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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 year

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🎃 A Truth Universally Acknowledged: Chapter One

A Truth Universally Acknowledged: It has long been established that you don’t like Dream of the Endless, and he doesn’t like you. Unfortunately, fate has decided to stick you both in a glass cage for a century. Who's throat will be torn out first? Yours? Or Dreams.

Warnings: Reader and Morpheus do not get along, Maga is latin for witch.

To Note: Morpheus x WitchFem!Reader.

Prompt: Role Reversal

Word Count: ~7.7k

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It was a truth universally acknowledge that should one mortify a pride, forgiveness would not so easily be obtained. So how were you ever expected to truthfully forgive someone who had not just mortified your pride, but trampled on it until there were permanent stains and tears in it. Nothing would sew your pride back together, and nothing would remove the stain of insult rendered upon your being. The season of 1815 had not just rendered you mortified, it had shattered your pride. It had started out as an average season, as an immortal witch you’d decided to spend that year in London to enjoy the frivolity of the marriage mart.

Now, on all accounts by no means were you looking to be married… what sane mortal would willingly wed a witch? But you did enjoy the social aspects of the English balls and liked to dress up in fancy clothing. You certainly had the fortune to do so after living for so many centuries. So you had gone to the modiste and ordered several dresses for the season, and had even splurged on a few new jewelry pieces for your collection to have as a memoire of this time. You’d lingered at the fringes of the first couple of balls, but were slowly mingling further and further into the ton.

At some point you had made a friend out of one of the bachelors searching for a wife. It had been clear that neither of your were particularly romantically interested (which was better for you int he long term) and had taken to meeting up every ball to gossip and preen over outfit choices and who had committed a faux pax over luncheon. It was pure fun for you and Henry was certainly getting your experience in searching for a new wife. You had pointed out a potential match you thought would suit the young man quite nicely when you caught sight of an omen. Well it was less of an omen and more of an irritant.

The Dream Lord had no reason to be in the Waking Realm, it was your turf, and just like you respected his realm, it was only right the he respected yours. For what reason had he come to London when you were there? Nothing good, that you were sure of. So you headed for the parchment table full of lemonade for surely it wouldn’t be nearly as sour as the conversation you were sure to have with him should your paths cross.

Grasping the skirt of your dress to keep it out of your way, you glided across the room with clear intentions to parch your throat. The train of your silk dress trailed behind you in a soft bed of blue flowers carefully stitched into the tulle overlay. Carefully grabbing a glass of lemonade you took a sip as Lady Camden joined your side.

“Lady Bell,” She greeted you, using your alias. You nodded to her with a dip of your chin in greeting.

“Lady Camden, a pleasure to see you tonight, I noticed the Lord Richards was quite taken with you while you were on the floor. Do I suspect a match in your near future?” You replied with a tease in your voice. Her eyes sparkled and she fanned herself with her gossamer and feather fan.

“I surely hope so,” She softly giggled, her doe-like eyes flittering over to where Lord Richards was speaking with a few other eligible men. Ah to be mortal and in love… what you would give to feel that fleeting emotion once more.

“I am confident he shall do so, for he would be a fool to do otherwise.” You stated, taking another sip of your lemonade. You and Lady Camden made more merry conversation while you blatantly ignored the dark and brooding menace lingering in the fringes of the ballroom. It was only when the band started up music once more that you placed your glass down and looked to the dance floor. The next set of dancers were due and perhaps someone would invite you. Your hand was indeed asked for a dance and you happily accepted.

You danced line with the other woman, exchanging partners a few times and all around enjoyed yourself immensely… but on the next partner change you found yourself spun into his arms. You nearly smacked his hands away from your body when he caught you but managed to safe face purely because you had a good reputation among the ton and planned remaining in England for the next several years. They wouldn’t take well to you smacking the Dream Lord senseless on the dance floor. So you grit your teeth and forced yourself to remain calm.

“My lord,” You greeted, barely covering the tinge of hostility within your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure of your visit?”

Lightning crackled within his stardust gaze.

“Presumptuous of you to assume that I am in attendance purely for your leisure,” His lip curled just the slightest and your eye twitched in return.

“Then what, pray tell, brings you to such an event as this? I am sure you are far too busy with your duties to indulge in the leisures of man.”

“One could ask you the same, Lady Bell,” Dream rebutted. “Surely such whimsical mortal activities are below the standings of a prominent witch such as yourself.” Oh that was an insult if you ever heard one. You didn’t bother maintaining pleasantries with the Dream Lord any further and cut to the point.

“Why are you here?” You boldly questioned. Suffice to say you didn’t directly ask why he was there being a nuisance to your festivities. You did hold some self-preservation in regards to pushing his temperament. Annoyance flashed through his blue eyes.

“A wayward nightmare, presumptuous of you to assume that I am here for you.” Oh the complete audacity of him to assume that you wished for his presence! You could count on one hand the number of times you willingly sought his presence let alone wanted it. None of those times had been your own desire, but out of necessity.

“The audacity of you to insinuate that I would ever desire your despicable and repugnant presence! I would rather lose my magic than willingly spend time with you, you loathsome cad.” You hissed at him, your eyes flashing with the color of your magic. Morpheus’ hackles rose at your audacity to speak to him as such and immediately fired back at you.

“You dare to speak to me in such tone and disrespect Maga!?” Dream growled at you. The floor beneath your slippers shivered and groaned as the music was interrupted by the argument between you and the Dream Lord. You and he were causing a scene. Jerking back from the menace of the Endless, you glared heavily at him.

“I simply dare to speak my thoughts when you have called for such words as clearly you have infringed upon my life in a way that I do not care for!” A lady should never raise her voice, but your mind was so wrapped up in anger and despite that all call for decorum and manners went out the window. “I have been nothing but respectful towards you, my lord, yet you cannot afford to do the same in return?”

“My respect is offered to those who have earned it and you and your promiscuous ways have far exceeded my limit.” You blanched at his words as gasped echoed within the ballroom. “You are a harlot pretending to be a hare. Sharp tongued and wicked.” Just like a snap of a fan, Dream had just reduced your hard earned reputation to ashes and all for what? Your words of truth?

“You are the most deplorable and depraved being I have ever had the displeasure of meeting, my lord,” You spoke with an even voice despite the trembles that now wracked through your body. “I hope you rot in hell,” Further dramatic gasps went around the room at your harsh words. But at this point you had no care because he had just ruined everything. Grabbing at the skirts of your dress, you gave Dream one last murderous glare and fled the ballroom before the talk could start.

Why did he always have to ruin everything.

Your pride was still very much ruined even after a century had gone by. Oh yes, your pride was ruined and your hatred for the Dream Lord still burned like the great Sirius. You hadn’t crossed paths with the Endless’ since that fateful night in 1815, and you were glad so. You probably would hurl a flaming ball of plasma at his stupid pretty face the moment you caught sight of him. Not even his one act of kindness during the witch trials could stop the burning hatred you felt within your heart. He might have saved you from burning at the stake, but now you held nothing but contempt for him.

You huffed to yourself and shifted where you sat, chains ratting as your arms moved. It was by sheer luck that Roderick Burgess had managed to get his hands on the grimoire that held the spell to bind you. A downright miracle that he had performed the ritual correctly to actually keep you in place. So stuck down in the bowels of Fawny Rig and sapped of your power due to his siphoning, you had plenty of time to contemplate past memories. You had no idea why that particular one of Dream humiliating you and mortifying your pride stuck out.

You hadn’t come face to face with him since that day, and while you did occasionally like to cause disturbances for him (because you were vindictive at times), you hadn’t really thought about in since the turn of the new century. You’d been too busy with new witch magic and the search for ancient grimoires. Now you were locked up in a basement with plenty of time to think about your past.

Roderick Burgess was a greedy man.

It wasn’t enough that he repeatedly stole your magic from you, no, he was taking it all every time you recharged in hopes that he could resurrect his son Randall. Resurrection was not possible. You had told him that straight to his face and earned a backhanded slap from the elder mortal. That had been the last time you reminded him of the truth. It was easier to just repeat the rules of magic and avoid mentioning resurrection all together. Tugging on the shackle around your left wrist, you chewed on your lip as your raw skin ached and burned.

The old metal had cut your skin and then dug in to your broken flesh, leaving behind half broken scabs and trails of dried blood. You had suffered worse during the witch trials, but you disliked the discomfort of your current ailments. You were immortal, not invincible or impervious to death. Speaking of Death she was actually quite a nice friend to have, unlike her brother. Your face soured at the thought of him once more and you crossed your arms over your gathered knees to rest your chin on them.

Repugnant man. His face was cloudy in your mind, hatred had blinded you to him so much you couldn’t exactly remember what it was like to glare into the face of that Endless. Heartless cretian. The iron gates creaked as your captor strode into your confined solitude… but he wasn’t alone this time. No, he was followed by his acolyte all robed and covered. While the acolytes began drawing in the sandy dirt floor with red chalk and light candles, you eyed Burgess.

“What more power do you wish for? Is it not enough that you drain my magic? Are you that desperate for your son?” You questioned the man with a sneer on your lip. “You are grasping at the straws of an empty barrel.”

Rather than take the biting words spilling from your mouth, Burgess lashed out. The back of his hand cracked across your cheek. Pain blinded you for a brief moment as you tumbled to the side, your unwashed and messy hair falling into your face. You spit out a mouthful of blood and touched your throbbing lip. Split. A chuckle passed through your lips.

“Testy today, are we?” You giggled darkly, eyeing the mortal through your curtain of hair. He gave you a look in warning. The next hit would knock you out. So you kept you mouth shut as you maneuvered your body back into a sitting position. Content to see Burgess fail for what seemed to be the thousandth time, you leaned back against the steel column you were chained to. They were still getting ready so you took to nudging the dirt beneath your feet around with your big toe.

It wasn’t particular interesting to watch them until they began drawing sigils you recognized. Straightening up in your seat, you stared at the crimson markings in puzzlement because how could Burgess know of these markings? Your eyes flickered back to him and you saw an old book within his hands. Grimoire. How had he gotten his hands on such a book!? Grimoires were sacred tomes that a witch would die before allowing into the hands of a mere mortal! You wanted to demand him where he had gotten such a book, but knew that you would get no answer from him. You’d get smacks though.

Licking the blood that bloomed from where your lip had split, your eyes turned scrutinous. Just because he was drawing correct sigils, did not necessarily mean he knew what he was doing or was doing it correctly. But the longer you watched, the more concerned you grew, while you didn’t recognize this particular combination of sigils, everything else was frighteningly correct. You could make out a few binding sigils, so he planned on binding something other than yourself (you pitied the being caught by the amateur). But there were also summoning markings.

“Summoning,” You murmured to yourself, brow furrowing as you struggle to figure out who Burgess could possibly want to summon after getting nowhere with you. The mortal didn’t spare you a glance, but he had heard your murmur. Of course you’d recognize what he was doing.

“Yes, since you are so resistant to aiding me in my wants—”

“Which are entirely impossible,” You interjected before earning a glare from him. You raised your eyebrows as if to say ’continue?’.

“—I shall summon and bind another being that will help.” You snorted and rolled your eyes because what creature would ever help such a greedy mortal like him? Desire perhaps? No. You might not have met them, but even they had standards. Roderick Burgess fell far below that line. Far, far, below. So you slumped back and closed your eyes, they were going to have to wait for nightfall for whatever summoning they were going to two as the moon boosted summoning magic. You wanted to be ready for whatever hell Burgess unleashed upon himself.

The gods were punishing you. That was the only explanation. Why else would Burgess’ botched summoning circle summing the one being in all of creation that you despised the most? Punishing or laughing, you were unceremoniously dragged from your seat to be locked up in some fancy globe that was currently being welded shut with you and Dream in it. It was downright laughable! Burger seemed smug enough about it though, he was confident that Dream would give him what he wanted.

He wouldn’t, and the mortal would soon find out. If the stupid, deplorable, loathsome, Endless would just wake up already!!

You didn’t know exactly what kind of magic it took to summon an Endless, but it sure did take a lot out of Dream. He’d been out since arriving and had yet to wake. You also didn’t know how powerful he’d be without his tools. A faux pas on his part you took great glee in knowing. And yet, if he was out of power just like you… how were you going to get out? You’d consider that later, right now you were just concentrated on glaring at the lingering man responsible for your situation.

He had regretted binding you upon learning of your unwillingness to cooperate. He was going to be in for a rude awakening when Dream woke up and gave him his ‘holier-than-thou’ attitude. Leaning back against the thick cold glass, your eyes trailed along the freshly welded seams of the cage. How want Burgess going to siphon your magic with you locked up like this? The mortal in question, almost as if hearing your thoughts, strode up to the hanging cage and stared at you with a glare. Your eyebrow twitched in challenge.

“No need to worry about our little sessions, witch,” He told you, his blue eyed tight and heavy. “I can still take your magic with you in that cage.” You were tempted to mouth off on him since he could smack you around anymore, but between your split lip and mood sullied at your future trapped with him, you chose to remain silent. Crossing your arms against your chest, you leaned your head back and closed your eyes. If there was anything you learned about Burgess, it was that he hated being ignored.

He eventually left when the glass cage was completed and the workers all trickled out, only two guards remaining behind. To watch you and Dream you suppose… but exactly where were you going to go? Your stomach rumbled and a new worry emerged. Being immortal didn’t mean that you didn’t need to eat. It wouldn’t kill you to starve but you weren’t exactly excited about the idea. The 1500s had been hard enough, you didn’t ever want to get that thin again. You sighed and reminded yourself that you had gotten through tougher times once more.

“Think of all the spells you can curse him with when you get out,” You whispered to yourself, trying to distract yourself from reality. While you were mindlessly flickering through memories of your travels over the centuries, the Endless you were crammed in the cage with began to regain consciousness. He didn’t move, not even a muscle but the minuscule amount of magic you had recharged since your last draining altered you to his alertness.

Narrowing your gaze, you glared at the naked Endless (you were guilty of appreciating his beautiful body for about five seconds before you remembered that you hated him) and waited for his eyes to open. When they did, you cursed him for having such beautiful eyelashes. You, of course, were he first thing he saw and the Endless could have sworn he was hallucinating you after such a long period of not having to deal with you and your annoyances. But then you blinked, scowled deeper at him, and curled your lip.

“Welcome to Fawny Rig.”

Dream hadn’t uttered a single word or sound since waking up in the glass cage with you. Hadn’t answered to Burgess’ demands when the mortal had come to make them. Hadn’t commented when Burgess turned to you and taunted you with freedom, you had just rolled your eyes and looked the other way. Now you were nodding off, so he followed you. You had been on his mind on and off over the last century, the incident in 1815 notwithstanding. Your anger and rage at the Endless was still palpable ever after all these years.

He suppose he deserved your anger, but he believed that nothing he had said that night was wrong. He did see you as promiscuous as you were close with many and at times flirty, and your tongue was sharp and wicked. No one else in all of creation clashed with him like you did, not even his sibling Desire. It was infuriating. Materializing in your dream, Dream was surprised to find himself in a familiar place. The same estate in which you and he had your explosive encounter in 1815. What had caused your consciousness to think of this?

Him, most likely, but the Endless wasn’t smart enough to think of that.

It wasn’t hard for Morpheus to track you down, you were the only one existing other than he within your dreams. So walking the corridors, he happened upon a back balcony where you were standing. Your back was to him and face turned upward, gazing at the luminous full moon overhead.

“Is it not enough that now I must see your face every day?” You grumpily complained, not bothering to look at him. Dream’s eye twitched at your words because was he not Dream of the Endless. It was by his powerthat you had the ability to dream in the first place!

“I see that your tongue is still just as wild as the last night I reluctantly spent in your presence, Maga.” You shot a glare over your shoulder, eyes connecting with thunderous blue.

“And I see that you are still a loathsome creature without an ounce of compassion or dignity!” You hissed at him, eyes flashing. “Or do you take pleasure in ruining a woman’s hard earned reputation in front of an audience?”

“I spoke nothing but the truth,” Dream spoke to you, his chin lifting while his eyes glittered with anger. Insolence and insult from you yet again.

“Yes, the truth of how you see me!” You snapped at him. “But have you considered how your insidious words might affect me in the long term? I had a life in England until you ruined it! You are nothing but a big bully who throws words around when you don’t get your way!”

Now that really made Dream angry, but you didn’t remain in place to experience his blow up. It had been far too long since you had been able to dream like this and you just wanted to rest. He called your name but you just ignored him. Surely he would understand that you just wanted to be left alone. At the very least the irate Endless could indeed feel that you wanted to be left alone… but his curiosity of how you ended up in that decrepit basement. So he followed silently behind you as you made your way to a bedroom in the large estate. Lingering in the doorway, Dream stared at your back in distaste, trying to remember why he disliked you in the first place. He couldn’t remember.

He walked over to the foot of the bed and glared at you further, thinking back to the first time he had met you. Surely something within his memories would trigger the reason for his great dislike for you. He found no immediate memory, just those of your torture at the hands of the witch trials and saving you, the brief visits you had within his realm, and— Dream was distracted by wounds dotting your wrists. Eyes sharpening on the wounds, Dream’s eyes followed the signs of restraint. They were far from new and were in varying stages of healing. Then his eyes found the lingering blood on your chin and lip. Someone had struck you. Who would dare to strike a witch of your caliber and standing? Roderick Burgess no doubt, he had no shortage of gall and greed.

Your guards figured out early on that you and Dream did not like each other. You two squabbled with your eyes and facial expressions, well you mouthed off to him in a one sided conversation for Dream never said a word… but you appeared to understand each and every twitch of facial muscle the Endless made. It was rather impressive and yet, Burgess got nothing he demanded from Dream. He still got his power from you, yes, he never failed to siphon that… but get Dream to obey his demands? Absolutely not.

After your last shouting match you had purposefully squirmed yourself around so you were cramped against the glass with your back to the Endless. You were refusing to look at him and the Endless refused to acknowledge your presence. Gods the Endless annoyed you to the core! Why did you have to be trapped in this stupid cage with him, it was driving you insane!! You growled under your breath and slumped further against Dream’s hard shoulder. Superficial arsehole.

The years had come and go, and after nearly a decade of being trapped with him, your digs at each other had slowly ebbed. Boredom, of course, was on the forefront. But you spent a lot of time with what little magic Burgess left you with maintaining your body so you didn’t waste away to a skeleton. You had already lost a decent amount of weight, your hipbones were pronounced and the vertebrae of your spine were all very prominent. Even Dream found your state uncomfortable to look at, but with you constantly presenting your back in refusal to look at him he had nothing else to look at. You were counting the number of times the guard threw a ball against the side of the stone wall when Roderick came down for his monthly siphoning.

The elderly man, not having aged a day since summoning Dream, strode into the room and settled his eyes on you. You were back to being a sullen and pouting wench, subdued by your current predicament. But he knew that at the drop of a hat you’d turn into a fiery hellcat and spit crude insults at any who dared to gaze upon you. Your wicked side was merely laying in wait, slumbering. Burgess prepared himself for siphoning your magic, muttering the incantation beneath his breath for he had memorized it by now. With the spell activated, he walked to the edge of the summoning circle and stared at you.

Your shoulder jerked a little as the meager amount of magic you had regained flowed out of your body and to the mock wizard. Grunting as the strain of over siphoning made your limbs twitch you hunched in place and struggled to grasp at what magic you could keep for yourself. Not much, regretfully. Your fingers clenched against the skin of your chest, for the pain you felt there was not new to you but still just as uncomfortable as it was the first time he’d stolen your magic.When the last few embers of your magic floated free from your soul and traveled into Burgess’ chest, you let out a strained wheeze and slumped in a weak ball against the glass. How did you have any magic left to give now? Your weakness was making it hard for your body to recuperate the magic lost.

As you lay limp as a rag doll with labored breaths, trembling ever so slightly, Burgess turned his gaze to Dream. He had a deal for the Endless, surely Dream would be happier without you there to snarl and argue with him.

“I have a deal for you, Dream,” He spoke, cold eyes observing the Endless. He was sitting with his ankles crossed and arms hanging over his knees. He hadn’t moved from that spot in decades despite you squirming around next to him. Dream couldn’t help but raise his eyes to the mortal. What would he try to bargain with this time? “I will let the witch go, if you bring back my son.” Dream almost laughed at Burgess’ words. He’d release you if he brought his son back? That wasn’t happening, it would never happen. Even if Dream could bring his son back. A brief look of disgust flickered across Dream’s face and that was all the answer the mortal needed.

The Endless would let you rot next to him rather than do anything to help Burgess.

“You are positively the worst,” Your voice croaked from where you had your forehead pressed against cool glass. “I hope you know that Dream. The. Worst.” He’d take that over you getting a win in any day.

Something in the air had changed. It was a palpable feeling you’d woken up to this morning and it had kept you on edge since. Your boney back had leaned heavily into Dream’s shoulder as you looked upwards at the eaves overhead. Something was off. Something didn’t belong. You just didn’t know what. The dust that floated in the air vibrated with a different frequency, one that wasn’t of this world. If only you weren’t so weak you could have pinpointed out what it was! Despite your uncertainty of what was going on, you decided to voice your thoughts since the guards post was empty.

“Something has changed.” Your words brought Dream out of his internal thoughts. His eyes opened and he stared ahead at the empty guards table. Nothing appeared to be different, but your senses had always been exceptional. Even with you in a weakened state. He said nothing, of course, but silently acknowledged your words. Now on alert, Dream scanned the empty basement slowly. Nothing was out of place. The something fluttering at the gate to the room caught his attention.

Like a beacon of light, Jessamy wormed her way through an opening in the wrought iron and perched on it, heading cocking side to side as she examined her Lord and Master in his glass cage. Of course she also noticed you laying limp next to him, but her concentration was on her master. The raven fluttered into the room and swooped up to the cage, banging herself and beak against thick glass to break it. Hope combined with happiness filled Dream’s face as he rose to his feet. You simply rolled your head to look up at Jessamy, glad that someone knew you were down in this decrepit basement.

Hope was beginning to bloom in your chest, for you hadn’t been this close to freedom since capture. But just as soon as that swelling feeling grew within your bosom it came crashing down. There was a loud crack that shattered Jessamy’s attempts to break the glass and before you knew it black and red was splattered against the cage. You gasped with a stricken sound catching in your throat. Oh gods, Jessamy… Alex Burgess was standing several paces behind with a gun raised. Your eyes burned because while you might have a particular distaste for her master, she was a good acquaintance. Now she was gone.

You watched as Dream slowly lowered himself back to the floor of the cage, unaltered shock plastered on his features. It was like he was still trying to process what had just happened. But his eyes… Oh you could see the tears quickly gathering and something within you cracked. Burgess came bursting into the room in a fit of rage, shouting at his son for potentially breaking the glass that kept you and Dream trapped. But you were entirely focused on Dream. You’d never seen him cry, you didn’t even think it was possible for an Endless to cry. But the devastation on his face wasn’t a fluke or a trick of the light, tears were flooding his lashes and his nose was beginning to run.

Even the great Dream of the Endless was capable of ugly crying? You were moving before you even realized what you were doing.

Boney arms reaching for the Endless, you pulled him to you and tucked his face away from prying eyes. Your fingers absentmindedly found themselves stroking his midnight hair while you began murmuring several death rites for Jessamy. She had been an exceptional companion to Dream and clearly the Endless had cared for her. She hadn’t deserved to be killed in such a way. Mid rites, you felt Dream shift within your arms and thought that he might lash out at you for daring to touch him so intimately… but rather than do as expected he leaned into your embrace in a slump.

You nearly started crying yourself the moment you felt his tears drip onto your skin. He’d never been this vulnerable in front of you before. No, you were sure that he’d never been this vulnerable ever. You ought to be happy to be experiencing something so rare, or even happy that he was hurting after all the social destruction he’d caused you… but all you could feel was pain in your heart because it had only come because of a death. The basement which had always been cold, damp, and dark, was now a tomb marred with blood and death. You found that you hated the way Dream trembled within your arms, and for each tear he shed, your hatred for the Burgess’ grew.

Burgess’ death had ben anticlimactic and incredibly disappointing. You had wanted him to burn for thousands of years for the pain and anguish he had caused Dream, and for his imprisonment of you. He’d gotten off far too easily dying from just a head injury. He deserved so much worse. So much worse. It was your only hope that he had ended up in hell where he belonged. You would have looked on the bright side if Alex hadn’t decided on taking over his fathers job siphoning your magic.

He feared that you’d grow to powerful if left unchecked.

Your lack of magic was beginning to seriously take a toll on your body. Without a steady source of magic to supplement the nutritional intake you’d normally have, your body was taking muscle and fat from you. If Dream thought seeing the vertebrate more pronounced was disturbing, it was nothing compared to your entire spinal column. That’s why you’d gone back to sitting side by side with him, to hide just how depleted your body was becoming after over a decade of imprisonment. You often rested your head on his shoulder when fatigue overtook you and were lucky that t he Endless allowed such a thing. With tiredness ruling within your mind and body, you decided to close your eyes for just a moment to rest them.

The grounds of the witch trials greeted your eyes, and a sharp tingle of fear ran up your spine for but a moment. Even after two centuries had gone by, the memories of your experience at the hands of the crazed people and witch hunters still haunted you. You still had the brand of the christian cross upon your shoulder. The old mark burned in memory and your rubbed your shoulder as it ached. Sometimes when the memories were strong enough you could swear you smelled the scent of your flesh burning as the red hot iron cross was pressed into your flesh. Your eye twitched.

Why were you having this dream? Why were you remembering these horrors now?

Refusing to look at the gallows where the noose swung ominously, you turned in the direction of your old home. After crossing the ocean on a colony ship, you’d taken to assisting the local doctor. Many colonists fell sick after making the voyage and you had faithfully tended to and nursed them back to health. You had given the Salem community nothing but kindness and what had you gotten in return? The witch trials. The people you had come to care for and love, had turned on you in a blink of an eye.

Technically speaking, you were a witch. But never in all your years of living had you ever considered using your magic to do harm. Why would you wish to uproot and ruin the happy life you had? Nonetheless you had been branded a witch (literally), and set to hang with the other ‘guilty’. You were the only witch in Salem.

You found yourself in your small home, everything exactly as you remembered. Your basket of medical supplies sat by the door, the hearth with its pot hanging above waiting to be used for dinner, your bed. You touched the threadbare blanket. It was just as scratchy as you remembered, but it had kept you warm. Your hand went to the rough fabric of the waistcoat you wore. You’d forgotten how hot it was to wear the full outfit. So you began stripping yourself of the thick materials, your waistcoat going first, then your dress. Now just standing in your simple shift, you let your hair down from its tightly pinned position and shook it out.

“Can’t say I enjoyed the rigid customs but life was quite peaceful for a time,” You mused to yourself, exiting your old home and heading to the nearby river. On Saturdays the women of Salem always did the laundry for the week and during the summer months it was nice to cool off in the water. This dream was making you feel hot and a nice cool down with a dip in the river sounded nice. Your feet followed the path to the river on automatic, even after over two hundred years you still knew it like the back of your hand.

The river was cold. It always had been. But it was a nice break from the heat you felt. The ends of your shift were rapidly soaked and pressed against your skin as you sloshed further into the river. It was funny how even the rocks at the bottom of the crystal water still looked exactly the same. Walking until you were waist deep, you shifted a few stone not he river bottom with your foot. It was strange that you were in a dream. Dream had been locked in a subdued and moroseful state that hadn’t changed since Jessamy’s death. You hadn’t had a dream since then, so why were you having one now?

“Best not to question and simply enjoy,” You stated pragmatically before dunking yourself beneath the water. Floating for a few moments beneath the chilly water, you let yourself relax and just stay hunched in place. The current were you were was fairly weak so you didn’t have to use much effort staying in one place. Standing back up, you pushed your hand over your wet hair. While you were observing the fading sun on the horizon, the dream around you shuddered for a moment. Then the sun disappeared and the entire dream darkened to nightmare.

Your head swirled to the land behind you which the disturbance had originated, and you saw a thunderous looking Dream standing behind you. What had gotten his knickers in a twist? This was your dream, what could you possibly dream of that would make him so upset?

“Dream, you’re disturbing the peace,” You quietly announced, attempting a soft pointer given his rather fragile state. His glowing eyes flickered for a few moments, then faded back to starry blue and the dream returned to its normal. As the summer heat returned, you observed the being closer to figure out what had caused him to go all ‘Endless’ on you in a dream. He still looked enraged, barely containing it behind his pretty blue eyes, his jaw locked, even his fists were clenched. “Dream?” You prompted him again, hugging your arms around your body because you were as good as naked in front of him and unlike he, you did care about people seeing your naked body.

His lashes flickered and eyes narrowed.

“You never spoke of bodily harm,” His voice came out rasping and deep, echoing the emotional turmoil you could feel and see. What was he talking about? Your apparent confusion to his words only made the Endless scowl at you. “The mark upon your shoulder, Maga,” He growled darkly, stepping closer to the rivers edge. “You never spoke of them hurting you.”

Your mind went blank as you processed his words. He was… angry that you’d been hurt? Well he wasn’t just angry at this point. He was enraged at the idea. Your face screwed up some and you half turned in place so your neck wasn’t screeching at you for the unnatural strain you were causing it.

“There was no need. You stopped my hanging, what more did you need to know past that?” You questioned, still very confused about why he would be so upset by the mark of an injury that had happened over two hundred years ago. It had long since healed. For some reason Dream got angrier at your words. Once more he took more steps, closing in on the river. “You didn’t even need to stop them from hanging me in the first place. Why would I tell you about them branding me?”

Dream’s eye twitched as he furiously questioned in his mind why you hadn’t informed him of what the morals had done to you.

“They hurt you,” He reiterated, stressing out the word hurt like it would explain his reasoning to be upsetto you. It did not, but you didn’t want to pick a fight with him when you had been on such cordial terms with him.

“It was over two centuries ago, Dream,” You answered him, resting your hands against your chest and looking own at your fingers. You remembered how bloody they had been after being beaten by the towns people. “I’ve long since put that in my past.”

It seemed that no matter what you told the Endless, he was still very upset over the fact that you had been hurt in the witch trials... so you decided to shift the conversation because the breeze was making you chilled.

“If you wouldn’t mind, Dream, would you please turn around?” You asked, looking down at your wet body. The white shift was still very much see-through. Dream titled his head to the side, his face telling you that he didn’t understand why you were asking for such a thing. “My shift is wet and very much see though at the moment.”

Dream didn’t understand why you should ever feel the need to be self conscious over your naked body but did as you asked. When his back was to you, you sloshed your way back towards the rivers edge. Once there, you carefully stepped towards the path leading back to your home. However, Dream heard you heading away from him and promptly turned around.

“You asked me to turn around and then design to sneak off?” He questioned, eyes boring into your back and lingering on the branded cross on your shoulder. You froze in step.

“I am in my shift that is currently see through, Dream,” You reminded him stiffly. “I’m not in presentable attire to be speaking with you at the moment. If you wish to continue conversation you are going to have to wait until I am dressed accordingly.”

Dream, while having innumerous patience, simply could not find the ability to be so at the moment and strode up to you, coat in hand. He dropped it around your shoulders and continued walking towards your home.

“We will be finishing this conversation whether or not you believe yourself to be in presentable clothing.” He stated, striding confidently ahead. You stared agape at his back, fingers clutching the star laden coat around your shoulders. Finishing this conversation? You still didn’t understand why he was so upset over a brand you’d gotten two hundred years prior, but followed him nonetheless.

It was nice to just talk with Dream of the Endless, rather than fight.

Holding up a facade of okay health had taken every bit of your concentration. What magic that ran thorough your blood now went entirely to preserving your life the best it could. You stopped counting the years after fifty. It was pointless as Alex was so fearful of what Dream would do should he let the Endless out, that there was zero hope of you getting out of your cage. So you just stuck to developing a non aggressive relationship with Dream, and it was… nice. More than nice actually. You got to see the other side of the Endless you hadn’t seen before.

It had to have been a century by the time Alexander Burgess made his last visit to the decrepit basement of Fawny Rig. He was old, frail, and nothing like the youthful boy who had murdered Jessamy. You knew he’d spent most of his life tormented by the knowledge that you and Dream sat in this cage in the basement of his home. A bitter satisfaction came from that knowledge, and yet, you couldn’t help but pity the man for being so weak. Overshadowed by his older brother to the very end. A fitting ending for the Burgess lineage.

As Alex spoke his last word and sat back down in his wheelchair, Paul began to push him away from the cage. Less than a second went by and you felt a massive ripple of power run through you. You jerked where you sat, holding in the gasp that wanted to crawl from your throat, and looked at Paul. He was looking back at you, and then at the ground. Following his gaze, your eyes widened when you spotted the clear break in the circle binding both you and Dream in place. Gods above. Your eyes didn’t shift back to Paul’s as he wheeled Alex out. A broken circle meant that Dream had a grasp on his power, a broken circle meant that you could use your own magic outside of your body!

A tremble began in your body as you forced yourself to remain calm and silent. Nearly 110 years of captivity and freedom was within your grasp because of Paul? You knew that Dream could also feel the change in your captivity, the muscles you could feel against your body had gone rigid the moment the circle had been broken. He knew he had his chance and without a doubt would be taking it. Hunching in a ball, you began murmuring all the incantations for low level teleportation magic. You didn’t know if you had enough magic to complete even an entry level spell, but you’d take which ever spell got you out of this place.

While you were concentrating, you felt the sands of Endless magic caressing your skin. Then gunshots and yelling, glass shattering, one of your spells activated and your eyes flickered open in triumph. Fingers clasped tightly together, the last you saw of Fawny Rig was unconscious guards and the glowing aura of a seething Endless. You’d never seen him so angry, so enraged. Your fight or flight instincts kicked in and your mind echoed one thought and one thought only: run.

Date Published: 10/5/23

Last Edit: 10/5/23

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butterfly-lies-chase-them-away · 11 months

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Hi there! I hope you are doing well! I really love your writing and saw that your requests were open so could I humbly ask for a gn!Reader X Alfie? They get into some trouble but no one's aware of the fact that reader is actually the most dangerous person in the room.

"You don't know what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into"

"And you have no idea of who you're fucking with."

I don't know if you want to go a supernatural route with this one or have reader as a very dangerous actor in the world of crime (I really loved The Boogeyman, by the way, the atmosphere you created around it was just *chefs kiss* lovely). But I leave the creative liberties to you. (Please feel no obligation to have to write this though!). Thanks so much ♥️!

Brave Little Protector (Alfie Solomons x Gn!Reader) ONESHOT (Request)

(UNEDITED)

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Gn!Reader Soft!Alfie

Word Count: 3025

Warnings: People getting their ass bEAT

Summary: (The request)

A/N: The second I saw this request, I had to write something for it! I love me a good badass!Reader, babes can take care of themself, Alfie's just an accessory B) I decided not to make a supernatural!au cause I'd end up going on a long tangent about it :,) but they a cutie either way. And thank you Anon for the praise for The Boogeyman, I really do appreciate it and everyone else who has commented on my works. Hope you enjoy :P

Alfie Solomons was a notorious figure in the underground world, his reputation as a formidable gang leader extending far and wide through the labyrinthine alleys of Camden Town. To those who understood the intricate workings of the criminal underbelly, the mere mention of his name sent shivers down their spines, a chilling reminder of the ruthless power he wielded.

People from all walks of life, whether they operated within the realms of legality or tiptoed on the fringes of society, couldn't deny the aura of dread that seemed to envelop Alfie's very presence. Those who dared to underestimate or dismiss the gravity of his influence were, in the eyes of many, nothing short of naive fools courting their own demise.

Rarely did audacious souls dare to challenge the formidable Alfie Solomons, but when such attempts did occur, they were recorded as legendary tales whispered in hushed tones throughout the criminal underworld. Those who dared to challenge him often found themselves on a path of inevitable destruction, their folly etching a grim tale into the annals of Camden Town's dark history.

The stories of those who managed to elude Alfie's grasp were often spun with threads of disbelief, their fear of retribution overshadowing any desire to share their harrowing experiences. In Camden Town, the mere notion of crossing paths with Alfie Solomons was enough to strike dread into the hearts of even the most fearless, rendering the very idea unthinkable.

As the icy tendrils of a winter's night clung to the desolate streets, Alfie Solomons, his ageing frame guided by a trusty walking cane, ambled with deliberate steps. The chill in the air seemed to conspire against him, provoking the familiar twinges of sciatica that sometimes plagued him. It was a reminder of his mortality amidst the stark, unforgiving season.

Walking in lockstep beside Alfie was a stark contrast – a much smaller figure, whose steps danced with a lightness and exuberance that seemed to defy the biting chill of the night. A radiant smile adorned their face, and their words tumbled from their lips with an innocence that shimmered like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness of Camden Town.

In the shadow of Alfie's formidable presence, this smaller, seemingly innocent companion stood as a testament to the paradoxes of life. Their very proximity to the notorious and rugged gang leader underscored the unexpected juxtaposition of vulnerability and strength, a reminder that even within the darkest of realms, elements of purity and brightness could still endure.

As Alfie ambled through the frigid night, his piercing gaze descended with an unmistakable warmth upon the young companion, Y/n who strode by his side. The affection that danced in his eyes was a striking contrast to his notorious reputation, a rare glimpse into the complex layers of the man behind the legend.

In the merciless world they navigated, such a connection could be perceived as a vulnerability, an exposed flank for those who knew how to exploit it. But beneath the calculated veneer of the streets, there existed a complex tapestry of loyalties and alliances that transcended the apparent incongruities. Like an arrow aimed straight for the heart, the bond between Alfie and his young companion was an enigma, a target that could confound the presumptions of those who attempted to unravel the mysteries of their relationship.

On the cobblestone pavement outside Alfie's well-worn distillery, Y/n gracefully led the way, a chivalrous gesture as they reached out to open the door. It was an act that spoke of a quiet camaraderie, a dance of respect and familiarity that had developed between them over time.

Their steps carried them across the threshold, neither of them paying heed to the group of shadowy figures huddled across the road. Unseen by Y/n and Alfie, this vigilant assembly of men had stationed themselves with a sense of anticipation, a veiled presence that held secrets and intentions yet to be revealed. The stage was set, the players unaware of the waiting audience, and the looming encounter hung in the air like an unspoken challenge, waiting to unfurl its fateful drama.

“That was such a good film, thank you for taking me Alfie.” Y/n effused with genuine delight, their appreciation evident as they leaned in to press a tender kiss to his cheek.

Alfie's response was a soft, genuine smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. He gazed affectionately down at Y/n, his voice laced with warmth. “Well I gotta treat my sweetheart, yeah..I’d be a fucking fool not to.” he quipped, the endearment rolling off his tongue with an ease that bespoke a depth of affection that transcended the gritty world they inhabited.

Alfie's distillery had transformed into a sanctuary of affection, momentarily removed from the harsh realities of the world outside. The room was dimly lit, casting a soft, intimate glow as they basked in the afterglow of their cinematic escape.

Y/n's fingers traced a gentle path across Alfie's cheek, their affection evident in the lingering touch. "I appreciate it, Alfie," they replied, their voice a soothing melody that underscored the depth of their gratitude.

Alfie's laughter resonated in the room, a rich and melodious sound that could warm even the coldest of hearts. He cupped Y/n's cheek with a rough, calloused hand, drawing them closer. "My dear, you deserve nothing but the best," he declared with a fervor that bordered on reverence. "And I'm the fortunate one to have you by my side."

In the cocoon of their private moment, the outside world seemed a distant memory, and the connection they shared transcended the constraints of their gritty surroundings.

"Your leg okay? That was quite a walk from the pictures," Y/n inquired, their concern etched in the crease of their brow as they looked to Alfie.

Alfie, his resilience undiminished, offered a reassuring smile. "I'm good, love. Just need a bit of rest with my darling dearest," he replied, his endearment laced with a fondness that tugged at the corners of Y/n's lips, drawing a warm and melodic laugh from them. In this tender exchange, the intricate dance of their connection continued, an unspoken harmony that resonated deeply in their hearts.

"Sounds absolutely perfect," Y/n murmured, their words steeped in affection as they leaned in for another kiss, eager to savor the shared moment of intimacy.

However, their tender exchange was abruptly interrupted by a series of loud, jarring bangs emanating from outside the distillery. The sudden noise shattered the cocoon of their shared affection, its ominous presence casting a shadow over the serene sanctuary they had created. Instinctively, their gazes darted toward the source of the commotion, their bond and sense of unity instantly alert to the ominous intrusion.

With an explosive force, the door to the distillery was sent careening off its hinges, shattering into splinters as a torrent of men surged into the room. The deafening cacophony of their entry shattered the tranquility that had enveloped Alfie and Y/n.

Startled, both Alfie and Y/n instinctively turned their heads toward the source of the thunderous intrusion, their expressions a mix of surprise and apprehension. The unexpected arrival of this hostile horde signaled a sudden and unsettling shift in the quietude that had previously defined their evening, plunging them into a maelstrom of uncertainty and danger.

The leader of this unwelcome intrusion, a towering figure with a sneer etched across his face, stepped forward, his gaze fixed squarely on Alfie and Y/n. "Well, well, what 'ave we got 'ere?" he taunted, his voice dripping with condescension. "The great Alfie Solomons and 'is little sweetheart, out for a romantic evening, are we?"

Alfie's jaw clenched, his eyes narrowing as he assessed the situation. Beside him, Y/n stood with a stoic resolve, a fire smoldering in their gaze.

Unfazed, the leader continued his verbal assault, "You thought you could just prance about like the bloody king of Camden Town, didn't ya? Well, it's time someone brought ya down a peg or two."

"Looks like the old man can't even walk. This game's gonna be a cakewalk," sneered one of the men, his derisive words igniting a chorus of laughter from his companions. The arrogant jeers danced in the air, further taunts poised at Alfie and Y/n.

A steely determination flickered in Alfie's gaze, his jaw set with unwavering resolve. "I may be injured, mate," he retorted, his voice a low, threatening growl. "But it ain't gonna change the fucking outcome."

The room crackled with palpable tension, the standoff between the encroaching aggressors and the defiant pair of Alfie and Y/n poised on the precipice of chaos.

With a predatory glint in his eyes, one of the men leered menacingly at Y/n, a malicious grin twisting his lips. His predatory words were laden with insinuation as he gestured toward Y/n with a disdainful sweep of his hand.

"Oh yeah, what if we have a bit of fun with this pretty little thing?" he taunted, his voice dripping with perverse suggestion.

Alfie's voice, low and filled with an unmistakable menace, sliced through the air like a blade. His eyes, once warm and affectionate, now bore an intensity that could wither the bravest of souls. He fixed a steely glare upon the man who had been leering at Y/n, his words laden with a potent threat that brooked no defiance.

"Don't even fucking look at them," Alfie growled, his tone a chilling warning that hung heavy in the room, daring the man to challenge his unwavering protection of Y/n.

Alfie's restraint was pushed to its limits, his knuckles white from the intensity of his grip on his walking cane. Y/n, though, stood resolute, their countenance unwavering, a storm of defiance and readiness brewing within their gaze. The room crackled with a dangerous electricity, each passing moment a taut string stretched to its breaking point, as the battle of wills and the impending confrontation hung heavy in the air.

"What you gonna do about it, old man?" The thug sneered, his lips curling into a menacing grin as he towered over Alfie.

Y/n cast a swift, purposeful glance back at Alfie, their head tilting ever so slightly. With a subtle shake of their head, they signaled for him to hold his ground, their unspoken message clear in its intent. It was a silent plea for Alfie to stay put and let them handle the imminent threat, a testament to the trust and unity that defined their partnership in such dire moments.

Alfie, though filled with a burning desire to defend, knew that in this tense situation, Y/n's strategic decision was both prudent and necessary. He reluctantly nodded in reluctant agreement, bracing himself for the unfolding storm, while Y/n took the forefront in a bid to protect and confront the encroaching danger.

Alfie then displayed an air of unaffected composure as he slowly pivoted away from the confrontational thug. With measured steps, he navigated toward his favourite armchair, its plush upholstery a stark contrast to the tense atmosphere in the room. Leaning on his cane for support, he took a seat in the armchair with a graceful ease that seemed to defy his years.

"Nothin’," Alfie replied with a quiet, determined tone, his eyes unwavering in their gaze. The group of men erupted in a chorus of mocking laughter, casting disdainful glances toward Alfie.

As the tension in the room thickened, one of the men took a step forward, encroaching into Y/n's personal space with an audacious display of aggression. His movements were purposeful, and his presence loomed like a dark shadow, a palpable threat that demanded attention in the charged atmosphere.

"Look at that, not even gonna defend you! You don't know what kind of trouble you've gotten yourself into," they taunted, their voices dripping with malice as they addressed Y/n.

Y/n's response was swift and intense, spoken with a fierce determination that echoed through the room. "And you have absolutely no idea who you're dealing with," they retorted, their eyes flashing with a mixture of defiance and readiness.

Before anyone in the room could react, Y/n sprang into action. Their fist cut through the air with a precision that caught everyone by surprise. The punch connected with the thug's face, producing a resounding crack as it landed. The perpetrator was sent tumbling backwards, crashing to the ground with an audible thud, his overconfidence shattered by the unexpected and powerful blow delivered by Y/n. The room fell silent, save for the groans of the fallen thug, and the tension hung heavy in the air as the consequences of underestimating Y/n became painfully clear.

Surprise rippled through the other men like an electric current as they hastily raised their firearms, their eyes widening in alarm. However, Y/n's reflexes were quicker than their adversaries could anticipate. In a swift, fluid motion, Y/n snatched up a nearby bottle of rum, the glint of desperation and determination in their eyes.

With precise accuracy, they hurled the bottle directly at the man's outstretched hand, the shattering impact resonating through the room. A sharp cry of pain filled the air as the bottle struck its target, causing the armed man to crumple in agony. The firearm slipped from his grasp, clattering to the floor in a cacophony of clinks and thuds. Y/n's decisive action left a stunned silence in its wake, the other men left momentarily disoriented, their well-laid plans unravelling before their eyes.

With a lightning-quick movement, Y/n seized the fallen firearm, their fingers closing around its cool metal frame with practised ease. Without hesitation, they aimed the weapon, the room bathed in a tense, anticipatory silence.

A sharp, echoing report reverberated through the room as Y/n's first shot pierced the air, striking the first man's knees. A guttural cry of pain filled the space, his legs buckling beneath him as he collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony.

With calculated precision, Y/n turned their focus to the remaining men. One after another, they pulled the trigger, each gunshot punctuating the air with a resounding crack. Knees buckled and cries of pain rang out as each man's mobility was abruptly compromised. The room descended into chaos, as the once-vainglorious group of thugs now found themselves on the receiving end of their own malevolence, their domination overturned by Y/n's relentless resolve.

As the room filled with the cacophony of agonized moans, Y/n's determination remained unwavering. They stepped forward with deliberate purpose, ensuring that none of the men would pose any further threat. Kicking the firearms scattered around the fallen assailants, Y/n sent the weapons skittering across the floor, the metallic clatter serving as a stark reminder of the once-potent danger they represented.

Each gun was systematically nudged beyond the men's reach, ensuring that there would be no opportunity for them to regain their footing and make any attempts at retaliation. The room, once charged with hostility, was now a scene of retribution and defence, Y/n's actions a resolute testament to their commitment to protecting both themselves and Alfie from further harm.

“We’re done here, yeah?” Y/n asked, their voice tinged with a sense of authority and finality.

The men on the ground were consumed by the overwhelming pain coursing through their battered bodies, rendering them incapable of providing any coherent response. With an air of purpose, Y/n lowered their firearm to the floor, a symbolic gesture of de-escalation.

Y/n then proceeded to seize a couple of the men by their collars, their determination undeterred. With Herculean effort, they dragged the incapacitated assailants out of the dimly lit distillery one by one, the gritty ground marking their path. It took several strenuous trips to remove all the wounded men, a silent testament to Y/n's unwavering resolve to ensure their incapacitation.

Amidst the turmoil and the rearranging of the scene, Alfie remained seated in his cherished armchair, a serene smile gracing his lips as he observed the events unfolding before him. In his aged eyes, a sense of satisfaction gleamed, knowing that the indomitable spirit of Y/n had safeguarded both their well-being and his own.

Locking up the distillery door with a resounding click, Y/n's gaze returned to Alfie. The enigmatic smile that graced their features bore a subtle, almost innocent quality, belying the fierce determination that had manifested moments before. In that fleeting moment, an unspoken understanding passed between them – a partnership solidified through shared challenges, and a newfound respect forged in the crucible of adversity.

Alfie's hearty laughter filled the room, a warm and reassuring sound that resonated through the distillery's dimly lit space. His eyes sparkled with an appreciative twinkle.

"Come here, my brave little protector," Alfie beckoned, his voice tinged with both affection and admiration.

Y/n, ever attentive, gracefully moved closer to Alfie. With a practised gentleness, Alfie reached out and took their hand, fingers intertwining in a wordless connection. Slowly, he drew Y/n toward him until their lips met in a passionate and tender kiss. In that shared moment, amidst the aftermath of turmoil and conflict, their bond grew stronger, solidified by an unspoken understanding of the challenges they faced together.

"I'd never let anyone hurt us, Alfie," Y/n reassured, settling on the arm of the chair, their gaze unwavering as they looked down at Alfie, a protective resolve burning in their eyes. The sincerity in their voice was palpable, a fierce promise to shield and safeguard.

A small, appreciative smile played on Alfie's lips as he met Y/n's gaze. "I know you won't, darling," he affirmed, the tenderness in his voice underscoring the trust he had in their bond. "But if you’re ever in trouble, always come find me, yeah?"

Y/n leaned down, their lips meeting Alfie's in a tender kiss, sealing the pact with a shared moment of intimacy. "Always, Alfie," they whispered a vow in the midst of uncertainty, a testament to the strength of their connection, even in the face of impending danger.

- A/N: I've probably never written something fast before, but I was just so invested that I cracked it out immediately 💀 But I hope you enjoyed it, Thank you Anon for requesting this, I enjoyed writing it and look forward to writing more. :)

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

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