he called him a 'traitor' because he was nice to his wife, Cyril heard real indignation in his voice when he accompanied them to see Y/N's family.

Lots of children, and many men he didn't know, who seemed quite hostile to Alfie while welcoming him with smiles and gifts. How could you not love them ?

"Your dog is much better educated than you, Mr. Solomons."

"Ah yes, dear Thomas, they say that dogs are a reflection of the life their masters could have had, which explains why this one is so pampered."

"Say right away that I mistreat you."

"Absolutely, treacle. Every day. You check that I have done my work, that I eat, that I have my back cushion, it is real daily torture. Hoy ! Cyril, no !"

"He's playing with the kids, everything's fine."

"That little fool doesn't know his strength, Thomas. Don't come blaming me when he makes your boy fall."

Cyril didn't make the boy fall, nor any of the toddlers who were running with him, making all the Shelbys present laugh, while his master was still mumbling under his breath.

He didn't seem interested in being congratulated for having trained his dog so well.

With her sweet smile, Y/N whistled for him to come to her, which he immediately did while wagging his tail.

"Good boy. It's time to go home now. Alfie, stop sulking, come on."

"I'm not sulking, treacle. I whistled for him three times without him listening to me, everything is perfectly normal."

"You love it when he obeys me so well, like you love it when I give you orders."

"In your dreams, crazy woman."

"Alfie, in the car."

"… I'm not going to walk home from Birmingham, that doesn't mean I obey you !"

Cyril barked happily to support his mistress, because he saw Mr. Solomons obeying his wife perfectly all the time, pretending to be offended while staring at her with sad puppy eyes waiting for a caress in return.

Not a reflection of the life he could have had, but of the life he had, Cyril thanked his master for picking him up at the corner of the road when everything was going badly, walking a bit together before having the chance to be both cuddled by Y/N.

"Anyway, I know you prefer him to me." Alfie grumbled, lying on his back, while his wife scratched the dog's head, settled between them.

"He doesn't complain all the time."

"I don't complain all the time, love. If I did complain all the time, you would have smothered me in my sleep a long time ago."

"Hmm. Never mind. I taught him a new trick."

"Let me guess. Steal the cane ? Hide the rum ?"

"Cyril. Please, living room."

Reluctant but not wanting to disappoint his mistress, Cyril jumped out of bed to wait on the couch, as his mistress had taught him, until she called him again so he could come back.

According to her, it would be a nice gift rather than forcing his 'daddy' to get up all the time to let him out and then open the door for him when he wanted a special cuddle.

"A special cuddle. Treacle, he's a dog, very intelligent no doubt, but he's not like kids with their sensitive ears, you can say fuc…"

"Alfie. I can tell him to come back if you want, and send you to the sofa instead of him."

"No, I want my special cuddle. I almost didn't tease Arthur during the party, I deserve it."

It wasn't the mating season, so Cyril didn't understand why his masters and especially Alfie were active so often in the year, but they were happy, and as promised they always called him when they were done so that he could join them, so they forgave their oddities.

It really wasn't easy being a dog, but Cyril Solomons didn't complain.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic

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charliehoennam · 1 year ago

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sweet stranger

A/N: request made here by @annekelovesreading

Summary: the war veteran Alfie seeks comfort in a stranger in hopes of returning to his old self

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x F!Reader

Warnings: 18+, smut, reader is a sex worker.

SHARING IS CARING, SO PLEASE REBLOG

part two

"Thanks for the ride, James. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

You climb out of the Bentley and adjust your coat, smoothing out the wrinkles of your dress before strutting towards the hotel, your heels clacking against the pavement and then marble floors of the lobby.

You sense the judgemental eyes already on you, but you've learned how to ignore them. If their judgement paid your rent and bills, then you'd finally be able to retire. But until then, you did what needed to be done.

The service you provide is simple and clear. You meet the client, humor them a bit and fuck them before leaving at first light.

You are lucky enough to work for a powerful and strict madame that actually recognizes the importance of her employees' well-being and ran a high-end business.

Her rules were clear. No marking, no hitting and contraceptive must be used.

Just because her empire dominates the professional area of sexual pleasure does not mean she runs a funhouse. Many would mistake Madame's care for benevolence when it is really just a matter of logistics.

Black eyes don't allow her employees to escort her wealthy clients to prestigious social events. And the only reason her business dominates is because she assures clean employees to her clients. An employee with the clap gets the boot and replacing them is expensive.

After giving your name at the front desk, you take the keys you're headed with a smile and head to room 403.

The name is not unfamiliar. You've heard plenty of Alfie Solomons and part of you is afraid of what he'll be like, judging by what you've heard.

The ring of the lift snaps you our of your thoughts. You flash a smile at the liftman and thank him before stepping into the hallway.

Alfie Solomons is not your first client - nor will he be your last - but knowing he is the first gangster you're about to meet and sleep with has butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

You mentally repeat Madame's rules to yourself to try and ease your nerves. But then again, do rules hold any standing to criminals?

Taking a couple of deep breaths, you manage to relax as best as you possibly can in the situation and simply remind yourself that he is no different than any other client.

You lift your hand to knock on the door. There's movement behind it and the metal of the lock on the side rattles as it slides to open.

Your lips pull into a welcoming smile at the broad, tall man that opens the door. Taking in his features, you quickly notice his wet hair.

The smell of soap emanates from his large frame along with a faint scent of rum and an irresistible natural musk that almost lured you to touch him.

It's obvious that he took the time to wash himself and, to be honest, you're quite thankful for that.

"You must be Mr. Solomons."

"Punctual little thing, ain't you? Come on in, love. Don't mind me."

His tone is rather calm even with his heavy Cockney drawl. His fingers, however, seem to confess his nerves with the way they flick back and forth.

"Punctuality is a necessary characteristic in my line of work, Mr. Solomons."

"Right, right" he nods as you walk past him. He still can't seem to look you in the eye, but you've yet to discover why.

Most of the nervous clients that you've had were first-timers, young men eager to lose their virginity especially before being sent to war.

Alfie is very attractive and pleasing to the eye with his large strong build, but he is no young boy. You find it hard to believe that this would be his first time being as wealthy, cunning and wealthy as you heard he is.

"May I take your coat, love?"

"Yes, please."

You turn to back to him to allow his assistance, taking in the sight of the hotel room. You've been in this hotel before, but despite that, the lavish decoration of the suite never fails to impress.

Alfie can't help but feel intimidated by the simple scent of your perfume as he stands behind you, taking your coat to hang it for you. He doesn't want you to pick up on the fact that he feels so out of his element.

Before the war, Alfie had his fair share of women. He used to be so different. So young and naive and confident - which is the only characteristic he can successfully feign more than well in the wicked world he treads in.

But now, he's in foreign territory. So much has changed for him.

Getting his affairs back in strict order took so much work, sweat and blood from him that he hadn't prioritized his romantic desires.

If age hadn't been enough, the night tremors made it impossible to sleep beside anyone. Red blotches were beginning to spread throughout his body due to the psoriasis. His sciatica only worsened with age and the harsh conditioning the war had forced onto it. And now the fucking cancer, which only added to his list of secret insecurities.

The confident young man he used to be was gone. Alfie was still human, however. And like many other humans, he yearned for companionship. The problem is that a man like Alfie can't confide in just anyone. He can't expose it without the risk of his enemies seeing it as an opportunity to use it against him.

Good thing about Madame's business is that her turf is neutral and independent ground. For now, at least.

Alfie knows he has to overcome this hurdle if he plans to get married one day and start a family and he just thought this would be the best way.

He's got a beautiful woman in his hotel room; he knows what you came here to do. He's just not sure what to do at this point other than to confess it to you. He doesn't want to say it, but deep down inside, he feels a bit humilited.

It shows in the way he avoids your eyes, the way his head hangs low.

"There's no shame in that, Mr. Solomons. I'm happy to help however I can. We don't have to rush into anything just yet... Do you drink?"

"Not often. Clouds the mind."

"Precisely. What do you drink?" You smile warmly at him.

"Wine is my favorite."

"Let's get you a glass then, Mr. Solomons."

Just as you expect, the wine is successful in loosening him up a bit.

You're careful enough to avoid asking any questions that concerns his business, so you focus on asking him to share things he enjoys like music and books.

After a couple hours and a couple glasses, he's warming up to you as you listen attentively to his childhood stories. Despite the wine, he is cautious enough to leave out certain details that are too personal for you to know that could bring him or his family harm if they ended up in the wrong hands.

You can't take it personal, and can only imagine that trust does not come easy in his line of work which only confirms that pressing him on such information wouldn't be very smart.

No matter how easy the conversation is flowing or how comfortable he may seem to be, you can't forget who he is beyond these four walls.

As he finishes his glass of wine, he sets it down on the table in front of you while raising a hand to his shoulder to rub at the aching knot in his muscle.

"Would you like me to take care of that for you, Mr. Solomons?"

"With what, love? Oh, this?" He asks glancing at his shoulder. "Oh, no. You don't have to do that."

It almost like he's forgotten the reason you're both there.

"Really, I don't mind at all. It's the least I can do for you, sir."

With a sweet smile, you stand as you finish off your glass and set it beside his on the table before walking over to his chair to offer him your hand.

"I promise I won't do anything you don't want me to."

His blue eyes narrow their gaze at you for a moment as if he's trying to read you. You can see him physically tense before accepting your hand.

The talkative Alfie is suddenly replaced by a quiet and insecure version as he watches you, from where he's sat in the bed, take your heels off - your almost bare feet still covered in your black stockings - before climbing onto the bed.

You stand on your knees , which are spread to accommodate him between them, and sit back on your feet after taking the small bottle of rose scented intimate oil from your purse.

"It's like riding a bike. Your body knows that to do, but it needs time, patience and practice, so you have to go slow."

Your breathe on his neck has chills racing up his arms as you reach to his front to unbutton his vest and slide it off his wide shoulders. You do the same with his shirt, but pause before sliding it off as his hand instinctively hold your wrist.

"May I? I'd love to see you, but if you don't want to, I can just slide it down a bit."

He ponders for a moment but replies with a silent nod as he releases your wrist.

You slide it off and much to your impression, he seems even wider and stronger than you'd imagined.

A couple scars and red blotches already here and there on his skin, but they don't stop you from marveling at the rippling muscles.

"My goodness... Mr. Solomons, with all the utmost respect, but you are quite the work of art."

He can't help but smile at your compliment, although he thinks that you're just saying what you think he wants to hear, so it's hard for him to believe.

You let your palms gently wander over his large back and arms, with a gentle squeeze to his biceps.

"Carved from stone, are you?" You joke, bringing a chuckle out of him.

"No, love. Just flesh."

"Fortunately."

Using the pipette, you pinch a couple drops of the oil onto his shoulders before closing the vial to set it aside and letting your fingers get to work.

Alfie groans softly and his eyes instantly close as you start massaging to undo the knot that's been bothering him for weeks now.

"How is that, sir? More pressure?"

"No, love. That's just fine...just perfect," he sighs relieved. "Fucking 'ell, love. That feels fucking great. You've no idea how long that's been bothering me."

"I can imagine. You've got knots like this all round. It can't be easy to live with them.

Slowly but surely, Alfie starts to relax. It's impossible not to. It's been a while since he's been touched by anyone, much less massaged by them.

The tension is his body begins to ease as your fingers work away not only the knots caused by the stress of his days, but the anxiety of being intimate again. It doesn't seem so foreign suddenly.

Building up the courage to place a gentle kiss onto the back of his shoulder, you lower your head and press your lips to his skin.

"Is this alright?" You whisper.

"More than alright."

"I can go lower if you'd like me to."

He nods, so you glides your fingers down the middle of his back, pressing against ether side of his spine.

"Fuck, love... That is heavenly."

You smile at the praises and take it a sign to continue the gentle teasing, moving your kisses up to the crook of his neck.

You take your time to ease him into his arousal. The lower you go down his back, the more convinced he becomes.

"Would you like me to touch you?"

You ask nuzzling your nose against his ear and he nods.

You reach a hand to his front and rub your palm against his clothed crotch. Although you can't see his cock, you can tell the man's been blessed with girth as it twitches against your touch.

Alfie gives in to the instant pleasure and moans, letting all his worries melt away. He can't remember the last time he's been able to feel so at ease.

As you whisper encouraging praises into his ear from behind, Alfie allows you to unbutton his trousers and slither your hand under the fabric to stroke his cock with a firm grip.

The room seems to spin around him. His head feels heavy from the pleasure as it leans back against your shoulder.

"That's it, sir. Just let me take care of you" you smirk kissing a sensitive spot on his neck that he didn't even know could make him tremble.

He isn't sure how much longer he can last. It's been a while after all.

"L-love, you feel so good."

You chuckle, letting his thick cock spring free from its confines.

"You're fucking beautiful, sir."

"Oh, you think so, yeah?"

You nod as your hand strokes his dick, coating it with his own pre-cum and the essential oil you'd brought.

"Lemme get more comfortable, love. Wanna see more of ya," alfie says holding your wrist to stop your movement for a moment.

He stands to kick off his trousers, standing in all his naked glory before sitting further up the bed with his back against the upholstered headboard.

"C'mere, love. Lemme see you hm?"

His invitation is made with calloused hands guiding you to straddle his lap. You make quick work of unbuttoning the dress and sliding the straps off your shoulders to reveal your chest with a sultry smile.

"May I?"

You can't help but smile at how he's a gentleman in such a moment. Most clients wouldn't even bother to remember asking, but Alfie makes you forget that he is just another client.

His large hands reach to knead your breasts, giving them such attentive appreciation as he licks his pink lips, eager to get them on you.

"It's alright, love" you whisper, seeming to read his mind.

The way his beard scratches your sensitive skin has your back arching into his warmth. His gentle and considerate admiration lures you into a trance; into a heated dream where you are able to finally feel like a woman loved.

You welcome him with fingers lacing into his messy brown locks still damp from his bath earlier. Your hips move mindless as you grind your clothed sex against his exposed cock, reminding him how good he feels and how you want him to feel the same.

Shifting onto your knees between his legs on the bed, you pepper tender kisses down his chest and stomach as your breasts dangle down and rub against his cock.

The anticipation has Alfie balling his fists into the white sheets.

"You are the most beautiful woman in the world, love. Fucking 'ell," he mumbles as your hands run up and down his thigh, giving gentle squeezes to tease him on.

"It's gonna be a long night."

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders fic #alfie solomons fic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic #tom hardy

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wonderlanddreamer · 10 months ago

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I was wondering if you could write something on Alfie? Alfie seeking comfort in the reader after a bad day? Or soft seduction after a long day, either works

His Serenity.

[Alfie Solomons x Reader]

Summary: After a bad day, Alfie just wants to be alone, or so he thinks. But then there's you, with your own sensual way to bring him serenity.

Warnings: Explicit content. Oral sex [m receiving]. 18+MDNI.

Word Count: 3086

The faint, musty scent of old books and aged wood fills every corner of Alfie Solomons' office as you meticulously sort through the stacks of paperwork on his cluttered desk. The hum of the bustling distillery outside seeps through the walls, a comforting backdrop that provides a steady rhythm you've grown accustomed to over the months. Golden sunlight filters through the small, grimy windows, casting long shadows that stretch across the room, signalling the end of another arduous day. Just as you finish organising the last stack, the door slams open with a force that sends a shiver down your spine and rattles the windows.

Alfie strides in, his presence like a storm brewing in the confined space. His face is a mask of fury; his eyes are wild, and his teeth are gritted as if he's biting back a torrent of words. Papers cascade off his desk in a chaotic flurry as he sweeps an arm across it, sending documents flying. The sound of glass shattering pierces the air as he hurls a bottle against the wall, the remnants glittering on the floor like jagged stars.

"Get out!" His voice is a thunderclap, reverberating through your bones and echoing in the small room.

You freeze, your instincts screaming at you to obey, but something deeper holds you rooted to the spot. Leaving him like this feels wrong, unbearable, as if abandoning a ship in the midst of a storm. Despite the danger radiating from him, you step closer, your heart pounding so loudly you fear he might hear it.

Alfie's eyes narrow on you, his breath coming in heavy, ragged bursts that speak of barely contained rage. He snatches a bottle of whiskey from a nearby shelf, the motion abrupt and aggressive, and slumps into his worn leather chair. The fury in his movements still simmers just beneath the surface as he takes a long, hard swig, the tension in his frame almost palpable, like a coiled spring.

Ignoring the voice in your head that begs you to leave, you move behind him, your steps careful and deliberate. Your hands rest gently on his broad, tense shoulders, and you start to knead the tight knots of muscle with a practised touch. He tenses beneath your fingers, a low growl escaping his lips, a sound that mixes frustration with reluctant relief.

"I said, get out," he mutters, but the command lacks its former bite, sounding more like a plea than an order.

His protests grow weaker as your fingers work their way into the tension, soothing the rage bit by bit. The knots of stress begin to unravel under your touch, and you remain gentle, your hands a source of comfort to him and a balm to your own worry. Gradually, you can feel the tightness leaving his muscles, his breaths becoming more even and less ragged, as though the storm within him is slowly abating.

Feeling the tension slowly ebb from his body, you continue to massage Alfie's shoulders with a gentle, reassuring touch. His breathing steadies, the furious edge softening as the anger drains away. You can sense him becoming more receptive to your presence, his body relaxing under your ministrations as the tempest within him begins to calm.

After a long, silent moment, Alfie leans back slightly, his eyes closed as he savours the relief your hands have brought him. His rough exterior seems to crumble ever so slightly, revealing a glimpse of the vulnerable man beneath the tough facade. Without warning, his hand reaches up to cover yours, holding it in place as if to anchor himself in the newfound calm.

He lets out a low, rumbling sigh, and before you can react, he gently pulls you around to the front of his chair. The look in his eyes is different now, softened by exhaustion and perhaps something more profound. He guides you into his lap with surprising tenderness, his strong arms encircling you protectively.

For a moment, you hesitate, unsure of this sudden shift in his mood. But the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear offer a strange, unexpected comfort. Alfie's rough hand strokes your back in slow, soothing motions, his touch seeking out the solace you provide.

"Stay," he murmurs, his voice a gravelly whisper that carries the weight of unspoken emotions. "Just for a while."

You nod, relaxing into his hold, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his chest.

As you settle into Alfie's lap, the warmth of his body seeping into yours, your hands continue their gentle caress. The heat from his skin radiates through the fabric of his shirt, mingling with your own warmth and creating a cocoon of intimacy. You can feel the tension leaving him in waves, replaced by something softer, more intimate. Your fingers trace along his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch, a soothing cadence that matches your own.

In the quiet of the office, the only sounds are the distant hum of the distillery and the soft, steady breaths you both take. You become acutely aware of the subtle shift in Alfie's breathing, the way his chest rises and falls more deliberately. His grip on your waist tightens ever so slightly, and you feel the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against you. A flush of heat rises to your cheeks, your skin tingling with the electricity of the moment, but you don't pull away. Instead, you let your hands explore more deliberately, your touch both soothing and inviting, each stroke a silent promise.

Alfie's eyes meet yours, dark and intense, searching for any sign of hesitation or doubt. But you hold his gaze steadily, your own eyes reflecting a mix of curiosity, acceptance, and something deeper, an unspoken understanding. The corner of his mouth twitches into a small, almost vulnerable smile, as if seeking your permission, a rare glimpse of the man behind the hardened exterior.

In response, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his ear with a feather-light touch as you whisper, "I'm here, Alfie. I'm not going anywhere." The words hang in the air, a vow as much to yourself as to him.

He closes his eyes, a shuddering breath escaping his lips as he pulls you even closer, your bodies fitting together as if they were meant to. His arms encircle you with a protective strength, and the tension melts away, replaced by a profound sense of connection. Your hands slide down to the small of his back, fingers tracing the lines of his muscles, feeling the heat of his desire and the depth of his need, a silent communication that passes between you.

Feeling the palpable tension and desire between you and Alfie, you decide to take things further. Your hands slowly slide down his chest, tracing the contours of his muscles with deliberate, tender movements. You shift your position with care, easing yourself off his lap and sinking to your knees between his legs, your eyes never leaving his. The intimacy of the moment deepens as you look up at him, your touch a blend of reassurance and invitation.

Alfie's eyes follow your every movement, dark and intense, filled with a mixture of surprise and anticipation. You can feel the weight of his gaze on you, a silent communication that speaks volumes. The atmosphere in the room seems to thicken with every passing second, the air charged with a palpable tension. Your hands, now trembling slightly with the gravity of the moment, fumble with the buttons of his trousers.

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you work to free him from the confines of the fabric. The sound of your breathing mingles with his, creating a symphony of shared anticipation. Alfie’s hand reaches down, his fingers brushing against your cheek in a surprisingly tender gesture.

"Are you sure?" Alfie's voice is a low, gravelly whisper, laced with both desire and a hint of uncertainty. The question hangs in the air, a delicate balance of vulnerability and need.

Looking up into his eyes, you nod, your own voice soft but firm. "I've never been more sure about anything." The conviction in your words seems to resonate with him, his eyes darkening further.

His hand gently cups your face, his thumb tracing a slow, path along your cheekbone. With a sense of newfound determination, you finally manage to undo his trousers, your hands moving with more confidence as you begin to explore the warmth and hardness beneath. The fabric parts easily under your touch, revealing the intense heat and the throbbing evidence of his desire.

With Alfie's trousers undone, the anticipation between you grows thicker, almost tangible. You take a steadying breath, your lips trailing soft, exploratory kisses along his shaft. Each touch is a silent promise of what's to come. The warmth of his skin against your lips sends a shiver down your spine, your senses heightened by the intimacy of the moment.

Alfie's breath hitches, his fingers tightening in your hair as you continue your tender assault. The sensation of his touch, the way his breath catches, fuels your confidence. You take your time, savouring the moment, allowing the tension to build like a slow-burning fire.

As your kisses reach the tip, you feel a surge of electricity pass between you both. Your tongue flicks out, tasting him, eliciting a low, guttural moan from Alfie. The sound spurs you on, your movements becoming more confident, more purposeful, your touch a blend of reverence and hunger.

Your tongue begins to work along his length, tracing patterns, exploring every inch of him with desire. Alfie's hands, once tense, now cradle your head, guiding you gently, his breath coming in ragged gasps that speak of the pleasure you're giving him.

"Christ," he mutters, his voice a strained whisper filled with awe and desire. "You're fuckin' magic, sweetheart." The words, spoken with such raw emotion, sparked your ignition, your movements becoming even more deliberate, more intense, as you seek to bring him the pleasure he so clearly craves. You look up at him, your eyes locking onto his, and you see the raw need and admiration there. The intensity in his gaze seems to fuel your determination to pleasure him, to bring him relief from the storm that had consumed him earlier.

With each stroke of your tongue, each gentle suck, you feel him responding, his body tightening, his hips subtly moving in rhythm with your ministrations. The room feels charged with an almost electric energy, the air thick with the scent of his arousal and the sound of your shared breaths.

Alfie's grip on your hair tightens, his breaths turning into soft, broken moans. The sounds he makes, the way his body reacts to your touch, is a symphony of pleasure that echoes in the quiet room.

With Alfie’s moans echoing in your ears and the palpable tension between you, you decide to take the next step. You pause for a moment, looking up at him, ensuring that this is what he truly wants. His eyes, dark and intense, meet yours, and the gentle pressure of his hand in your hair is all the confirmation you need.

Slowly, you part your lips and take him into your mouth, your tongue swirling around the tip before gradually taking him deeper. The warmth and taste of him fill your senses, and you feel his whole body shudder in response. Alfie’s hand tightens in your hair, not forcefully, but in a way that guides and encourages you, his fingers threading through your strands with a tenderness that belies the raw desire between you.

You start with slow, deliberate movements, your mouth creating a rhythm that matches the rising and falling of his chest. Each time you take him deeper, you feel his body tense and hear the soft, husky sounds escaping his lips. The way he responds to you, the way his body reacts, pushes you to give him everything you have.

"Fuck," Alfie groans, his voice rough with pleasure. "You're fuckin' incredible. Don't stop." His words are a command and a plea, filled with a desperate need that resonates with your own.

Your hands find their place on his thighs, gripping them for support as you continue. The muscles beneath your fingers are tense, coiled with the anticipation of release. You hollow your cheeks, increasing the suction, and you can feel him responding to every move you make. The taste of him, the feel of his hardness against your tongue, and the sounds of his pleasure create a heady mix that drives you to go further, to push him closer to the edge.

Alfie’s hips begin to move in time with your motions, his breathing becoming more erratic. You can feel the tension building within him, his body on the edge of release. Your mouth works him with a determined rhythm, each movement designed to bring him closer to the brink, to draw out his pleasure.

As Alfie’s moans grow louder, you look up at him, your eyes meeting his. The connection between you is electric, charged with a shared intensity that transcends words. In this moment, you are his anchor, his solace, and his desire, all wrapped into one.

His grip on your hair tightens one last time as a deep, shuddering moan escapes his lips, signalling his impending climax. You brace yourself, ready to take all of him, determined to bring him to the release he so desperately needs. The anticipation builds within you as you feel him teetering on the edge.

Alfie’s body tenses, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. With a final, deep moan, he climaxes, his release filling your mouth. The taste of him is a heady blend of salt and musk, a testament to the intensity of his desire. You do your best to take all of him, savouring the moment and the intimacy it brings.

As the waves of his pleasure subside, Alfie gently but firmly pulls you up to his lap. His eyes have softened, now a mixture of gratitude and something deeper, more profound. He cradles your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing tenderly over your cheeks as he helps you clean up. The intimacy of the moment lingers, a quiet testament to the bond you've just deepened.

"Come ‘ere," he murmurs, his voice still rough from the intensity of his release. He reaches for a handkerchief from the desk, carefully wiping away any remnants with a gentleness that contrasts with his earlier ferocity. His touch is tender, each stroke of the cloth against your skin filled with a reverence that takes your breath away.

You sit straddling his lap, your arms resting around his neck, allowing him to care for you. There's a vulnerability in the way he tends to you, a silent acknowledgment of the connection between you. The room feels smaller, cosier, as if it has been transformed from the earlier chaos.

"Thank you," he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. The words are simple, yet they carry a weight of sincerity that resonates deeply within you. "You have no idea how much I fuckin’ needed that."

You smile softly, your fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. "I’m here for you, Alfie. Always." The promise in your words is solid.

His eyes meet yours, filled with a complex mix of emotions—relief, gratitude, and a burgeoning affection. He pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around you in a protective embrace. The world outside may be chaotic, but in this moment, you both find a rare, fragile peace in each other’s arms.

Nestled in Alfie's lap, you find a comforting rhythm in the gentle sway of your bodies. His fingers trail up and down your back, leaving a path of warmth and tenderness in their wake. The roughness of his hands contrasts beautifully with the softness of his touch, each stroke sending shivers down your spine. The feeling is intoxicating, grounding you in the moment.

You lean in closer, resting your head against his shoulder, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat beneath your touch is a soothing lullaby. Alfie presses a soft kiss to your temple, his breath warm against your skin, a silent promise of his presence and devotion.

"You're somethin’ else, you know that?" he murmurs, his voice a quiet rumble that vibrates through your entire being.

You lift your head to meet his gaze, a smile tugging at your lips. "I could say the same about you, Alfie."

He chuckles softly, the sound deep and rich, filling the small space with a rare sense of contentment. His eyes soften as he looks at you, the hard edges of his usual demeanour melting away to reveal a man capable of profound tenderness. The transformation is striking, and it fills you with a sense of awe and affection.

You shift slightly, one hand coming up to cup his cheek. "It's nice to see you like this," you admit softly, your thumb brushing over the stubble on his jaw. "At peace." The admission is vulnerable, but it feels right, a reflection of the honesty that defines your relationship.

Alfie leans into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if to savour the moment. "You bring out the best in me, darlin’," he replies, his voice barely above a whisper. "I dunno how, but you do." The admission is raw, honest, and it tugs at your heartstrings.

Alfie's hands continue their gentle exploration of your back, each touch a silent promise of safety and affection.

With a tender smile, you lean in and press a soft kiss to his lips, feeling the way he melts into the kiss. It's not urgent or passionate, but slow and lingering. The sensation is intoxicating, a perfect blend of tenderness and desire.

When you finally pull back, Alfie's eyes are half-lidded, a serene expression on his face. "Stay with me," he says quietly, his voice carrying a vulnerability that tugs at your heartstrings. "Just like this."

You nod, your fingers threading through his hair as you lean in closer. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," you whisper, your voice filled with a quiet certainty.

The two of you share a lingering kiss, a reaffirmation of your promises and the unbreakable bond between you. As you sit there, wrapped in each other's arms, you know that this—right here, right now—is where you both truly belong.

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinder fanfic #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons

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hottpinkpenguin · 11 months ago

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Hey 😊 if your still taking requests for the peakys. Could I please ask for Alfie Solomons with A "ask me to stay" and D "dark secret" female reader. Thanks 💗💗

A/n: that's a wrap on Peaky Blinders requests from June!!! thx to all the lovelies who participated <3

The Wall Between Them - Alfie Solomons X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2362 Content warnings: Domestic violence, reader murders the abuser, abuse, violence, blood/gore, protective Alfie, can't-be-vulnerable Alfie, trying-his-best Alfie, hints of soft!Alfie?

Her hands shook so violently it was a wonder she didn’t drop the pistol. If anyone had been watching the scene before them, they would have credited a guardian angel for guiding the bullet straight to his chest despite the treacherous wobble of the gun. Her eyes were closed when she pulled the trigger, tears streaming down her cheeks and mixing with the blood from her mouth.

He fell like a sack of bricks. One minute he was lunging towards her, eyes trained on the pistol. A cold fear seized his heart as he saw the terror in her gaze melt away to black rage. All those whiskey beatings, harsh words and hateful years had backfired on him. Then, in the next instant, he died to the ear-splitting sound of a gunshot.

The silence that followed was so loud she swore it would crush her. The walls around her seemed to be holding their breath. Was he really dead? Did she really pull the trigger?

She didn’t let herself exhale until she saw a pool of blood - darker than she’d imagined it would be - staining the floorboards underneath him. She dropped the pistol; it landed with a heavy thud at her feet moments before her knees folded on themselves as if made of twigs. She pitched sideways, letting the hallway wall brace her fall as she deflated under the weight of realization. She knew in that moment that it didn’t matter how many times he’d hit her. The ghastly bruises and scars he’d left etched in her skin, the nights her mind had divorced itself from her battered body and wandered the halls like a ghost, the mangled monster he’d grown into… none of it mattered. All that others would see was a dead husband and a living wife with motive, means, and a guilty conscience. Even dead, that horrid man was imprisoning her.

She knew there was only one person who could get her out of this. And so, she wiped the blood from her rapidly swelling lip, picked up the pistol and slipped it into the deep pocket of her apron, and tied up the escaped strands of hair. It had been almost seven years since she’d seen Alfie Solomons, but she still knew exactly where to find him.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Boss, there’s a lady here to see you.”

Alfie barely heard Jack’s murmured comment above the jeer of the crowd. The Irishman was swaying unsteadily on his feet in the pen after taking a nasty round of hits to his right ear. Alfie could see his ear filling with blood. A busted eardrum, likely. Circling opposite him, the burly Hungarian Alfie knew as The Red Devil was snarling proudly as he surveyed his quarry.

“Fuckin’ finish him!” Alfie called out, lifting a wad of bills in the air like a signal fire. The fight was fixed of course, and Alfie had fixed it. The Red Devil was turning into quite a lucrative investment, but his penchant for theatrics was tiring to Alfie. He preferred a quick win, efficient and clean.

“Boss?” Jack edged slightly closer, waiting for Alfie’s orders.

“Hm?”

“A lady, boss. There’s a lady here to see you. Asked for you by name.”

“Didn’t book a whore tonight,” Alfie replied simply, waving Jack off as The Red Devil moved in on the Irishman, holding the dazed man’s head as he drove his knee up into the exposed forehead until the bell rang to signal the end of the fight. The crowd erupted into a mix of appreciative cheers, boos, and cries to settle up or place new bets as another pair of fighters moved to the edge of the pen.

“Don’t think she’s a whore, boss. Looks like a respectable lady. Bit beat up though.”

Alfie fixed Jack with an incredulous stare. He wasn’t accustomed to his men pressing him on trivial issues like this. Especially not on a fight night. Jack flinched imperceptibly; he was well-acquainted with Alfie’s anger and bore a nasty half-moon scar the framed his left eye from being pistol-whipped after pressing Alfie’s limits. Alfie almost moved to strike him, until something about Jack’s words and the odd look in his eyes plucked at something.

“She give a name?”

Jack shook his head, eyes glued to the ground. “No. All she said was you were ol’ friends. Childhood friends, I think she said.”

It couldn’t be. Alfie shook his head as if trying to shake out the thought. But, then again, there was only one person he’d ever met who’d claim him as a friend.

“Beat up, you say?”

Jack nodded. “Lip’s split and she got a shiner.”

A memory flickered across Alfie’s mind. He hadn’t seen her in years, but the last time he had, she’d had a ring of purple and green bruises around her neck. She’d tried to hide it under a high collar dress, but Alfie had her pressed up against the wall of his office, their lips devouring each other, and he hadn’t missed the way she winced when he let his hand slide down the side of her neck on its way to undo the line of buttons at the front of her dress. He knew who’d done it and didn’t need her to say a damn thing. If she hadn’t begged him on her knees - her goddamn knees - to spare that pathetic man’s life, Alfie Solomons would have gutted him nice and slow.

He hadn’t seen her since. She’d stopped writing, stopped answering her own front door, stopped going to the butcher shop below where Alfie kept a small apartment. He’d had her on every surface of that apartment, rabid with hunger for anything she’d give him. Then she’d just vanished. Told him she was due to be married, couldn’t carry on with him anymore. Alfie knew there’d been a silent request buried in her words. He’d heard her ask it with her eyes. Ask me to marry you, and I’ll leave him. Alfie cursed himself every day for letting that moment slip by like water on rocks. He wasn’t any closer to figuring out how to love someone now then he was back then, but in his quiet moments he wondered if maybe he could have figured it out with her, if only he’d been willing to take that chance.

“Boss? Boss, what do you want me to tell ‘er?”

The sound of the bell announcing the start of another match jarred Alfie loose from his reminiscences.

“Nothin’. I’ll talk to ‘er.”

Jack eyed him with surprise, but quickly smoothed the spark of interest out of his features rather than risk another scar from his mercurial boss. He’d never known Alfie Solomons to pause his dealings for a woman. Something about her must have been special. Jack followed his boss out of the smoky, cacophonous warehouse and towards the back of the building where Alfie kept his offices.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Alfie felt his fingers dig into the wood of his desk as she stepped out of the shadowy corner of his office and into the soft halo glow of his desk lamp. Her lip was split, blood dried on her chin, and one of her luminous eyes was swollen shut. Murder ripped through Alfie’s blood at the sight of her.

“Before you say anything, Alfie, he’s dead.”

Her voice sounded different, thin and strained, like someone had scooped out her soul leaving nothing but an echo behind.

“He sure fuckin’ is.” Alfie was shaking he was so bloodthirsty. He couldn’t look at her and risk losing himself. How could it still be so fresh, he wondered, after seven long years?

“No, that’s not what I meant… Alfie, I-, I killed him. I shot him.”

A different man might have been horrified, or maybe even a little impressed. Alfie was none of that. Instead, he felt himself pitch forward over the lip of a hole of despair.

His voice cracked when he ordered Jack and the rest of the boys out of the office. Once the door closed behind them, she sank down into one of the leather-backed chairs across the desk from him. Desperate to be close to her lest she splinter to pieces, Alfie rounded the desk to perch against its edge, stretching his long legs away from her in an attempt to give her space. She hardly looked up at him.

“What did he fuckin’ do to you?” Barely more than a whisper. Alfie was glad the light was too dim for her to see that he was treacherously close to tears.

She looked up at him, shocked. Her one good eye gleamed at him.

“Alfie, did you hear me? I killed him.”

He nodded, swallowing thickly. Alfie was full of tender urges and gentle feelings, but his mouth couldn’t seem to give them words or noise. All he knew was harshness and violence. It was the same wall that had kept him from reaching out for her hand and telling her all the things he felt the last night he’d seen her. Here he was, so close he could smell her lavender soap but his affection locked away so tightly and deeply that he couldn’t force himself to touch it even if he tried.

“Nothin’ he didn’t deserve,” he grunted brusquely after a few moments. He dropped his gaze, unable to tolerate the sight of her face bruised and misshapen. He noticed her hands were trembling in her lap. “What do you need, darlin’?”

She stifled a small sob at the sound of the pet name he’d reserved for her.

“He’s still-... the body, I- I don’t know… I guess-”

“It’s done. Write down your address.” Alfie handed her a pen and paper, watched as she struggled to mark the street name and number legibly. Her knuckles were bruised, he noted with a twisted pang of pride and pain. She’d been fighting back, he realized. All alone these last seven years. And he’d let her. He’d stopped fighting to get to her. Let her close herself off to him. Let himself close off to her. And now, it wasn’t until she’d been pushed to the brink - maybe past it - that she’d come to him, and only because she knew that when violence and darkness was needed, Alfie could do it. But he couldn’t do the other things, the harder things. Like love her, protect her, tirelessly fight for her.

She tore off the page and handed it to Alfie. He took it without looking at the writing, strode over the door and excused himself from the office. He thrust the paper into Jack’s hands.

“Take care of it, Jackie. No loose ends, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ rip you limb from limb if it ain’t done right.”

He didn’t give Jack or the others time to argue or ask questions before he slammed the door as a dismissal and strode back to her. He reached for her, needing to feel her warmth under his fingertips just to prove she was here. She flinched instinctively, sending Alfie deeper into self-loathing.

“Do they know-”

“It’s done, darlin’. It’s taken care of.”

Alfie poured himself a glass of whiskey, drunk it down in one gulp, and poured another.

“Alfie…”

Her voice was so soft and yearning it broke Alfie in two. He turned to face her. Gods she looked perfect.

“It ain’t fuckin’ happenin’ again.” The most solemn promise he’d ever made.

She recoiled from him as if slapped. It took him a half moment to process why.

“I ain’t lettin’ anyone hurt you. Ever again, you hear me? I’ll fuckin’ burn the world and every hateful man with it, it don’t matter.” It was all Alfie could find the words to say.

Finally understanding his meaning, he watched her relax in the chair. She eyed him without saying a thing, a strange expression on her face.

“I don’t want that, Alfie,” she replied softly. “I don’t want any more death. I don’t want to see someone hurt ever again. I just… I just want…”

Her words trailed off into the quiet. Neither of them knew where the end of that sentence would lead. The space between them stretched and morphed until it felt like an ocean separating them. Strange, that two people who both wanted so desperately to be with each other could feel so far away.

“Don’t set any fires on my account, Alfie.” She rose from her chair and walked towards him, taking the glass out of Alfie’s hand and downing the whiskey with a wince. “Just ask me to stay.”

Alfie felt his heart run headlong into that same old wall that always kept them apart. Here she was, the only woman who’d ever mattered, literally giving him the words she wanted to hear. And all that Alfie’s tongue wanted to say was more promises of vengeance, of violence in her name, of destruction.

She watched him struggle, her gaze even but tired.

“Ask me to stay, Alfie. That’s all I need.”

The openness those words threatened to expose in Alfie Solomons felt like a lit bomb nestled in the cage of his ribs. He choked on the air in his lungs. Come on, you fucker, he thought viciously as he struggled to press back on the urge to run.

She watched and waited. Each moment, her shoulders sagged a bit more.

“Stay.”

It wasn’t exactly what she wanted, and Alfie spat the word out as if it had poison between its letters. But was it close enough?

Her heart thought so. She felt a softness take root there, a shred of hope.

Yes, it was enough.

She gave Alfie Solomons a soft smile. The way he crumbled at the sight told her enough about his feelings for her. Even if he couldn’t put them into words, she could see the love that she was so desperate to excavate from wherever he stored away the fragile parts of himself.

“That’s enough,” she told him sweetly, lifting a hand to cradle the side of his face. For the first time in seven years, she let herself relax into a man’s touch as Alfie’s fingers found hers…

#peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders requests #peaky blinders fanfic #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy x you #tom hardy x reader

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w1ngedsoul · 5 months ago

Text

secrecy | a.s

pairings: alfie solomons x shelby sister

warnings: mentions of sex

requests are open!

alfie solomons masterlist

Thomas Shelby was an intelligent man.

He attended all of his meetings, most of them were against his will, but he was aware of the repercussions if he didn't.

He looked after his business before his family, and kept his priorities in a confusing order for many to understand.

Even if he couldn't quite spend time with family, he knew where they were.

He knew what time they arrived at work, took breaks, went to the shop, went out to drink with friends, came home, whatever it was, he knew the whereabouts of them.

Or, so he thought.

His sister hadn't shown signs of suspicion, or at least her movements didn't, how could they? She knew his tactics and stayed where she knew she wouldn't be questioned.

She had gotten the job of a secretary in a local business, that's what Thomas was told and so he believed her.

What he was oblivious to is that her boss was, in fact, Thomas' trusted partner, Alfie Solomons.

He wasn't aware of Alfie's hand that glided up her backside as she reached for files just above her. He wasn't aware of her moans that infiltrated his office as she repeated Alfie's name in cries and muffles of pleasure as she buried her face into his shoulder.

He wasn't aware of her persistent trails back to the man's house, where their rendezvous would continue throughout the night.

He wasn't aware of her making Alfie keep their relationship a secret despite his questioning to make it known.

Alfie Solomons was aware of her surname, he had certainly heard it on numerous occasions. He judged her when he had first met her, but upon the development of their relationship came his carelessness of her background and the reputation that proceeded her family.

Although their affair had began merely from sex, they both had grown feelings for each other, which was particularly difficult for Alfie to admit, perhaps it was in regards to the final acceptance of her family, but his admittance of love came which only further buried their secret.

Thomas was unaware of his sister's flirtatious giggles and words laced with desire as she phoned Alfie late at night whilst staying at Shelby manor.

He was unaware of it all, and had been for the last sixteen months.

All for the sake of secrecy.

#alfie x reader #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons #y/n #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #alfie solomons x oc

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pacifymebby · 2 years ago

Note

Cuddle fucking with Alfie Solomons pls

It started slowly. Really slowly.

You woke up to the cold early morning, the sun not yet risen, the sheets half kicked off you leaving your shoulders exposed. You were cold, skin scattered with goosebumps, shivering just a little as you tried to shrink back beneath the quilt and press your body against Alfie's. His body was warm, you knew it would be because Alfie was your personal walking furnace and you were welcome to come snuggle against him whenever you needed warming through.

Half asleep you pressed your body against his, relaxing into the heat which radiated from his restful self. He was still asleep, at least you thought he was because his breaths were slow and lethargic, peaceful. But when he felt your back pressing against his chest, awake or asleep, your presence stirred him enough that he let out a quiet groan and shifted, raising his arm and wrapping it around you, squeezing you tighter to him, possessive as he was.

So, instinctively, you pressed yourself back against him a little more, wanting to be as close as possible to your man, wanting to feel the warmth from his chest radiate through you. And you did. Alfie had such a lulling, calming power over you and as you began to warm up in his tight embrace your eyes fluttered shut and you began to drift off.

There was only one thing keeping you from drifting off completely. The closeness between you, the feeling of his arms gripping you tight, holding your body tight to the curve of his so that not a milimeter of space remained between you. So that the pressure of his morning glory digging into your soft bottom was unignorable.

You were trying your best to think of anything else, to focus on anything else. To settle and go back to sleep even, but that slight pressure, the warmth of his erection, was impossible to tune out of. Perhaps if it had been anyone elses it would have been easy to drag yourself away from the bed, forget about them for the rest of the day and go about your business, but not when it was your Alfies. Not when only last night you'd come undone on it, his cock burried deep inside you, fucking into you even after he'd cum and his milky liquid was oozing out of you.

Not when you knew just how easily he could undo you all over again.

But he was sleeping. And Alfie liked to live slowly these days. Now that he had you. Now that he knew he could spend every morning with you wrapped up, naked, in his arms. Now that there was no rush he didn't like to rush. No. If there was one thing Alfie liked to try and teach you, it was patience.

So despite the instinctive roll of your hips, the way you wriggled against him, only almost subconsciously, he didn't stir. Instead he lay there, enjoying the feeling of your needy little wriggles, the way you tried to pretend at innocence when you rubbed your bottom against him and tried to feel a little friction. Instead he just lay there, still holding you nice and tight and snug, making sure you couldn't move too much, making sure you were still close enough to him that every move you made he certainly could enjoy... He wanted to make you wait. He wanted to leave you to your imagination for long enough that your thighs would be sweet at sticky before he'd moved a muscle.

And the more you wriggled and tried to get closer to him the harder he got, the heat between you almost as torturous for him as it was for you.

And even when he did decide to give you a little more, he didn't say a word and neither did you. You smiled to yourself as his calloused fingers teased over your skin, caressing first your shoulder, down your arm, then your waist. He tickled over the soft curve of your belly making you squirm against him, enjoying the way a giggle escaped your lips and ruined your pretence at sleep. He smirked to himself doing it again just for good measure, struggling to hold back the sigh of pleasure when your wriggling hips pushed back against his cock.

You squirmed again, enjoying the feeling of him digging into you, the pressure increasing as he got a little harder with your every move.

And when his hand moved over your breast and squeezed a handful, it was all you could do not to hum in pleasure and push yourself back closer to him once more. You needed him to touch you elsewhere. The more his fingers trailed over your hips and thighs, the more he massaged your breast and pinched at your nipple, rolling it between his thumb abd forefinger absentminded and behaving as if he had no idea the effect on you he was having, the more you needed him. Your core beginning to ache for him. A pulse circulating between your thighs which forced your hips back against him in a gentle, needy motion. Your persistent rhythm pleasing him more than he was letting onto you.

You could feel your arousal between your legs, sticky and desperate, gathering quicker than you'd have liked to admit had this been anyone but your Alfie. But this was your Alfie and your heart was racing in your chest because you knew that sooner or later he was going to take you somewhere no one else could.

You let out a devestating little whine when he hooked your leg with his and dragged your thighs apart, trapping you with your thighs split so that for a moment you were tortured by a breeze glistening over your sticky core, your clit shivering with the cool air stirring your senses.

You bucked your hips against the air and heard him chuckle, he was enjoying your frustration and naturally, that only frustrated you more.

But this was his favourite way to spend a lazy Sunday morning. Teasing you. Working you up into a needy, sticky mess between the sheets so that he could revel in the sight of your shivering body shaking with ecstacy when he finally gave you what you wanted.

He always told you that was his favourite view. Looking down at you bundled up in his arms, your fingers clutching at him as you shivered with your orgasm, moaning and whimpering into his chest. And even though every time he told you that you got embarrassed and blushy, shying away from him, trying to hide your face in the crook of his neck, that only made the sight even more spectacular to him. Because he had all that power over you, and in that moment you needed him so much, holding onto him like your life depended on it, little tears of pleasurw gleaming in your eyes.

That was the sight he hoped to work towards that morning as he teased and toyed with you. Enjoying the way his touch left a trail of goosebumps wherever he traced his fingers.

He carried on wordlessly, listening to your breathing and smirking to himself when he recognised how shallow and needy you were beginning to sound. How when he took your hip in his hand and squeezed, when he rubbed his hand firmly over the curve of your bottom and massaged you, taking his time to feel every inch of your body, your breath hitched and you struggled to hide how desperate you were getting.

Because he'd been making a point of avoiding any real pleasure points. Had skimmed his fingertips briefly over your nipples but refused to give you any real satisfaction. Had let his fingers stray close enough to your core to remind you what you really needed, but hadn't so much as ventured to test how wet you were. Then again he didn't need to test that. He knew you well enough to know that by now your arousal would be slick and shining on your inner thighs, that when he did finally glide his fingers between your folds he'd feel that thick warm juice overflowing from your needy little cunt, just the way he liked it.

And he did. When he finally gave you a taste of what you'd been desperate for all this time, he dragged his lips over your shoulder and kissed a trail of warm notes up your neck, his breath tickling your skin, teasing your senses. His fingertips sliding slowly from bottom to top drawing a line between your lips and then finally brushing over your clit. Not enough pressure to truly satisfy you but enough to leave your heart racing, your whole body jolting with the shock of it.

You couldn't help the gasp which left you, sharp and, if he was being honest, music to his ears. You couldn't help the way your hips bucked forward to press yourself into his hand, your cunt rubbing over his two fingers, begging them to touch you harder and longer.

You wanted to whimper and whisper to him, beg him to stop teasing you, but that wasn't how this worked. It was an unspoken rule between you, that you didn't speak. That you kept that sleepy charade up until you were both exhausted and satiated, holding onto one another as you came down from your high.

So even when he really tried to torture you, dragging his fingers in a slow teasibg circle around your clit only to trail them up and away, painting a sticky sweet line of arousal along your naval to your belly button, you didn't say a word. You just closed your eyes and ground your bottom back against his cock, feeling its heat radiate through you, feeling the push as Alfie responded instinctually, grinding harder against you, scraping his teeth over a sensitive patch on your shoulder, kissing you there with his open mouth so that the pleasure washed over you from several places at once and left your head spinning. Your whole body tingling with that need, that desperation to satisfy your desires.

You whimpered again, your mouth open in a little oh as he trailed those two fingers back down your belly, back down your hips, returning to the warmth of your thighs. He held you in his rough palms, massaging your thighs, forcing your legs open a little wider so that your glistening core was left exposed and vulnerable. Throbbing between your legs. The draft torture. The way you bucked your hips and and met nothing but cool air driving you to despair so that when Alfie took your cheek in hand and made you look silently up at him, he saw those tears of desire in your eyes and he couldn't resist you any longer.

His fingers found your clit and pinched, your body jumping so that you wound up pressed even closer to him, him holding you tight and secure, pushing you down into the mattress beneath him. He propped himseld up to get a better view, looking down at you with lustful eyes which trailed the contours of your body slowly and took every inch of you in. He didn't just love you, you were his own private slice of heaven and on mornings like this he wanted only to devour you. Only to send you to heavenly places himself.

He rubbed you slowly at first, watching your breasts as if hypnotised by them, the rise and fall of your chest, the way your body began to shiver and tremble eratically when he rubbed you hard and then soft, slow and then fast. He touched you in a quick, slippery circle, his fingertip rolling over your little pearl over and over so that you began to lose control of yourself and your body quickly. The cascade of whimpers and whispered needy moans music to the older mans ears. You were coming undone for him so so easily and the sight was truly something to behold. Your trembling body spurring the ache inside him, his cock twitching against your soft curving ass. He wanted nothing more than to slip into you there and then, bury himself inside you.

And you needed to feel him inside you too, he could tell because your head had tilted back, resting on his shoulder, your eyes rolled back as the first intense wave of pleasure began to radiate through you. He'd hardly had to do a thing, barely had to touch you and there you were shaking, firework static pleasure errupting inside you, your skin tingling all over with the power of your orgasm. It left you feeling weak, needing him to keep you held together, your body pressed hard against his as he held you firm and secure and scattered hungry kisses over your neck. But he didn't stop, didn't bring you down from your high gently. Instead he acted almost as if he hadn't noticed your cumming at all. Instead he carried on playing with you, rolling your clit beneath his fingertips, rubbing your juices all over your perfect cunt, letting his fingers tease your opening so that you felt yourself clenching and twitching needily for him.

You could feel his cock digging into you from behind, so hard and hot, the heat teasing you, the weight of it as he took it in his hand and let it fall back against your glistening wet thighs, tormenting you because all you wanted then was for him to use it. To ruin you with it. Fill you up and fuck you until your sleepy little body could take no more.

His whiskers tickled your back as he nuzzled into you from behind, trailing his fingers over your thighs as he pushed your legs apart and adjusted you. You whimpered and gasped at his every movement, your senses heightened and over stimulated by his touch. His warm wet trail of open mouthed kisses down your neck, his cock rubbing between your folds, collecting the slick of your cum, his fingers flicking your swollen clit. Everything he did took you a little closer to the edge and even though you'd barely caught your breath from your first orgasm, you could already feel the tension in your abdomen as he built you up to another.

And then finally you felt the warm relief, the ache in your core finally satisfied as he pushed his cock into you slowly from behind. You were so sensitive that you were convinced you could feel every detail of his erection brushing up against your walls, stretching you out. Your pulse and his pulse racing together as he let out a low sleepy groan, one laced with desire.

He held himself there for a moment, pushing his hips against your bottom, burying himself as deep into you as he could. He held you still too so that although you were desperate to push back against him, to writhe against him and revel in that delightful friction, you couldn't. All you could do was give into him, let him do as he wanted with you, let him hold you there, your cunt clenching and relaxing around his throbbing cock.

Every now and then he flexed it inside you and you couldn't help the needy whimpers which escaped you. Couldn't help the little tears in your eyes. He was driving you to despair because it felt so good but it wasn't enough. You needed more of him, you needed the push and pull. And again you almost started begging, almost said Please, Alfie, please... But instead you whimpered, let out another trembling little moan and let him slip his fingers into your mouth, sucking on them to silence yourself as he used his other hand to carry on playing with you.

He groaned when, as he pinched your clit between his thumb and forefinger, rolling it between them mercilessly, you moaned over his fingers and your cunt clenched and squeezed his erection. Your whole body flinching, still trembling and shaking. He could feel your heartbeat in his chest, his racing in time with yours as finally he began to thrust in and out of you. He took it slow, he wanted to go gently, wanted to fuck you slowly and draw your shared ecstacy out for as long as he could.

He held you so tightly against him, digging his hips into you from behind as he pushed deeper inside you. His tip brushing your gspot with every thrust he made, the returning pleasure rolling over you like waves. It was heavenly and you could feel the tightening of another high winding inside you like a coil as Alfie rubbed his calloused fingers over your clit, the roughness of his touch against your swollen bud bringing you that burning pleasure, hot and almost unbearable.

You had that feeling like you could cry, like you just felt so good that that was all you could do, you could feel it building inside you like a sob that needed to escape but instead of crying your second orgasm drew only the sweetest tumble of moans and soft cries from you as Alfie overwhelmed you with kisses and pushed his fingers a little deeper inside your mouth, moaning into your ear as you trembled on his cock.

You'd never understand just how gorgeous you looked, how heavenly you appeared to him when you were all blissed out like that, delirious with pleasure. Your eyes closed, your chest glistening with a pretty sheen of sweat. Your whole body quivering, jumping and starting at every kiss he pressed to your skin, every flick and swirl of his fingers around your clit.

It was a sight he almost felt he was being robbed of, having you facing the wall and not him so he pulled out, chuckling at the pretty little whimper of dissapointment you let out when you felt his cock leave you, dragged out of you so suddenly.

But he was only turning you around, rolling you over so that your face was burried in his chest, the hair on his body tickling your cheeks as he wrapped his arms around you and held your head cradled in his hand.

He didn't need to tell you what to do and no sooner had he lifted you up to his eye level, one hand squeezing your bottom, holding you firmly in place, had you wrapped your legs around him. And it was easy for his cock to find your hole then, it was like a magnetism drawing you into one another, his tip rubbing over your folds, pushing between them gently as you ground against one another needily.

You looked up at him with your sleepy blissed out ayes, your lips catching his chin first and then his lips. And just as your lips conected he pushed himself all the way into you, burying his cock into you and catching you by surprise so that your mouth opened onto his, your moan vibrating against his tongue as he pushed between your lips and kissed you hungrily.

You felt so close to him then, so dependent, so in love. You felt like this was the only place you ever wanted or needed to be. Balanced on his cock, clinging onto him for life, your face buried in the crook of his neck as he fucked you slow and tender.

He kissed your hair, holding you tight and keeping you tucked up beneath his chin. His legs tangled with yours as he thrust into you at a dreamy lethargic pace and you closed your eyes nuzzling into him. Breathing in his scent, his familiar musk mixed with the salty smell of your sex.

With every thrust those relentless pleasure waves kept rolling through you, your head dizzy from your numerous highs. You screaped your teeth over his skin, nipping and kissing his shoulder as you tried to control yourself. You could feel yourself on the brink of letting go completely and you knew that this time, when you came once more, you wouldn't be able to keep any shred of composure. You'd let it all out the way he loved you to and then you'd collapse completely overwhelmed by him. Unable to let go, the two of you holding onto one another for dear life.

You could tell he was getting close now, his pace speeding up just a little, his breathing growing heavier, hotter against you as he burried his face in your neck and used his hands beneath your bottom to shift you up closer to him. Even the sensation of his skin on your skin was enough to send sparks shooting all over your body and when he groaned in your ear, you bit down on his shoulder and moaned low and sweet into his neck. The pressure building up inside you too only to come washing over you in slow, glowing waves seconds later when you felt his cock swell inside you before letting out a stream of thick, warm cum. You felt him filling you up, felt his cum seep deep inside of you as he carried on fucking you slowly, fucking his cum deeper and deeper as his cock shot another jet into your cunt. You clenched around him, squeezing him tight as he moved inside you and the two of you began to slow down together, bringing one another out of your high slowly and gently.

But he didn't pull out. Instead he remained burried inside you, holding his cum and your cum inside you, occasionally twitching inside you or pushing up into you, his hips grinding against yours as you whimpered and sighed with contentment against him.

He held your face in the palm of his hand and brushed his thumb across your rosy cheek. You had that beautiful blissed out dizzy expression on your face. Your eyes sleepy and glazed as though he'd fucked every last thought from your brain. And you honestly believed that he had, because when he bowed his head and pressed a kiss to your forehead before letting out a yawn and pretending to stretch, saying "mmm, good morning zieskiet, sleep well? You look like youve a head full of very lovely little dreams..."

You couldn't reply, all you could do was look up at him with your hazy eyes, your lips still quivering, your voice shaking when you whispered a little good morning to him too.

AN/ I have a tallest now and you can add yourself here

#peaky blinders imagines #alfie solomans x reader #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons fanfic #peaky blinders smut #Peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons

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potter-solomons · 7 days ago

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No Other Man: one shot.

Alfie Solomons sits atop a fluffy cloud made of fluffy marshmallows surrounded by fluffy things.

Alfie comes home fuming only to feed his woman cheese & bread.

🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞🍞

Deep down you know he would come home from a horrible day and in the foulest mood, stomping around downstairs. Muttering curses to himself. Slamming everything he picks up down. Yet, the minute he brought that bear of a body into your room seeing you in the midst of another flare up, he'd immediately soften.

The creases would soften. His muscles would relax. The fuckin' numpties at work would cease to exist. He'd walk right past your napping form removing his upper layers. Trousers still on he'd turn on the tap. He'd find the perfect mixture of warm with a little bit of cold. You'd have your eyes glued to his muscular form as he begins his way to you. "There she is, my girl. Let's get you up. Naked again, love? If it weren't for the fuckin' ice water in the tub, I'd have you right here. But no, not right now."

He'd run his hand up and down your hips. He'd know that's where it always hurts the most. His thick strong fingers would dig into the flesh as deep as he could, attempting to release some of that fascia. He'd lean down to kiss your forehead as he said, "I know dove, but got to do it, don't I? Come on, let's drop you off into the tub in there. Bloody Atlantic, that water is." He'd pick you up despite his sciatica and you'd curl so close into his chest. Trying to merge yourself with him. You'd both know it's never close enough. He's know that despite your pain you'd never miss the opportunity to give that strong collar bone a small bite and kiss.

He'd lower you into the water hissing as his arms dip beneath the surface with your form. "Fuckin' hell, gonna freeze those perfect nipples right off, you will. Get this bloody temperature down then we'll work on exiting the fuckin' trip to the Arctic. Don't laugh, fuckin' cold that is. Turn my balls into icicles. Make 'em bloody useless." And then he'd smile because it's anything to take your thoughts away from your pain, from the inflammation. He'd know all to well the tragedy of chronic pain. He wouldn't doubt you'd rub peppermint oil deep into his hip and back when he was having a bad day too.

He'd bring up bread and cheese, a couple of books, and crack the window because he would know his pet hadn't eaten and the open window may regulate your temperature.

He'd get undressed. Down to his boxers. Once your lips were properly blue, he'd help you out of the tub. Begin drying you off with your favorite towel even though he'd always give you grief because, "it's the same as all the other fuckin' towels sweetie. No, I didn't use it pet. I don't know why it's bleeding wet, do I? Just a man, I am."

Then he'd get you both in bed. Your eyes wouldn't leave him. Not for a second, only to blink would his presence disappear from your sight. He'd eat with you and you'd read together before he'd dose off. You'd rub his stomach with the tips of your fingers until you fell asleep. He'd be oblivious to your ministrations. Then he'd wake up in the middle of the night to find your hands laced together. He'd know you can't cuddle when you'd flare up. Too much heat comes off him and too much touching would make you feel like you're burning your skin.

So he'd keep your hands together. Move just close enough to know you're there.

Deep down you'd know no other man would do this for you. No other man would yell until his body shook with blood on his shirt then come home to transform that angry energy into an act of service for his woman.

No other man is Alfie Solomons.

#tom hardy #facepuller #alfie solomons #peaky blinders #tom hardy fanfic #tom hardy fanfiction #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons short #alfie solomons one shot #teddy bear solomons #alfie solomons fluff #fibromyalgia #fibro #chronic pain #autoimmine disease

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muneca-lemon-steppa · 1 year ago

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hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, “Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders

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cinnxmxngxrl · 1 month ago

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“Camden’s sin”

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Shelby!Reader

Check Alfie’s Masterlist here to see the next parts

Summary: You were a Shelby working in your family’s business. You tried to convince yourself that it was just that, business. But Alfie Solomons wasn’t just business, not when he had you bent over his desk.

WC: 2.3k

Warnings: intense smut, minors DNI, unprotected piv, filthy language, oral(f!receiving), rough sex, creampie, reader is Tommy Shelby’s sister.

A/N: Again, english is not my first language, so sorry if any mistakes throw you off. I’m planing to do several more parts of this (please tell me if you have any request, this is my second time writing).

Your brother trusted you. For some reason, you were good with numbers—that was a fact. And you were good with people, probably because they all saw you as the innocent and youngest Shelby sister, but you were smarter than any man in the room. They underestimated you. That’s why you got sent to Camden Town almost every week. That, and because Alfie Solomons was utterly obsessed with you. Tommy found it convenient, really, since it always gave you the upper hand in every deal. Alfie simply couldn’t resist you.

You never thought anything of it. Yes, Alfie flirted with you—crude and blunt, filthy sometimes—but you were sure of his intentions. Just a game to piss your brother off. So you dismissed his banter.

The morning air was thick in Camden. It always was. You walked through the bakery like you owned the place, weaving through the towering barrels and busy working men until you reached his office. You didn’t even get a chance to knock. His voice came through the door, rough and immediate.

“Get in.”

You pushed the door open and stepped inside. The air reeked of rum and cigars. He was there, of course—seated at his desk, leaning back in the chair. Sleeves rolled up, revealing strong, tattooed forearms. His beard was thick and wild as ever.

“Well, bloody hell. The Shelbys sent me an angel today, eh?”

“You knew it was me coming, Alfie.”

“That I did. Every week, like a sharp clock, you are,” he grinned. “Lookin’ like fuckin’ sin, you do.”

You sighed. You knew all his lines by now. He’d used them a thousand times already.

“Let’s talk business, yeah?”

“What? No hello? No how’ve you been, Alfie? No I’ve missed seeing your face?”

He twitched his jaw when you stayed silent, completely ignoring his advances once again.

You tried your best to talk numbers, to finalize the new distribution routes. But it was almost impossible with the way his eyes were trailing over your body—lazy, deliberate, like he was undressing you with every glance.

“Are you even listening to what I’m saying?” You were pissed now.

“Well, forgive me, yeah? It’s fuckin’ hard to focus when you’re lookin’ like that.” He leaned forward, elbows resting on the desk, smirking. “You do it on purpose, you do. That dress, that mouth painted red like bloody temptation itself.”

“This isn’t a bloody game, Alfie.” You warned him, trying to stay cool and composed—even while he was practically eye-fucking you across the desk.

“Course it’s not a fuckin’ game,” he said, voice low. “I want you. And yeah, yeah, before you say it again—I know you’re Tommy’s sister. I don’t give a fuck whose sister you are, right?”

“You’re crossing the line. Stop it.” You were trying hard not to flinch, not to blush. Trying to seem unimpressed.

“Oh, am I crossing the line?” His eyes dropped to your legs. “I’ll stop it when you stop sittin’ there with those… those fuckin’ legs crossed tighter than a nun. Pressing your thighs together since the moment you got here. Probably the same way you press them every night thinkin’ of my mouth.”

He smirked, proud of the reaction he managed to pull from you.

He had you now. He bloody well did. And it pissed you off that he was so damn observant, that he noticed everything.

“Fuck you.”

“God, please.”

Your cheeks burned—with anger, yes, but with something deeper than that. Something dangerous. Something like desire.

“You’ve mistaken my tolerance for interest, Alfie. If you want to keep doing business with the Shelbys, then you fucking behave,” you hissed.

“Business?” he scoffed. “Treacle, the only thing I’m gettin’ from business with the Shelbys is fuckin’ blue balls. Havin’ to stare at you every fuckin’ week without being able to touch you the way I want.”

“Are you done? Done saying all the… filth that’s inside your mind? You’re a pig.”

“Done? I’m nowhere near done.” He leaned back, eyes gleaming. “Next time you come here, I’ll tell you what I want to do to you—page by page—like a fuckin’ scripture.”

You stood up, turned away without another word, and walked straight out of his office. Just like that. Gone. Leaving Alfie cursing under his breath.

The truth is, you should’ve told Tommy. Should’ve told him that Alfie crossed a line, so he’d send someone else. But you didn’t.

No matter how hard you tried to stay away from that man, there was an invisible string pulling you toward him.

You wore black that day. High-necked. Buttoned all the way up. But when you walked into Alfie’s office, the first thing you saw was him—waiting for you with a little old leather notebook in his hands.

He didn’t say hello. Didn’t greet you like most days. He just opened the notebook and looked at you.

“I made you a promise, right? And I’m a man of my word.” He tapped the cover with a grin. “Fuckin’ poetry I wrote for you.”

“You think I came here to hear your filth?” you said, sitting across from him, arms and legs crossed.

He ignored you completely. Cleared his throat. Adjusted his glasses. And began to read from the first page.

“You come here all proper, all buttoned up, pretendin’ to be holy. But I’d get you against my desk anyway, with my hand under your tight little skirt, as you moan my name like a fuckin’ prayer.”

He turned the page.

“You’d tell me to fuck off—’cause you love to pretend you don’t want me. But when I feel your thighs squeeze around my fingers, I know it’s all lies.”

Another page turned.

“I’d put my mouth between your legs, eat you until you can’t remember your fuckin’ name. Make you scream so loud your brother in Small Heath would hear you.”

“And I’d fuck you from behind, right on this desk we’ve signed a hundred papers on. You’d beg me not to stop. In fact, you’d beg me to go harder, ’cause—”

“Stop.” You cut him off. Your voice soft, but sharp.

You felt the heat pooling low in your stomach. Felt your undergarments dampen. But you didn’t show it. You stood up, hands trembling, legs unsteady.

“You think you’re clever? Think I’ll melt because you wrote all your filth in a book like some fucked-up priest?”

He stood too, walking around the desk toward you with slow, measured steps. “Maybe. Tell me—is it workin’?”

“You should be locked up.” You should’ve slapped him. Should’ve run. But you didn’t. You stayed. You listened to every word.

“Maybe,” he whispered, closing in. “But I’d find a way out. Just to find you.”

He was towering over you now. So close you could smell him—cigars and rum and sin.

“I should take what I want right now,” he murmured, voice rough. “Should bend you over my desk and do every fuckin’ thing I wrote in that notebook. Everything you’ve been denyin’ me.”

Your knees buckled. Your breath hitched.

“But I won’t, treacle. And you wanna know why?” His voice dropped to a growl. “Because when I do—yeah?—you won’t be walkin’ straight for a fuckin’ week. And it’s gonna be your choice.”

“My choice?” you whispered, your voice barely there, feeling his eyes devour you.

“Yours. You’ll come back here tomorrow. Not for business. Not like a Shelby. You come back for me.”

Somehow, your legs carried you out of his office. Out of the distillery. Back to the car waiting for you outside.

The moment you stepped inside Alfie’s distillery the next day, you knew it—this would be the last time you ever walked out of here untouched.

You made your way into his office, and like always, he was already expecting you. Leaning back against his desk, arms folded, eyes on you like he’d been waiting all fucking day. He looked as irresistible as ever.

“You’re late,” he said.

You checked your watch. “No, I’m not.”

“Yeah, you’re about twenty fucking meetings late for what I really want.” His voice was low, husky. “Lock the door.”

You obeyed without thinking. As you stepped closer, his thumb grazed your throat—rough, calloused fingers surprisingly gentle.

“You want to hear it again? Page by page? ’Cause I’ve written a thousand more.”

“No,” you breathed, “I want you to show me.”

He groaned—and that was it. Restraint fully vanished. He grabbed you and crushed his mouth against yours, desperate, hungry, all tongue and teeth as he yanked your head back and devoured you like a man starving for something only you could give, with the need to own you.

You moaned when he shoved you against the desk, one hand on your throat—holding, not squeezing—while the other dragged your dress up.

No knickers. He swore.

“Fucking hell… You woman… you’re trying to kill me, are you?”

Before you could reply, his hand was already between your thighs, feeling the heat, the wetness.

“Oh, you’re so ready for me, ain’t you? Fucking dripping on my fingers.” He growled—and then dropped to his knees, right there on his office floor. Because there was only one reason Alfie Solomons got on his knees, and that was to eat cunt.

“Alfie—” you began.

“Shut up. Let me read my scripture,” he rasped. Then his mouth was on you—no patience, no mercy.

His thick beard scratched the inside of your thighs, but all you could feel was the way his tongue worked you open. Lazy circles over your clit turned into relentless strokes as he devoured you like you were his first hot meal after the war.

He pulled back for a second, just to look at you.

“Tastes fucking divine.” He gave one long, filthy lick. “Like fucking salvation.”

“Oh God—God—” you whimpered.

“No, treacle, the Lord’s got nothing to do with it. This is all me. So say my fucking name.”

“Alfie… Oh, Alfie…” you moaned, hands buried in his hair, grinding shamelessly against his mouth. He latched on your cunt harder, tongue ruthless going through your slick folds, sucking your clit in the right way. fingers gripping your thighs to keep you from flying apart.

And then—you broke. You came in seconds. Hard. Loud. Messy. Your whole body shook, and you would’ve collapsed on the floor if it weren’t for his strong arms holding you up.

He stood, his beard glistening, soaked in your fluids. Eyes dark as the night, wild. He didn’t wait a second—his hands were already unbuckling his belt.

“You ready for page two?” he growled. “’Cause I’m still fuckin’ hard. And tired of waiting.”

You nodded, It was all you could do, you were speechless, breathless.

He grabbed your body forcefully, turned you around, and bent you over his desk, one hand pressing between your shoulder blades, pinning you down like he’d envisioned a thousand times.

He spit into his hand, stroked himself rough and fast, like the world was about to end. And then—

He slammed into you.

You screamed his name, gripping the desk so hard your knuckles went white. He was huge, and if that wasn’t enough, he was brutal with his unforgiving thrusts that had you seeing stars and the whole fucking galaxy.

He pounded into you so hard you didn’t know if he loved you or hated you, hands bruising your hips, balls slamming against your ass over and over.

“Fuck—fucking—” he choked out, and you realized that this was the first time you’ve ever seen Alfie Solomons struggle to find words. “You trying to kill me? Squeezing my cock like that with this tight little cunt.” He smacked your ass, hard.

All you could do was whimper, pathetic little whimpers that came out of your mouth as he continued to dive into you.

The room was full of it—all of it—the wet slap of skin against skin, the creak of the desk under your body, your muffled cries, his snarling breath mixed with all the filthy words that came out of his mouth.

“Custom-fucking-made for my cock, you were.”

“You feel so good… so wet and hot and tight for me.”

“Look at you, listen to you—moaning like a fucking whore for me.”

He was feral for you. He had turned into a beast like never before. Because even if he had his fair share of women in the past, no woman had ever made him feel like this, not a single one of them had ever felt as good as you did right now, It was all he had ever dreamed of, and more.

And you—you—were taking it, it was all you could do, cause you were built for this. No one ever fucked you like a real man should, no, that was something only Alfie could.

That sharp sting built in your belly and then it snapped—and you came again, harder this time, clenching so tight around his cock he cursed in Yiddish. You didn’t know what he said, but the way he said it made your whole body throb.

“I’m gonna fill you up… so bad it’s gonna fucking drip out of that pretty pussy all over your thighs yeah? You want that?”

“Yes… please, Alfie… fill me up.”

He pulled your hair back, arched your back against his chest, and fucked into you harder. Once. Twice. The third thrust—he buried himself deeper and he came with a guttural growl, spilling himself inside you as he moaned your name into your shoulder.

He stayed there inside you, holding you close, his lips at your throat, whispering things that made you melt, and kissing your shoulder softly, as if trying to comfort after he was the one to wreck you

When he finally pulled out, you felt it—his cum, mixed with your juices, dripping down your thighs. He shoved it all back inside with two fingers, stuffing you full of him again.

“Tell me you’ll come back next week, yeah?” His voice was oddly soft now.

You barely managed a whisper. “Try not to go mad until you see me again.”

He smiled against your skin. “Now that, treacle… that’s a promise I can’t make.”

NEXT PART HERE

‪dividers by: @/saradika-graphics‬

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons x oc #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons fanfiction #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons x shelby reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders smut #thomas shelby #tommy shelby #peaky blinders x reader #alfie solomons imagine #tom hardy #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy x you

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mx-pastelwriting · 7 months ago

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Kinktober Day 23: Dry Humping

ALFIE SOLOMONS X GN! READER

SUMMARY: Planted atop of Alfie's desk as he attacks with kisses that lead to something much more. WARNINGS/TAGS: Established Relationship, Smut, Desk Sex, Dry Humping

Kinktober Masterlist

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Bearded kisses tickled your neck, sat atop Alfie's desk, being attacked by his love and longing to have you back in his arms. A longing that starts for him every morning when having to get out of bed.

Drawn to the edge of the desk by his hands, positioning you just right for his hardened cock to thrust against you. Hearing Alfie's sharp inhales with every planted kiss while fighting your own battle at the created fiction.

Keeping your volume down for only those in the room to hear, though not as loud as you would be back home, Alfie was satisfied, thrusting more roughly with moans that grew louder with every minute.

Feeling as Alfie fought with himself not to unbuckle his pants and take you right there—that would be the dream come true if his next meeting wasn't in five minutes.

Alfie's thrusts raced against the clock, keeping his eyes locked with yours counting down the minutes in his head so as to not have to peek at the clock that sat on his desk. Hearing his moan turned to gasps mixed with cures, knowing he was close to his own edge, leaving you behind.

Humping against you as his head dropped, landing right into the nook of your neck, moaning and calling for you, echoing out for all passersby to hear. Just as they calmed, a knock on the door came, telling Alfie Mr. Shelby was here.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

Kinktober Taglist: @reidsbookcase @nct38 @akneld @ner-dee @fran-soup @raajali3 @crustyowos @fly-on-the-wall @www-interludeshadow-com @nct38 @carolb111 @thays0 @theescorpiolovechile @lokiiified @asmalls0723 @wonderlandofsilence @dieheidirun

#alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons smut #kinktober 2024 #kinktober #мχ-ραѕтєℓωяιтιηg ωσякѕ

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dyns33 · 6 months ago

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Family's fever

I have so many, sooo many, Alfie and his wife stories waiting to be posted.

It was only pain.

For a moment, Alfie wondered if he had died and gone to hell, where his body burned and caused him a martyrdom such as he had never known.

The first time was during the war. Between the trenches, the bombs, the fighting, it had completely destroyed his back, and it had never healed. As if he had stayed there. Maybe it would have been better.

A panting breath was heard on his right, but fatigue was stronger than his survival instinct. So Alfie remained motionless, waiting for the intruder to strike.

It was impossible to tell how much time passed, until a light made him wince, immediately soothed by a cold, damp cloth placed on his forehead and eyes.

"My poor darling, you are even hotter than yesterday."

The soft voice and the hand caressing his cheek almost made him forget the torture he had been living for several hours, at least enough for him to find the strength to move his eyelids enough to see what was around him.

First, he discovered that the danger blowing was a dog, which barked happily at seeing him awake, resting its big head on his hand.

The animal seemed familiar, like the room, but Alfie's foggy mind forgot his questions when he laid his eyes on the woman who was now sponging his sweaty neck.

"… I'm dead."

"Not yet, Alfie. But if this continues I'll call the doctor, no matter what you say."

"Doctors are quacks."

"Like you've been telling me since you caught that cold. And yet you did send one to my house when I was sick."

"I couldn't leave such a beautiful angel to die."

"Ah, maybe you're feeling a little better, you're talking nonsense again." she joked, massaging his shoulder.

However, Alfie wasn't joking, and he didn't understand why his angelic vision didn't take him seriously. He was very serious.

Never in his entire life had he seen such a beautiful woman. If he could have gotten up without crying out in pain, he would have taken her hand to kiss it reverently, before apologizing for having the impudence to touch her without permission.

Maybe she wasn't entirely wrong about his fever, because he laughed, repeating that he really was saying ridiculous things.

Obviously he was mumbling his thoughts without even realizing it. Or maybe it was madness. Alfie had always been a bit crazy, and being stuck with his brigade in the middle of the bombs hadn't helped matters.

His mind was still lucid enough to see the wedding ring on his angel's hand, though, and to know what it meant. Of course, such a woman was married. All the men had to grovel at her feet, begging her to be their wife, and one of them had been given the privilege of being chosen.

"Lucky bastard."

"If I make some soup, will you try to eat it ?"

"Anything for you, видение рая."

"Good. Thanks for finally being reasonable."

"I'll need strength to question your husband." he sighed, patting the dog on the head as it came closer to lick his face.

"…Excuse me ?"

"I wouldn't kill him, I wouldn't want to hurt your tender heart, but I have to check that he deserves you. And if he's not worthy, I should train him until he is."

"… Okay, I'll call the doctor. Cyril, stay here."

Obeying his mistress, the dog guarded the sick man despite his protests and pleas. Alfie would have liked her to stay by his side a little longer. There was no hope that he would see her again.

He frowned when a small man in his lab coat entered the room, putting his briefcase on a table and asking him a lot of questions. Damn doctor.

The man only got his attention when he turned to the angel and called her "Mrs. Solomons.", which made him frown even more.

Hmm.

Alfie knew only three "Mrs Solomons", his grandmother, may she rest in peace, who had always hated being called that, his poor mother who was no longer of this world either, and his sister who had long since taken the name of her stupid husband.

Even if he was not well, he could still recognize these three people, he was certain of it.

"He talked about having a discussion with my husband."

"Mr Solomons often speaks about himself in the third person… As he often speaks to himself."

"I agree, but could the fever be playing on his memory ?"

"You are me wife ?"

The sad smile she gave him as she came back to sit next to him seemed like a sufficient answer, but Alfie couldn't believe it.

Him, married to this perfect being ? Impossible, there had to be a mistake. Someone was playing a joke on him, there was no other explanation, or the devil had decided to punish him for all his sins by torturing him with a twisted scenario, mixing pain, sweetness and vain hope.

But Alfie didn't really believe in this bullshit, and he didn't see anyone suicidal enough to play such a trick on him.

"But why are you married to me, love ? Did I threaten you ? Did your father have debts ? Would I have become rich ? No, an angel like you doesn't marry an old fool like me even if he is rich."

"Maybe I fell in love." she sneered, capturing his attention enough for him to let the doctor take his pulse on his other arm.

"Ah ! I tricked you, my poor treacle ! I blinded you and made you sink into madness to have you. Damn me ! I mean, I am honored that you love me, even if using such subterfuge to have you is terrible."

"I knew exactly where I was going, don't worry. Doctor ?"

"He is simply exhausted by the fever and his back, which makes him delirious. But he will be better soon, I will write you a prescription."

Still not convinced that he could have married the one who was called Y/N, Alfie stared at her with wide eyes in silence, captivated by her every move and accepting everything she asked of him, wisely eating his soup, taking his medicine and letting her change his soaked shirt.

He thought he was going to have a heart attack when she entered the room in her nightgown, lying against him, her head on his shoulder.

"Try to sleep, okay ?"

"But if I sleep, you might disappear." he whispered like a child.

"My sweet idiot. I promise to be here tomorrow morning, sleep now."

As promised, Y/N was still there when he woke up, noticing that his fever had gone down and his memories had returned.

She gently mocked the event when he had fully recovered, and even though he claimed not to see what she was talking about, unable to not make the pout that always betrayed him whenever he tried to hide something from his wife.

Alfie was not ashamed of having been sick. He was still human. He wasn't ashamed of saying strange things either, because it wasn't a change from his usual behavior, nor of falling madly in love with Y/N again, which was perfectly normal.

What he didn't like was the expression on her face when she realized he wasn't joking when he said he didn't know who she was.

"I was worried, you know."

"I know, love. Sorry."

"You really need to stop covering up all over London when it rains."

"Tell your brothers to stop making trouble all over London and I can stay in my office."

"At least this time you were a decent patient. All the other times, you were impossible to hold, refusing to stay in bed and not scare the doctor away. Do you have to take me for someone else's wife to listen to me ?"

"Of course not." he mumbled, pulling her closer. "Other times, I was only able to handle myself, you didn't need to waste your time on me."

"I never waste my time on you, Alfie."

Ah, Y/N. His sweet love. Of course he had taken her for an angel fallen from the sky. That was kind of what she was, even if it wasn't God but Thomas fucking Shelby who had put her on his path.

No doubt her brother was still as shocked as he was that she could have fallen for the idiot he was.

Even in good health, Alfie sometimes wondered how he had done it, how fate had been able to give him such a gift.

"Stop mumbling nonsense, Ollie is waiting for us outside."

"Yes, мой анг��л."

Y/N rolled her eyes with a smile, guessing what he had said and taking his hand to urge him to leave their house, because she knew very well that if she gave him time, he would have pulled her even further onto the couch, and they would have been very late.

#peaky blinders #alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons fanfic

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jelly-rei · 25 days ago

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Sweet Tooth

Alfie Solomons x Reader

Summary: You and Alfie have a very sweet and sticky breakfast to start the day.

A/n: This is a rewrite of my previous Alfie x reader fic that was posted on my previous blog which has now been deactivated.

Content includes: Foodplay-sitophilia, smut

Divider by: @strangergraphics

The morning sun filtered through the curtains in long, golden strips, warming up the worn wood of Alfie’s kitchen table.

You sat across from him in one of his too-big shirts, sleeves rolled up, collar slipping off one shoulder, eyes still soft from sleep. The table was humble with just two plates, a kettle, and two buns cut open and buttered half-heartedly.

Alfie slid a jar of chocolate spread and a bottle of syrup toward you’

“Right,” he said suddenly, dragging over a small jar. “Picked these up, didn’t I? Chocolate spread, yeah? Syrup too. Got ‘em off some French bastard in the market, swears on his mother’s grave it’s the best shit outta Belgium. Thought we’d, you know, try somethin’ new, yeah? Might be good on those buns of yours”

You grinned and scooped a generous smear of chocolate onto one and took a bite, eyes widening. The taste was rich, creamy, melting thick across your taste buds. You hummed, pleased, eyes sparkling as you chewed.

“Oh my god, this is delicious, Alf!”

He smirked, his elbows resting on the wood as he watched you like a man studying a painting. He cocked a brow as he leaned in slowly.

“Hold up, love. You’ve got something—yeah, right there.” He pointed lazily to your nose, then waved off your hand when you reached up. “Nah, nah, I got it”

Alfie leaned forward and licked the chocolate from the tip of your nose, his beard scratching against your skin like trouble. You yelped and giggled, scrunching your face, already shoving at his shoulder.

“Alfie!”

“What?” he said, smirking.

“Don’t waste good chocolate, yeah? That’s bloody rude.”

You narrowed your eyes and scooped another dollop onto your tongue, sticking it out at him.

“Try it like this then.”

Alfie chuckled, “You’re bloody cheeky this mornin’, ain’t ya?”

“Come ‘ere then”

He reached out one hand cradling your cheek, the other steady on the table, and pressed his tongue onto yours eagerly to taste more than just the sugar. His beard was still sticky. His tongue was hot as he sucked unhurriedly, teasing yours in a kiss that lingered longer than it should’ve.

“Mm. Not bad” He pulled back with a hum, licking his fingers like he was debating seconds.

“But I reckon it would go down sweeter with syrup, personally.”

You raised a brow playfully, ever the provocateur. Without a word, you tilted your head back and let the syrup drip onto your tongue slowly until it was glistening and thick in your mouth. Sticking it out again, looking at Alfie with a daring gaze.

Alfie groaned under his breath. “You’re gonna kill me, you know that?”

He leaned in and took your mouth again. The syrup ran down your chin, catching in his beard, but he didn’t give a damn. He couldn’t, not when you were tasting so sweet on his tongue like this. If anything, he opened wider for more. Both of you pulled away, breathless and dazed, you were already grinning.

“Do you think chocolate and syrup would taste good together?”

Alfie sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest.

“Only one way to find out, love. Let’s not be cowards now.”

You reached for the syrup. He reached for the chocolate and smeared a thick, shiny dollop on his tongue, you matched him with syrup, sucking the chocolate from his mouth like you were starved for it, tongues crashing and colliding to get every inch of flavour, laughing between gasps and moans.

The kitchen felt warmer now, though it wasn’t the oven. It was the way Alfie was looking at you. You were still laughing faintly, licking syrup from your lips, when you noticed his gaze change. His hands were sticky from chocolate and syrup, but his eyes had gone dark. Hungry. Not for food. For you.

“You gonna sit there grinnin’ at me like that,” he said, his voice low and gravelly, “or you gonna let me spread that syrup somewhere more useful?”

Your thighs clenched together beneath the table. You raised a brow, “Oh yeah? And where exactly is more useful, Alfie?”

He stood up slowly, “We’ll start with that sweet little stomach of yours, won’t we? Work our way down.”

The chair scraped as he pushed it back. He grabbed the jar, and with a tilt of his head and a sinful glint in his eye, he nodded toward the kitchen table.

“Up. Come on now. Lie back”

You swallowed hard. Heat pooled between your thighs. The wood of the table was cool against your thighs as you sat, and cooler when you laid back, your heart was hammering against your chest, and your breath fell short. Alfie stood over you, dragging the pads of his fingers down your inner thighs, syrup clinging to his knuckles.

“Fuckin’ beautiful,” he muttered, almost reverent.

“Like a feast, you are”

He opened the syrup, spilling it carefully over your belly. The golden stream landed warm and slow, trailing from your navel down toward your hipbone. You gasped at the hot trickling sensation, it was ticklish and indecent. Just the way you liked it. He used the back of the spoon to smear it all over, catching a glossy smear, causing you to whimper pathetically.

“There now,” he said gruffly.

“That’s a fuckin’ sight.

He set the spoon down and rolled his sleeves higher before descending. Flat on your back, sticky and half-laughing, you arched beneath him, his bare forearms braced on either side of your waist, his thick beard now speckled with syrup and chocolate, eyes locked on yours like he was about to bless you and ruin you in the same breath. Your stomach was slicked, catching the light like golden rays. Your thighs were drizzling with liquid sticking to your skin in all the right places that made you twitch.

“Gonna eat you proper now,” he said with a raspy vibration against your neck.

“Start with dessert. End with dessert. Fuck dinner altogether”

He dragged his tongue along your torso in slow, wide strokes, licking up the syrup, teeth grazing you just enough to make you squirm and cry out his name.

“A-Alfie fuck…” you groaned.

“Mmm, fucking sweet, sweet noises as well” he hummed against your stomach.

His hand slid between your thighs, parting them with ease. His mouth followed and his beard scratched against your trembling thighs, licking thick strokes down to your ankles. Alfie kisses your heels while you held your breath. Only after he was satisfied did he rise up from your sweetness to admire the mess he had left behind.

“Fuckin’ divine,” he panted while undoing his trousers, his fingers carefully jangling away at his belt.

“And now I’m gonna fuck you so deep they’ll be findin’ sugar in your lungs.”

#peaky blinders #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinder fanfic #alfie solomons #tom hardy #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #alfie solomons smut #alfie solomons imagine #alfie solomons drabble #peaky blinder imagine #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #tom hardy x reader #tom hardy fanfiction

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wonderlanddreamer · 10 months ago

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Alfie Solomons x Reader

Summary: This fic is based on this request. I'm not sure if I did it justice, but as soon as I started, the words just kind of wrote themselves.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content. 18+ Only. MDNI.

The familiar scent of freshly baked bread and the faint aroma of whiskey greeted you as you entered the bakery. The air was thick with the mingling fragrances, a comforting yet heady mix that immediately made you feel both at home and slightly tipsy. The place was bustling with activity, men in flour-dusted aprons hauling hefty sacks of flour and trays laden with golden pastries.

You adjusted the strap of your bag, feeling a pang of nervousness as you approached the counter. Your brother had insisted you handle the administrative side of the family business, and the rough atmosphere of the bakery always put you on edge. Today felt no different, the air crackling with the intensity of a place where hard labour and harder men intersected.

"Oi, who’s this then?" A burly man with a thick Cockney accent barked, his voice slicing through the noise like a knife. He eyed you up and down with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. His companions, rough-looking men with hardened expressions, smirked, their eyes gleaming with opportunistic malice.

"Just here to see Mr Solomons," you murmured, your voice barely audible over the din of the bakery. You hoped the mention of Alfie Solomons, the notorious and respected owner, would be enough to deter any further questioning.

"Don't think I've seen you around here before, love," another man sneered, stepping closer. His breath reeked of stale whiskey and tobacco. "Maybe you’re lost, eh? Need a bit of help finding your way?"

Before you could respond, a pair of rough hands grabbed your arm, pulling you closer. Panic surged through you as you struggled to pull away, your heart pounding in your chest like a drum. The men’s laughter echoed around you, a chilling sound that made your skin crawl.

"Oi! Get the fuck off her, you filthy sods!" Alfie's voice boomed across the room, making the walls vibrate with its intensity. The men immediately released you, their faces paling as they stepped back, their bravado evaporating in an instant.

Alfie Solomons, with his rugged beard and piercing eyes, stormed over, his presence commanding respect and fear in equal measure. His dark overcoat billowed behind him like a cloak, adding to his imposing figure. Without a moment’s hesitation, he grabbed the ringleader by the collar and slammed him against the wall with a force that made the shelves rattle. "Touch her again, mate, and I'll feed you to the bleedin' pigs, you hear me?" Alfie growled, his voice low and menacing. “Now fuck off, the lotta ya.”

The man nodded frantically, his face pale with fear, and Alfie released him with a forceful shove. As he turned to you, his expression softened slightly, though his eyes still burned with an intensity that spoke volumes of his protective fury. "You alright, love?" he asked, his voice a blend of concern and restrained anger.

You nodded quickly, trying to steady your racing heart. "Yes, Alfie, I'm fine. Really," you managed to say, though your voice wavered slightly.

"Fine, my arse," he grunted, his tone sceptical as he gently guided you by the elbow towards his office. "Come on, let's get you a drink. You look like you could use one."

In the relative quiet of Alfie's office, the chaotic noise of the bakery faded into a distant hum. Alfie moved with a determined grace, pouring a generous measure of whiskey into a glass. He handed it to you, his rough, calloused hands brushing against yours with surprising gentleness. "Drink up. It'll calm your nerves," he urged, his voice softer now.

You took a tentative sip, the whiskey's warmth spreading through you, easing the tension that had coiled tightly in your shoulders. Alfie settled into the chair next to you, his close proximity making your heart flutter in a way it only seemed to do when you were with him. There was an undeniable tension in the air, an electric current of unspoken words and hidden feelings that crackled between you.

"I apologise for that," Alfie drawled, his voice low and rough, "New folk can get a bit rowdy. Usually I just leave ‘em to it, but you, love, you got this way about you. All sweet and innocent, makes a bloke wanna protect you."

Your cheeks flushed at his words, and you looked down, feeling shy under the weight of his intense gaze. "I don’t know what you mean, Alfie," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as your lashes fluttered up to lock your eyes on him.

"Oh, I think you do," he replied, leaning in closer. His breath was warm against your ear, and the intoxicating scent of whiskey and musk enveloped you. "You play all sweet and innocent, but I see it. The way you blush, the way your eyes light up when I talk to you like this, all close and whatnot. You like it, don’t you?"

The room seemed to shrink around you, the outside world fading as Alfie's words drew you into a private moment suspended in time. You could feel the heat rising in your cheeks, your pulse quickening as his proximity and the intensity of his gaze made it hard to breathe.

"Alfie, I..." you began, your voice trembling with a mix of apprehension and desire.

"Shh, it's alright, love," he murmured, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your ear. The warmth of his breath sent a shiver down your spine. "No need to be shy. I like it. Makes me wanna do all sorts of filthy things to you."

Your breath hitched, and a surge of desire mixed with nervous excitement coursed through you. Alfie’s hand moved to your thigh, his touch gentle yet possessive, as though he was staking a claim. "Tell me to stop if you want, but I don't think you do, do you?" His voice was a low, seductive rumble that made your heart race.

You shook your head slightly, unable to find your voice. The roughness of his exterior and the tantalising words contrasted sharply with the tenderness of his touch, creating a heady mix that left you yearning for more.

"That's my girl," he whispered, his voice a gravelly promise of everything you secretly craved. "Let's see just how much of that sweetness we can turn into something wicked, eh?"

He moved his hand further up your thigh, his fingers teasing the edge of your skirt. Each movement was slow, deliberate, and torturous, making you acutely aware of every inch of space he closed. "You like it when I talk dirty, don't you?" he murmured, his lips brushing against you, sending a fresh wave of shivers down your spine. "You like being my sweet little thing, all innocent and pure, while I think about all the dirty things I wanna do to you."

You bit your lip, trying to hold back a whimper as his hand continued its slow, torturous path. The anticipation was maddening, the boundary between fear and desire becoming increasingly blurred. "Please," you finally managed to whisper, the word escaping your lips as a desperate plea.

His eyes darkened with desire as he watched you, a slow, wicked smile curling on his lips. His gaze held a fierce intensity that made you feel both vulnerable and exhilarated. "You don't have to be shy, love," he murmured, his voice a gravelly whisper that seemed to resonate deep within you. "I wanna hear you say it. Tell me you like it."

Your breath came in shallow gasps, each word he spoke sending a shiver through your entire being. The tension in the air was almost palpable, a charged moment that seemed to stretch into eternity. "I... I like it," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a raw honesty that surprised even you.

"Atta girl," Alfie growled, his hand sliding further up your thigh, his touch both gentle and possessive. The roughness of his voice sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire deep within you. "I knew you did. So how much can a sweet lil’ thing like you take, eh?"

He leaned in closer, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck, sending waves of electricity through your body. "You wanna know what I think about when I see you, love?" he murmured, his voice dripping with raw, unfiltered desire. "I think about bending you over this desk, ripping those pretty clothes off you, and making you scream my name for all of fuckin’ Camden to hear."

A whimper escaped your lips, your body aching with a need you had never felt before. The intensity of his words and the proximity of his touch were almost too much to bear.

"What, darlin’? Eh?" he teased, his hand slipping under your skirt, his fingers tracing the edge of your underwear with maddening slowness. "Tell me what it is you want?"

You closed your eyes, struggling to find your voice amidst the overwhelming sensations. "I want you, Alfie," you whispered, your voice trembling with desire and vulnerability. "I want you to touch me."

"That's my girl," he said, his voice a rough purr filled with satisfaction. His fingers slipped under the fabric of your underwear, finding your most sensitive spot with an unerring accuracy that made you gasp. "So wet for me already," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear. "You really are my sweet little thing, ain't you?"

You gasped again, your body arching towards him as he began to move his fingers in slow, deliberate circles. Each touch sent ripples of pleasure through you, building a tension that was both exhilarating and unbearable. "Alfie..."

"That's it, love," he said, his voice low and rough, resonating deep within you. "Let me hear ya. Let me hear how much you want this."

Your hands clutched at the fabric of the couch, your knuckles turning white as your body trembled with each exquisite touch. The world outside seemed to dissolve, leaving only the two of you in a cocoon of shared desire. "Alfie, please... I need more..."

He chuckled, a dark, satisfied sound that sent another thrill through you. His eyes glittered with a predatory gleam, his smile a mixture of dominance and affection. "Oh, I'll give you more, alright. But first, I want to hear you beg for it."

You bit your lip, your body trembling with a mix of anticipation and desire. "Please, Alfie," you whispered, your voice breaking with raw need. "Please, I need you. I need you so much."

"Good girl," he growled, his fingers moving faster, his touch sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

A moan escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the small, dimly lit office, your body responding eagerly to his every touch as you moaned out his name.

"That's it, love," he murmured, his voice rough and thick with desire. "Let go for me."

With a cry, you felt your body shatter, pleasure crashing over you in relentless waves. Your body convulsed in a series of involuntary spasms, a profound sense of euphoria washing over you. As the waves of pleasure subsided, leaving you breathless and trembling, you collapsed against him, seeking the solidity of his presence.

Alfie's fingers lingered on your skin, tracing invisible patterns that sent electric currents through your body. His eyes, dark and intense, locked onto yours with a magnetic pull that made your knees weak. "Turn around," he commanded, his voice a gravelly whisper that left no room for argument. "Bend over the desk."

Your breath hitched at his words, a rush of anticipation and desire coursing through you as you obeyed, positioning yourself against the sturdy wooden desk. The cool surface felt grounding against the heat building inside you, a stark contrast that heightened your senses. Alfie moved behind you, his presence dominating, his large hands sliding up the back of your thighs with a deliberate slowness that made your skin tingle. The fabric of your skirt bunched higher and higher, exposing more of your flushed skin to the open air.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice thick with desire and approval. "Just like that. Y’know, I reckon you've been waiting for this, yeah? Waiting for me to take you properly."

You couldn't muster a response, your body trembling with a mix of nerves and excitement that made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. The sound of rustling fabric filled the small office as he undid his belt, the metallic clink of the buckle sending a jolt of electricity through you, making your heart pound even harder. His hands gripped your hips, pulling you back towards him with a possessive strength, and you felt the unmistakable hardness of his arousal pressing insistently against you.

"You want this, don't you?" he growled, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned over you, his beard brushing tantalisingly against your neck. "Tell me how much you want it. Tell me you need it."

"I want it, Alfie," you whispered, your voice trembling with a potent mix of vulnerability and desire. "I need you. Please."

"That's what I like to hear," he muttered, his hands sliding down to your thighs, caressing your skin with a reverence that made your heart soar. "You're so good for me, love. So fucking good, just like I knew you'd be."

With a swift, decisive movement, he pushed your underwear down and entered you, filling you completely. The sensation was overwhelming, an intoxicating mix of pleasure and pressure that made you gasp. Your fingers gripped the edge of the desk, your knuckles turning white as your body adjusted to the sudden, intense sensation. Alfie paused for a moment, allowing you to acclimate to the feeling, his hands still firm on your hips.

"Fuck, you're tight," Alfie groaned, his hands clutching your hips with a possessive grip as he began to move. "So fucking tight and so bloody perfect."

Each thrust was powerful and relentless, driving you closer to the edge with every movement. The sound of your bodies colliding filled the room, mingling with your gasps and his guttural moans, creating a symphony of raw desire that echoed off the walls. The desk creaked beneath you, a testament to the force and intensity of his movements.

"Say my name," he growled, his voice rough and demanding, dripping with dominance. "I want to hear you say it, love.."

"Alfie," you cried out, your voice breaking with the intensity of your desire. The sensation of his powerful thrusts was overwhelming, each one sending a jolt of pleasure through your entire body. "Alfie, please, don't stop. Please."

"That's right," he grunted, his pace quickening, the force of his thrusts becoming almost brutal in their intensity. "You're mine, love. All fucking mine. Remember that."

Your body trembled, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable peak. Alfie's grip tightened, his fingers digging into your skin with a ferocity that sent shivers down your spine. You could feel the tension coiling tighter within you, a spring wound to its limit, ready to snap.

"Come for me," he demanded, his voice a rough whisper. "I want to feel you come around me. Now."

With a cry, you felt your body shatter, the waves of pleasure crashing over you again with a force that left you breathless and trembling. Every muscle in your body tensed, then released in a flood of ecstasy. Your vision blurred, and the world narrowed to the exquisite sensation of Alfie moving within you, his presence overwhelming and all-encompassing.

Moments later, Alfie followed you over the edge, a deep, primal groan vibrating through him as he found his own release. His body tensed against yours, the powerful surge of his climax filling you completely. He held you close, his breath ragged and heavy, his heartbeat thundering in his chest.

For a moment, the only sounds in the room were your ragged breaths and the pounding of your hearts, a symphony of shared intensity echoing in the silence. Then, slowly, Alfie straightened, his hands caressing your back with surprising gentleness as he helped you to your feet. The transition was tender, almost reverent, his touch a stark contrast to the raw passion that had just consumed you both.

"You're alright, darlin’," he murmured, his voice softening into a soothing rumble that seemed to envelop you. "I've got you."

You leaned against him, your body still trembling from the intensity of what you'd just experienced. The warmth of his body was a comforting anchor, grounding you in the aftermath of the storm. "Thank you, Alfie," you whispered, your voice filled with gratitude and something deeper, something more profound. It was more than just thanks for the physical pleasure; it was an acknowledgment of the emotional sanctuary you found in his presence.

He chuckled softly, his eyes warm and filled with a depth of emotion that took your breath away. A hint of a smile played on his lips, a rare softness that he reserved only for you. "No need to thank me, love," he said, his voice gentle yet firm, each word a vow. “I'll always take care of you, you hear?"

His words settled over you like a protective blanket, wrapping you in a sense of security and belonging that went beyond the physical. You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that had nothing to do with the lingering heat of the moment. It was a deeper, more enduring warmth that filled your heart and soul, a testament to the connection you shared.

In Alfie's arms, you felt safe. More than that, you felt cherished and valued. His fingers continued to trace soothing patterns on your skin, a silent promise of his unwavering devotion. The rough pads of his fingers were a comforting contrast to the softness of his touch, each stroke reaffirming his presence and his promise.

"Turn around," he commanded softly, his voice a gravelly whisper that made your heart flutter with a renewed sense of anticipation. "I wanna see your face."

You obeyed, turning to face him, your eyes locking onto his with a mixture of vulnerability and adoration. His gaze softened, a tender smile curling at the corners of his lips as he cupped your cheek in his hand. The roughness of his palm against your skin was a grounding touch, a reminder of his strength and the gentleness he reserved for you.

"You're mine now," he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet intensity that made your heart soar. The words were a declaration, a promise, and a reassurance all rolled into one. "Understand?"

"I understand," you echoed, your voice a breathless whisper as you leaned into his touch, feeling a profound sense of contentment and belonging.

His thumb brushed tenderly against your cheek, a cheeky grin turning the corners of his lips. “Now, I do believe you came here with business to discuss?”

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