#alfie solomons fanfiction

[dyns33]

Family protection

I missed Alfie during Flufftober, I'm not going to lie, even if it was fun

Thomas Shelby was preoccupied.

No, if he was honest, Thomas was just as terrified and furious at that moment, hurt inside, ready to devastate everything in his path, like every time he was told that a member of his family had been targeted.

It had perhaps been a mistake on his part to believe that it was not necessary to monitor Y/N after her marriage. Solomons' men took care of that.

So, when John had called him in a panic, saying that there were rumors about the kidnapping, or even the murder of their sister, he had at first remained frozen at his desk.

Since Polly had brought her back, this little girl from another mother, also abandoned by their fucking so called father, he had loved her. Maybe even more than the others.

The child was adorable. Shy at first, then smiling, with a crystal-clear laugh, asking for cuddles from her brothers, playing with dolls with her sister, and always wanting to be with them.

Normally, boys didn't accept the presence of girls. Poor Ada knew something about that. But strangely, with Y/N, it was different. Neither he, nor John, nor Arthur, could refuse her anything.

She came with them in the streets, in the countryside, in the trees. There were some limits of course, but he had shown her how to climb, jump, run. How to defend herself, if one strange day they weren't there.

Thomas confided things to her and her only when they were alone. The times he slept in the fields, she came to join him. That was often what pushed him to come home, because he didn't want her to catch her death. She stayed there, glued to him without saying anything, respecting his silence like no other member of his family, and for that, he ended up talking to her.

It was a false secret, that Y/N was his favorite. A secret that didn't bother anyone, since she was everyone's favorite.

So Thomas Shelby was preoccupied, because it was said that something had happened to his little sister, without anyone being able to clearly say what.

"She was in a bookstore." Arthur mumbled. "She goes there several times a month, to get books and read to the kids. They like it, she has a beautiful voice. After the session, she often has tea upstairs with the old owner. Men came in, beat up the employees and customers, before going upstairs. Then there was a fire. We don't know anything else."

"And Mr. Solomons ?"

"Haven't managed to reach him. His little assistant says he's… busy."

You'd think the same guys had come to Camden Town to destroy the King's Bakery. Because everything was in a pathetic state, and it was the doing of one man, who shouted orders from his office when he wasn't breaking anything that came his way.

If Thomas was preoccupied, Alfie had lost his mind.

During an important meeting with the Irish, he had let Ollie handle the business, and since the men had to be watched, it was a new kid who answered the phone.

He learned only two hours after his return that a woman had called. Not just any woman, his wife. Who was worried, because there were men in front of the bookstore, whom she didn't know.

She was smart, his wife. His tender Y/N, well raised by the Shelbys. Even if she was normally safe, she remained wary, thinking of looking behind or through the window, knowing all of her husband's employees.

The incompetents who followed her that day had been found with their throats slit in an alley.

Even though his patient was at his limit, Thomas let Alfie finish his tantrum, noting that he had left only the phone and the record player intact, which was playing opera to try to calm him down.

Y/N had disappeared for four hours now. He wouldn't calm down.

"They would have called, huh ? To give their fucking instructions. Or maybe they're scared, they know that my men, the most competent this time, and yours, are all over town, and that as soon as we know who did this, they'll be dead. But… If they don't have her… Tommy, if they don't have her, if she's in that still smoking pile of ashes… I'll burn everything."

"Arthur and John are going to find her."

"Yeah, huh ? You can sense it with your gypsy powers ? Your witch aunt read the cards and saw that my Y/N was healthy ?"

"Not now, Alfie."

Solomons growled, turning his office chair in anger and slamming it against the floor until it was all crumbs. It was only because it was his wife's family that he was acceptinf Thomas' presence.

And for his part, even though he wanted to blow his head off for not protecting his sister properly, Tommy sat there smoking his cigarette, remembering how it had felt to hold Grace in his arms.

When the phone rang, he stared at it for a moment, before looking at Alfie, frozen in the middle of the room, staring at the wall. He wondered if he hadn't heard, before realizing that the wandering Jew was afraid to answer.

It might have been the famous ransom demand, which would teach them that a lot of harm had been done to Y/N, and much more would come if they didn't do what the kidnappers wanted.

It might also have been the coroner, who had finished putting names on the bodies following the fire.

Slowly, Thomas put down his cigarette, before answering.

"… Tommy ?"

"… Y/N ?"

"Give me that !" ordered Alfie who immediately came back to life, snatching the phone from him before finding a softer voice. "Treacle ? Love ? Are you okay ? Where are you ?"

It turned out that despite the lack of practice, taking young Y/N into the woods to teach her how to climb, jump, play tightrope walkers and hide, had been a good thing.

Realizing that something was happening and since her husband was not reachable, she had climbed through the upstairs window on the courtyard side, hoisting herself up onto the roof, until she found a secluded spot to climb down.

Then, not knowing who to trust, she had stayed hidden until nightfall, to go to the closest and safest place from her position, which was her sister's house.

"Faster, Ismael !"

Thomas could have muttered that it would be better to get to Ada's alive, but he only clung to the door handle while the driver obeyed Mr. Solomons without worrying about pedestrians or other cars.

It was also useless to stop Alfie from jumping onto the sidewalk, forgetting his cane in the car to go and bang on the door like a madman until someone opened it.

Calm only returned when he laid eyes on Y/N, settled in the living room and already surrounded by all the other Shelbys who had been called after them.

"Treacle. Forgive me." he sobbed as he threw himself at her knees, his arms around her and his head against her stomach. "I was so worried, love, I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, Alfie. I'm sorry, I wanted to call you before but I didn't have access to a phone."

"I'm the worst husband. I didn't protect you. If my men weren't dead, I'd slit their throats myself."

"Let's try to talk about something happier." Thomas coughed as he approached, placing a hand on his sister's shoulder who smiled at him. "Did you hurt yourself jumping off the roof ?"

"No, I'm fine. Just a little tired."

"Strange clothes."

"Yes, love. You weren't wearing that this morning."

"Oh, I…" Y/N said, visibly embarrassed. "I may have "borrowed" a disguise. And money. And a car."

"She's our lil sis !" Arthur declared proudly, oblivious to the dark looks from his aunt, sister, brothers, and brother-in-law.

Maybe they had also shown young Y/N how to steal, but only once or twice, for fun, telling her that it was wrong, and that she would never need to do that because they would take care of her.

Alfie mumbled in Hebrew, which made her laugh. Probably insults without malice. He only let go of her to allow the others to kiss her before he took her back to their home, returning worse than a leech at the first opportunity.

When he proposed to add some of his men to Solomons' for her next outings, the king of Candem was at first outraged. He didn't bark only because his wife had already experienced a lot of emotions, but he would not let Thomas humiliate him.

However, in the middle of the night, certainly when Y/N was sleeping, Solomons contacted him.

"How many men, and what price ?"

"I'm the one who feels insulted now, Alfie. She's my sister, that will be the necessary number and for nothing at all."

"Hmm… You know, they all have something to say about you, your siblings. All of them, while you take care of them. I know it, I see it, but they are never happy. But not Y/N. No, my treacle has nothing but compliments for her big brothers, and you the first. Tommy this, Tommy that. She adores you."

"I adore her too."

"Hmm. Not as much as me, and so there will be fewer men than mine, but… I accept the offer."

"Glad we almost agree on something, Mr. Solomons."

He did not sleep that night, because Thomas Shelby was a preoccupied man by nature. By business, by his family, by the future and the past.

But as for his favorite little sister, he could have slept peacefully, knowing that her husband was there to ensure her happiness and protection as he had sworn during their marriage.

And if something were to happen, they would join forces, then Thomas would probably kill Alfie to punish him, if the madman didn't kill himself first to join Y/N whom he loved at least as much as her brother loved her.

[wonderlanddreamer]

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.

[clairecrive]

Hello!! Could you write a Alfie Solomons x reader where he goes to a meeting with Tommy only to find him and reader arguing/negotiating about something, meanwhile Arthur's bleeding out and her refusing to help Arthur until Tommy lets her win? I feel like Alfie would have instant heart eyes!

A/n: this has been sitting in my drafts for a while. It's more of a blurb, but it was fun to get back to it. I feel like Alfie's really into badass women. especially ones that make Shelby's life hell. let me know if you wanna be tagged in my next pieces. enjoy <3

MASTERLIST

"Love at first blood"| Alfie Solomons x reader

"Now, Mister Shelby, I'm sure you'll agree with me but alliances should be equal otherwise you'll risk for your partner to look for a more advantageous deal elsewhere."

"Is that a threat?"

"Merely stating a fact, I'm sure you know more than me on the matter. Do you not?"

"Aye."

"So, you'll agree to my terms then?"

Tommy's mouth opened as if to speak but Arthur's groan hijacked his attention. While his eyes never moved from y/n's, Alfie could see his jaw clenching. And he knew it for it was, a telltale sign of a decision made.

"Provided you aid my brother here."

"But of course. A deal is a deal." Magnanimously, she ripped out a piece of fabric from her long skirt and went to wrap it tightly on the oldest Shelby's leg.

"Here," she said making one last knot in the bandage. Arthur groaned in response. Not many people could put the fear of God in such a reckless man like him. You, however, were on top of that list. If he could, he'd crawl far away from you.

Words were good and all and y/n knew that after her little demonstration, the deal was closed; still, she spat on her hand and offered it to Tommy to do the same.

Once the pact was officially sealed, y/n nodded in Tommy's direction and turned around to leave.

That's when she noticed a man standing at the threshold. He wasn't very tall nevertheless, he managed to portray an imposing aura that, y/n was sure, worked perfectly in his line of work.

The cane and the wide-brim hat were enough to confirm his identity. Y/n had never met Alfie Solomons. They didn't run in the same circle, to put it simply.

Running into the Shelbys had resulted from an unfortunate series of events caused by incompetent men in her life. She wasn't so keen to repeat that experience.

However, if she had to be honest, she had to admit that Solomon's piercing eyes intrigued her. Especially the way he was looking at her, with a mix of admiration, fear, and interest.

"Fucking hell," the man of the hour spoke, and oh my god. His voice.

His fucking voice.

She tried her best to conceal her body's primal reaction to the sound. However, she couldn't help but stay put and wait for what he had to say.

"I've never seen such a small fucking thing put the fear of God in a man," Alfie pointed his cane in their general direction before tipping his hat to her.

"You should never underestimate a woman, Mr. Solomons," y/n quipped with a sly smile.

"Ah pet, am not a fucking fool, am I?" he chuckled with mirt.

The tension in the room was palpable and it wasn't the kind that had been previously present. Oh, no. This one was fire.

It was only Tommy clearing his voice that broke the eye contact between you and Alfie.

"Well gentlemen, my business here is done. I'll leave you to it," she nodded at Alfie as she walked past him. "Thomas, the pleasure was all yours as always."

The last thing y/n heard before leaving was the wonder in Alfie's voice as he demanded to know who was that fucking vengeful angel he had just met.

[loulouwrites]

HELLISH . AFLIE SOLOMONS

summary: alfie's secretary makes the decision to marry, it's a shame her prospective husbands seem to disappear after one meeting warnings: angst, violence, swearing, jealousy, threats, borderline stalking honestly, muderous thoughts, unedited, unrequited love word count: 3.5k a/n: i've been away for a while bc life is hard. i wanted to write a little alfie story not related to the 'home series' and came up with whatever this is so i hope you enjoy. i'm working on a taglist, so if you would like to be included, lmk <3 also lmk if you'd like a part 2 to this, i've already cooked something up!

She had known Alfie Solomons for about three years, and they had been friends since they had met.

Two years into their strange friendship, she had been sacked from her job as a secretary for an Italian businessman, he didn't say why he suddenly decided he didn't require her services, but they both knew. Tensions were rising between the Jewish quarter and Italian quarter in Camden, and everybody was sticking to their own side of town.

When she had told Alfie about it, he had offered her a job immediately - the rising tensions were partly his fault anyways.

Her mother had not been happy when her daughter came home with news she would be working for Alfie Solomons, but when she saw the stack of notes Mr Solomons had given as a 'pay advance', she warmed to the idea.

It was easy work. He had his men for the nitty-gritty stuff, she merely typed up Alfie's ramblings and sent threatening telegrams to people - it was easier than any legitimate job she had ever had, and it paid better, too.

She would often have lunch with Ollie, Alfie's second in command if you wanted to call him that. She was allowed a longer lunch than he was, Ollie wasn't supposed to have a lunch break at all, but if she were talking to him, it was rare they would be interrupted, unless there was an urgent matter to attend to.

Ollie was a good gossip, better than any of the other men in the bakery, Alfie excluded. But, unlike Alfie, Ollie had no interest in her, sexually or romantically, so she enjoyed the time she could spend talking to him, discussing rumours or chatting about their lives outside of work without it turning into something else within minutes.

"Do you think he'll let me leave an hour early?" She asked from where she was perched on the man's desk, swinging her feet back and forth.

"He'd let you leave now if you asked," Ollie replied, rolling his eyes at the girl. It was true, Alfie would probably still pay her if she didn't show up, he'd let her release a group of pigs in his office if she wanted to.

"He's in a mood, though."

"He's always in a mood."

"Not as bad as this," she pointed to their boss' office, where the blinds were pulled up, showing his figure stomping around the small room, throwing pieces of paper and trinkets onto the ground.

"Fuck," she sighed as a loud crash was heard, though they couldn't see what had bared the brunt of the man's rage from their seats.

"Maybe reschedule?" Ollie offered, his eyes not leaving the glass window of Alfie's office.

"I'm just going to ask him," she planted her feet on the ground, ignoring Ollie's protests. "The worst he can do is say no," she shrugged, walking towards the office door.

"That is not the worst he can do," he called after her in an urgent whisper.

She didn't knock when she entered, she never had, and she wasn't about to start now.

A book flew past her face when she stepped inside, and she quickly stepped to the side, it hitting the wall behind her and falling to the floor.

"What did...that Russian book ever do to you?" She asked, and his head snapped up to look at her, his eyes wide.

"Shit, sorry 'bout that, love," he sighed, wiping a hand over his face but she waved him off, moving to sit in one of the chairs at his desk.

"Bad day?"

"Better now," he winked at her, and she rolled her eyes playfully. "What do you want?"

"I want to leave an hour early," she offered him a wary smile, clasping her hands together pleadingly.

"You fuckin' what?"

"Please, Alfie-" she started, but he was up from his seat before she could finish her sentence, pacing up and down the cramped office with his hands on his hips. "It's only an hour, and I'm not doing anything anyway."

"You're not doing anything?" his eyebrows raised as he turned to face her. "You're really admitting that to your boss?"

"Please, Alfie," she stood up, taking a few steps towards him. "I never ask you for anything."

She scowled at the obnoxious laugh he let out in response.

"Never ask me for anything?" his voice raised an octave to mock her. "A pay advance that you still haven't paid back," he help up a finger as he counted. "A weekday off so you can go shopping when it's less crowded, a bonus so you can get your mum a birthday present, a day off when your fucking cat died," he stepped towards her. "Asking me to come to it's fucking funeral."

"You said it was a lovely service," she placed a hand on her chest in offense.

"You know what?" he sighed, rubbing a hand up and down his face. "Just fuck off, yeah?"

"Really?" She smiled, clapping her hands.

"But you will come in an hour early tomorrow to make up for it, or so help me God, I will come to your house and drag you here myself."

It was an empty threat, and they both knew it.

"Thank you, Alfie." She reached to place a kiss on his cheek, not taking offense when he reached to wipe his cheek when she pulled away, already opening the door to leave. "I'll see you bright an early tomorrow."

She couldn't make out what he grumbled after her.

Alfie waited until she had left the bakery to slink out of his office, approaching Ollie's desk, and tapping on it with his knuckles.

"Why'd she want to leave early?" he asked his assistant, not missing the way the younger man sunk down in his seat.

"I don't want to tell you," Ollie replied, sheepishly.

"Ollie," Alfie warned.

"She's meeting up with someone?"

"Ollie."

"A man. She's meeting up with a man, her mum's friend's son or something. Think she's looking to settle down, you know?"

Alfie hummed, a hand coming up to rub his beard. "Interesting," he mumbled, walking back to his office, landing a smack to Ollie's head as he passed.

Her suitor had been a perfect gentleman. Jacob had taken her to a fancy club in a nicer part of London, had bought her dinner and drinks without grumbling about the prices, and had dropped her off at home with a kiss on the cheek and a promise to take her out again the following weekend.

She hadn't thought a man her mother had set her up with would be particularly charming, but she had been proven wrong, the stupid smile she wore on her face all week being proof of that.

She had been thinking of settling down for a while. All of her childhood friends were married with several children at this point, and she didn't miss the sympathetic looks they would give her when she told them she was still unmarried, still childless, and still working.

Marriage was always something she thought would come naturally -as it seemed to do with everyone else around her - but years rolled by and she was still no closer to the life that had seemed so easily achievable when she was young. So, she had decided to take matters in her own hands, informing her mother and everyone else she could that she was ready to marry, and asking them to let her know if they knew a boy they thought would be a good match.

And, she thought she had found the good match on her first try, but when the week after her date rolled on, and there was no word from Jacob, she realised how stupid she had been.

She had been moodier than ever that week, stomping around the bakery with a scowl on her face, smacking the keys of her typewriter harder than necessary, and barely speaking two words to whoever approached her.

She was not dealing with the rejection well.

So, when a handsome worker - who she recalled was named James -- passed her desk, offering a confident smile as he did, she wasted no time.

She wandered into Alfie's office with her hands clasped behind her back, swaying slightly as she waited for him to look up from the papers on his desk.

"What?" He asked, still reading the scribbles on the page.

"Didn't know you'd taken new people on," she shrugged nonchalantly, keeping her tone light and unbothered.

"And? What about it?"

"I don't know," she shrugged again, stepping further into his office. "Just a lot of new faces around here,"

Alfie groaned, dropping the papers from his hand and removing the glasses he wore from his face. "Since when do you care about new faces?"

"I don't," she laughed defensively. "I was just wondering about one of them, is all."

"You were just wondering about one of them," Alfie's eyebrows rose, and he leaned back in his seat, crossing his arms. "What were you wondering about?"

"I mean...maybe some background..."

"Like what? His favourite fucking book? The fuck you expect me to know?"

"I was just wondering, that's all," she held her hands up in defense, and her boss' eyes squinted at her words.

"I thought you were already seein' someone, that is why you left early a couple weeks ago, ain't it?"

"Who the fuck told you that?"

"Don't matter," Alfie offered her a smile. "Didn't work out or something..."

"No, it didn't," she huffed. "So...about James..." she trailed off, waiting for Alfie to step in, but he merely offered her a blank look. "Alfie," she whined, stomping her foot against the floor."

"Don't know 'im. Sorry, love," he waved a hand dismissively.

"Fine," she spun on her heel, storming out of his office. "I'll find out myself."

James was lovely. She had 'bumped' into him when she was leaving, and it hadn't taken him long to offer to take her out for drinks when he finished his shift, which she had accepted with a grateful smile.

He had met her outside of the local pub near the 'bakery', it wasn't a particularly nice establishment, but the lager was cheap, and she supposed he didn't have the money to spend in a fancy club like Jacob had - not with the pittance she was sure Alfie was paying him.

He was funny, and quite respectful in comparison with some of his colleagues. He had asked her questions about her interests, had shared his own, and she was delighted that they seemed to have quite a bit in common.

They had ended the night at her door, with chaste kiss, and another promise to go out again the following week, and she had closed the door with a grin on her face.

"See you at work tomorrow," he had said as he walked away.

When she arrived to work the next morning, the same grin still on her face, she couldn't stop her eyes scanning the floor as she walked to her desk, desperately trying to seek out James, but, when she couldn't find him, she had shrugged it off.

Maybe he was ill or something.

It was now Thursday. Her date with James had been on Monday, and there had been no sign of him ever since.

It was hard not wonder, had something bad happed to him? Had he been hiding every time he saw her walking through the distillery? Had he been so repulsed by her that he had quit his job just to avoid seeing her again?

The thoughts had consumed her all week, and they had affected her mood significantly. Unlike with Jacob, where she had been an angry force at work, she was now forlorn, barely speaking to anybody, and zoning out of conversations with a vacant look on her face.

It was starting to worry her boss, who spent longer than appropriate watching her from his office window.

He had called her into the office that afternoon, watching as she walked seemingly in a daze, her eyes were duller, and he face appeared more sunken.

She didn't say anything when she took a seat at his desk, nor did she meet his eyes when he said her name.

"You alright?" he had asked, his tone more concerned than he wanted it to be.

"Wonderful," she replied, her voice flat, fiddling with a thread on her skirt.

"You've been wandering 'round like a ghost for the past week, love. What's goin' on with ya? Please don't tell me another fucking cat died."

She huffed a laugh that was clearly fake, still fiddling with the thread when she responded. "I think I'm unmarriable, Alfie."

Alfie's shoulder's straightened at her words, leaning his arms on his desk, he studied her face, watching as she blinked away the tears that were beginning to pool in her eyes. "The fuck are you talking about?"

"Two men in two weeks, Alfie. I have gone out with two men in two weeks and they have both disappeared...literally disappeared, I haven't seen them since."

Her eyes lifted from her dress to meet his, and Alfie was struck by how sad she looked. He had never thought she would be this upset by a couple of boys not getting back to her after one night.

"That's silly, love," he sighed. "It don't mean nothin'"

"Yeah," she scoffed, "it does."

He considered telling her in that moment, he truly did. A better man would have, would have confessed right then and there.

A better man would have told her that they had cornered Jacob after he had dropped her off at her door. How he had almost certainly broken the young man's nose before he had a chance to blink, how he had had his men hold the boy by the shoulders while he whispered a warning in his ear.

"Stay away from her."

He really should have told her that he had turned up at James' shitty flat on Monday night, waiting for the man to return from his date with her. That his worker's body had began to shake when he saw his boss leaning against his front door, his arms crossed against his chest and a cold look in his eye.

"Have to let you go, son," Alfie had said. "A worker that is more concerned about fucking my secretary isn't one I want workin' with me."

James had begun to splutter a reply, but Alfie was already heading for the stairs.

"Best you stay away from her, yeah?"

It hadn't been a question.

He really should have told her, but he didn't. Instead, he had sighed and rose from his seat, moving into the empty chair beside her.

"You ain't unmarriable, woman," he told her, patting her shoulder. "You just chose two fuckin' idiots."

"Whatever you say, Alfie," she said, standing up and walking out of the office without another word.

He should have confessed, but he didn't. He did, however, promise himself he would not get involved in her personal life anymore. The next man she met, would not have to face a threat from Alfie Solomons.

She had been leaving her home to go to work when she had ran into Elijah on the street. He had chased after her, holding an envelope in his hands, waving it frantically when she finally turned around when she heard the stranger's voice calling after her.

"I think you dropped this," he handed her the envelope, and she breathed a sigh of relief when she took it from his hands.

"Oh, thank you," she laughed. "My boss would have murdered me if I lost it."

He had laughed at her words, not realising she wasn't exactly joking about her boss.

"I'm Elijah," he held out a hand, which she took with a smile.

"He's really nice, Ollie," her words were muffled as they travelled into Alfie's office, and he had to press his ear closer to the door to be able to hear her clearly. "A real gentleman."

'A real gentleman.'

Alfie rolled his eyes, 'gentleman' was just another word for a soft prick.

"We're going out again tonight," she told her friend. "Said he has a surprise for me."

"What do you think it is?" Ollie asked her, and Alfie rolled his eyes again. Ollie was worse than a fucking twelve year old girl.

"I mean we've been seeing each other for a while, he's met my family, I've met his..." she trailed off, and Ollie's gasp was clear as day from where Alfie was standing.

"You think he's going to propose?"

And just like that, Alfie's heart dropped to his stomach. He tore his ear from the wall, storming back to his desk, dropping to the seat with a heavy thud.

Of course Elijah was going to propose, of fucking course. She had been seeing him for the better part of four months, and she spent every waking minute talking about the nice doctor, it was natural that his was how it was going to progress.

He regretted not cornering Elijah on is way to work the moment she had mentioned his name, regretted not giving him the same treatment he gave the two men that came before him. He should have, should have twisted the man's arm behind his back until he was crying like a little girl, should have had his men hold him down while he kicked him in his ribs until blood came out of his mouth, he should have put the barrel of his gun to his head an pulled the trigger.

But to what end?

She was a good girl. She wanted to get married, have a few children and take care of the house while her husband was at work.

Alfie couldn't offer her that.

Everything he could offer her, he already had. He had given her protection, a stable income, and some form of friendship. He could never give her what she truly craved. He knew that, no matter his feelings for her - feelings he didn't understand himself - he couldn't give her the life she deserved.

And that thought made him sick.

The room was too hot for him to sit in any longer. Alfie pushed through the crowd of people, shoving them harder than necessary until he reached the door, the sound of music and laughter fading as the heavy door closed behind him.

He took a seat on a damp wooden bench, his head dropping in his hands.

It had been a lovely ceremony, a bit small, and a bit cheap for his tastes, but she had managed to make it lovely anyways.

He stood when she entered, her parents on either side of her, walking her to the end of the aisle.

She didn't spare Alfie a glance, too busy looking ahead - looking at him. The bitterness twisted in his stomach and it took all the self control he possessed to keep a neutral look on his face.

Elijah met her at the end of the aisle, taking her hand and helping her up the little steps, a sickening smile on his face.

Alfie didn't miss the sympathetic glance Ollie, who was beside him, threw him.

"Not enjoying the party?" her voice was as sweet as anything, full of happiness.

"Weddings ain't really my thing, love," he offered her a smile, it dropping as quickly as it came.

"But this isn't just any wedding, Alfie," she said, taking a seat next to him. "It's mine, you should be happy."

"Why is that?"

"You've finally gotten rid of me," she laughed, nudging his shoulder with hers. "You don't have to pay me to sit around and do nothing all day, should save you a bit of money."

Alfie didn't laugh with her, a bitter smile on his face as he looked down at his hands.

"Oh don't tell me you're sad about me leaving?" her voice held nothing but humour and Alfie wanted to scream at her.

How can you be so blind?

Can't you see I love you?

"Nah, I'm just upset it took this long," he said eventually, rising from his seat, patting her on the shoulder as did. "I'm gonna head out, but congratulations, love. You look very beautiful."

Her eyes softened at his words, her smile widening from where she was sat, looking up at him, her eyes sparkling.

He didn't have time to react when she shot up from her seat, throwing her arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer to her.

"You're the best friend I could have asked for, Alfie," she whispered, placing a kiss on his cheek.

"Yeah, well," he cleared his throat, pulling her arms away from his shoulders and taking a step back. "Fuck off, now. You're missing your own wedding you stupid woman."

She laughed, nodding her head and disappearing back into the building before Alfie could blink, leaving him frozen in place, the bitterness that once consumed him being replaced by what felt like an all-encompassing sadness.

'The best friend I could have asked for."

What a fucking joke that was.

[fandom-puff]

Hi! Just wanted to say I love your writing and was wondering if I could request "overstimulation + praise kink" with Alfie Solomons from Peaky Blinders please? No pressure though and thank you!!

Thank you so much!! I love Alfie <333

Warnings: contains Overstimulation, oral sex, fingering, penetrative sex, praise kink

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x fem!reader

“There’s a good girl,”

Alfie’s voice was low and gruff as he coaxed yet another orgasm from your oversensitive cunt, this time with his thick calloused fingers pumping deliciously in and out.

Your back arched, pushing your naked breasts against him, and you whimpered as your erect nipples grazed against his clothed chest. Eyes rolling back, your mouth went slack as slurred curses and groans of his name tumbled out in a muddled moan.

Alfie continued his ministrations, nosing at your neck and grazing his teeth against your throat, his hot breath sending shivers down your spine. “Doing so well, pet,” he murmured, sucking a mark into the juncture of your neck and shoulder. “Such a good, good fucking girl for me,”

As his thumb reached up to circle your clit, your legs clamped around his hand, squeezing his wrist as you rocked into his touch. White-hot pleasure seared painfully through every fibre of your being, but you weren’t willing to throw in the towel just yet. You could feel your own wetness smeared on your neck and chest, transferred from Alfie’s beard to your skin once he emerged from between your legs. He had drawn out several releases just from his tongue, and now he had moved onto using his fingers to tease you open, swirling your slick and his saliva around your sensitive pussy until you shook over and over with pleasure.

“Think you’re ready for my cock?”

It was a stupid question; of course you were ready for his cock, and you had been for the best part of two hours. You had even begged for it… about four orgasms ago. “Please,” you whispered again. “Please, need it, Alf, please!”

“So pretty when you beg, darlin’,” he told you, kneeling between your thighs and shucking off his shirt, before tugging himself from his pants. You groaned at the sight of his heavy cock, pushing your hips up towards him. He smirked, holding the base in his fist as he lined up with your entrance, running the tip up and down your wet slit. “Gonna be a good girl and milk my cock?”

When you nodded eagerly, he grinned, pushing forward, stretching you out in a way his fingers never could. “Fuck… good girl, YN, love… take my cock so well, you do,” You moaned, already trying to rock your hips up and down, eager for him to ruin your overstimulated cunt. “My good little pet, drunk on my cock,” he grunted, starting to snap his hips against yours.

It only took a few thrusts before your overworked pussy was spasming uncontrollably around him, and he held onto your thighs, holding you close to him to keep his cock inside you. “Fuck… good girl,” he praised, and smirked as you tried to wriggle away. “But I’m not done with this perfect cunt just yet,”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Dead Gentleman's Society - A Vampire!Alfie Solomons/Reader One Shot Story.

Here we go, besties. The next installment for my Vampire Soirée! Enjoy :)

Words - 1,320

Warnings - A little sorrowful, but none otherwise

“I’ll be locking the gates in ten minutes, love.” 

Turning away from the grave, you see the cemetery maintenance man pull up in his little buggy, nodding with a smile. “Okay, thanks. I won’t be long now.” Looking back at the shiny, black marble of her headstone, you sigh, kissing your fingers and placing them against the smooth, cold surface.  

“Love you so much, bubbe.” 

God, how you miss her. The warmth of her hugs, her stories from a joyous life gone by, the aromas from her kitchen, especially the smells of chicken soup and roast lamb filling the air. If there was a quintessential Jewish grandmother archetype, she’d have been the blueprint. It still doesn’t seem real, that you were only there in that kitchen with her just six weeks ago, and now she’s in the ground.  

She might have been eighty-seven, but the good innings commentary never sat well with you at all. Just because somebody lived a long life does not mean the pain their loved ones face is any less poignantly piercing when they come to leave it behind.  

Standing up, you straighten your coat, turning to walk back down to the main path and out of the rear gates of the cemetery, noticing there the same man you’ve witnessed a few times, appearing as soon as the sun goes down, standing beneath the baren weeping willow tree, her luscious, green canopy stolen by the chill of Autumn. He never broaches the cemetery perimeter itself. He always directs his gaze over to the graves along the left of the gate, never flinching, never blinking, but an obvious mourning almost viscerally palpable in his steely blue eyes.  

You always simply walk past him, but on that particular cold, October evening, something prompts you not to.  

“Hi,” you speak, the man taking a few seconds to tear his eyes away from the graves. 

“Mm, ‘ello, love.”  

You linger, tucking your hair behind your ear, following his gaze across the grass that’s beginning to crisp with frost as the temperature drops. “I’ve seen you here a few times, but you’ve never gone in.” 

Lifting his chin, he raises his hand slowly, gesturing between the bars of the gates. “Nah, well, here’s the thing, my darlin’. That place in there, right, it ain’t for the likes of me. Hallowed ground, innit. So, everyone I’ve loved an’ lost, I have to go visit ‘em from out here, don’t I?” 

You did wonder, why he was so pale. “Ahh. You’re a vampire.”  

They’ve been out in the open for a while now, the undead of society. It took a long time for people to settle to the idea, but you’ve never really had any issue with them. Some can be cold, standoffish and temperamental, but you’ve encountered plenty of humans of the same disposition, too. It isn’t a vampire specific, although more often than not, they can be quite aloof.  

“Ain’t scared of me? Most people are, when I tell ‘em what it is that I am,” he finally speaks, eyes touring you a few times, studying you. “Then again, if they ‘ad much sense, people were scared of me when I was alive an’ all.”  

You shake your head, mouth pinching a little. “I don’t fear anyone unless they give me reason to. Unless it’s those lads in hoodies who carry machetes and prowl around Court Oak Road. They scare me,” you confide, the vampire sniffing, his lip curling.  

“Yeah, don’t blame ya, petal. Right horrible little bunch of cunts, they are. Excuse my language.” 

Oh, so he’s quite gentlemanly. You can’t even remember the last time a man excused his swearing in front of you, or even if it’s ever happened before. “S’alright, I cuss my arse off. You’re fine. And yeah, I can imagine for someone like you, the machete lads are right at the bottom of the food chain.” 

His eyes narrow, something a little sinister spreading his mouth into a grin. “When I could eviscerate all of ‘em in the blink of an eye, yeah, darlin’. You could say that.” His shoulders round, the thick, wool coat he wears making his wide frame look even vaster. “I ain’t much in the market for violence, though. Not unless I’ve gotta show someone why they shouldn’t - what’s that term you young people use now – fuck around and find out?” 

“That’s it,” you nod, watching as his eyes fall back onto the graves, the street light just to the side of the curb flickering into life. He looks even paler beneath the halogen glow. “Who’s over there, then? It’s sad, that this is as close to them as you can get.” 

Touching a hand to your shoulder, he turns you, pointing out towards the row of headstones that form a row beside a large tree. “Mother, father, brother, brother, sister, wife, daughter, daughter, son.” His mouth twists, his eyes saddening. “Everyone, they always go on at how great it must be to become a vampire, right, but nah. They don’t tell you how fuckin’ tragic it is to watch everybody you’ve ever loved die, and how that’s the way it’ll be for centuries.” 

You always assumed vampires to be quite unfeeling emotionally for some reason. Such a stance is very much proved wrong by the one who stands there, unable to even properly visit the last resting place of his loved ones. He seems hugely far removed from that assertion, riddled with the sorrow of his existence, seemingly with nobody familial to share it with.  

The sweet charity in you prompts the next words that fall from your lips in an instant, cocking your head as you smile. “I know you vampires only drink blood, but I was going to head to the coffee shop at the top of the hill to warm up a little. You’re welcome to join me, should you need a friend?” 

His eyes soften. Oh, such a sweet little thing, you are. He could get used to such loveliness breathing new life into his existence, only broken in its regime by a thrilling hunt to the death upon a deserving mortal, or a mind-blowing fuck. “I’ll pass it up, love. I don’t do friends.”

“Oh.” You feel embarrassed, the vampire’s mouth curling into a small smile. 

“Don’t take it personally. Humans, you only mean two things to me; a feed or a fuck. Sometimes both at the same time. And I ain’t offering that either.” 

You frown, shaking your head with a soft laugh. “Bloody spoil sport.” 

He isn’t, though. He just sees something shine in you with more luminescence than the rest of the faces he forgets as soon as he leaves them, thousands of meaningless connections left behind over the last century. He shan’t taint it with his perpetual darkness. “You seem like a proper lovely little flower, right, one I could come to grow right fond of. I ain’t gonna let myself, though. Cos’ there ain’t nothing, my darlin’, not even living death, that makes you cold enough to endure the loneliness that everyone else's mortality inevitably leaves you in, innit. Nah.”  

He strokes the apple of your cheek with the back of his finger. “You ain’t becoming another headstone I have to stare at from afar. Too fuckin’ lovely for that.” 

You’re about to tell him that you understand – or at least as much as you’re able – but in a blink he’s gone, leaving you spinning on the spot, searching through the inky darkness of the night for him.  

“Oh, well,” you sigh, “easy come, easy go.”  

You feel sad for him, but also warmed by the fact that even though you can’t see him, you sense that the vampire follows you all the way to the coffee shop before departing properly, just to make sure you arrive safely.  

Trust the only gentleman you’ve met in years to be dead.  

[lis-likes-fics]

Spoiled Brat

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Reader Word Count: 4.2k words Warnings: Smut, p in v sex, cunnilingus, overstimulation, spanking, slight breeding kink, slight degradation (blink and you’ll miss it), language... A/N: I don’t know why this took me as long as it did but it’s finally here. I don’t know when I became a slut for Alfie Solomons, but I did, so enjoy this smut fic of him. Thank you.

Alfie Solomons was working late again at the distillery, burning away the hours of the evening as they faded into the late hours of the night. Alfie Solomons was working on some random paperwork he had no interest in as he ran his hand through his beard and grumbled about something trivial under his breath. Alfie Solomons was working away at God-knows-what while you slightly overstayed your welcome—although she insisted you hadn’t, even if her husband didn’t seem to agree—at your dear friend’s home. You left promptly, despite her invitation to stay and aggravate her husband even more (just for the fun of it, really).

You scratched her tabby cat behind the ears as he purred, resting its cheek in your hand and shutting his eyes. With a quick farewell to your friend, you were off onto the darkened street of Camden Town. Your heels clicked along the damp cobblestone as you wrapped your coat around your body. The moon was hardly present, a smile in the sky that showed little light to guide your way. You didn’t need it, you’d walked down that road a million times.

You could make out a few shadows in the dark, watching eyes that considered you for a moment before quickly looking away at the realization of who it was you actually were. They’d like to keep their heads fixed on their shoulders.

When you reached the building you knew all, you were greeted by the stragglers who usually stayed late, people who would also be leaving sooner than your husband. You regarded them with a little smile, and they returned it gratuitously.

You didn’t bother knocking on the door when you arrived at Alfie’s office. You twisted the handle and turned it open, stepping right through and hanging your coat and hat on the rack by the door. He didn’t have to look up to know it was you, as you were the only one who would ever think to let yourself in so boldly without permission from the big bad Alfie Solomons who kept a gun in his drawer next to the whiskey.

“Hello, love,” you greeted him warmly.

He grunted his reply at first before finally speaking after a prolonged silence. “How are you, dove?” he muttered, his face still stuck in the paperwork on his desk .

When you didn’t respond, he finally looked up at you. You stood in front of the door, your head tilted as you looked over at him through your lashes. He took in the sight of you and leaned back in his chair, watching your lashes flutter and your smile widen with a certain mischief he was all too familiar with in you.

“Uh, oh,” he said, setting his pen down and sliding his papers to the side. “She wants something.” His lips curled underneath his mustache with a grin he’d tried to keep away in the face of your pleading eyes.

“Alfie.” Your voice was small and gentle, raised a half step as you swayed a little with your hands behind your back. Your smile was that kind of smile meant to charm unsuspecting prey before they met their demise. Alfie knew it all too well, and has fallen victim to your hypnotic antics far too many times for his rough exterior and notorious reputation to handle.

He sighed deeply, holding his arms out wide to suggest one of his constricting bear hugs. “Come ‘ere, luv,” he requested. You gladly obey, walking over to him and taking your sweet time about it. You were just going to stand in front of him, tuck yourself between his legs and look down at him as he held your waist, but as soon as you were within arm’s reach, he pulled you down onto his lap and practically cradled you.

“Right, what is it?” he asked once you were situated, watching you with plenty of interest as his hand stroked along your back. You threw your arms around his neck, giving him your best puppy dog eyes—a look you and Cyril shared and only used for no good.

Then you bit your lip, and Alfie knew you meant only trouble.

“I’ve been thinking about things,” you began, trailing one hand to his chest and tapping your fingers there. He watched you like some sailor caught under a siren’s spell.

“What kinds of things?” he asked, humming deep in his chest. The sound buzzed underneath your hand, and he gave a little grin as he suggested, “Naughty?”

You chuckled lightly, “No.”

He huffed, his smile falling. “Right, then,” he said. “I dunno if I want to hear it now.”

You stifled your chuckle, granting him a large smile and using the full force of your pleading eyes. “Please?” you whispered, leaning in closer so your faces were hardly inches apart.

You were vividly aware of his finger tapping against your thigh as he held you in his lap. He gave in to your pleading with a sigh full of feigned exasperation. “Alright, alright,” he huffed. “Put them eyes away.”

You pressed your lips to his temple, buttering him up as you leaned your head on his shoulder and sighed. Alfie sighed, too. He knew every single one of your methods, and he still fell for them every single time.

"I know we already have Cyril," you began slowly, "and I love him to death, but I was just wondering… What if we…?"

"You want another dog, is it? Done." He looked at you, flashing a smile that had you rolling your eyes. He just shrugged. "See? Wasn't that 'ard."

You raised a brow at him, "I want a cat."

He stared at you for a moment, his brows furrowed slightly as he seemed to think over that. "Alright, forgive my language, luv, yeah, but that's a right fuckin' awful idea."

You looked back at him, your pout returning with a vengeance as you pushed your lip out, your brow crinkling. "Why?" you whined.

"We don't need no pussy cat," he shook his head, his hand patting against your ass as he smirked at you. "I'm fine with the one I've got."

"Alfie," you softly reprimand, the seriosity falling short with your giggle at his slightly crude joke.

He continued to refuse, much to your dismay. "It'll scratch everything up, break shit. Plus, they fuckin' smell like shit and they're jus' fuckin' mean."

You rolled your eyes, "No, they're not! I have a friend who has a cat, and he's brilliant!"

He lolled his head back dramatically, rolling his eyes. "Oh, so you've already been brainwashed, eh?"

You jutted your bottom lip out once more. "Alfie, please?" you begged.

Again, he shook his head, his word final as he pressed his finger against your bottom lip to push it back into place. "You can suck that lip back in, luv, 'cause it's still a no."

"I can take care of it," you pushed.

"I'll have Cyril take care of it."

"Alfie!" you scolded.

He shrugged remorselessly. "Yeah, no."

You pulled a desperate card that you knew had a very low chance at success.

"Don't you love me at all?"

Not only did it not work as Alfie fell completely silent, looking back at you with a face lacking any playfulness, but now you were sure you had gotten yourself in trouble. You hid your inhibitions.

"Right," he started out slowly, lifting a finger to point at you. "This is what we are not gonna do, yeah? We are not going to do that little manipulation thing you do, eh, like you're a pretty little pup who never gets what she wants." He popped the 'P' of pup, staring you down with an intensity that nearly had you shaking.

"You know what we're gonna do?" he asked. "We're gonna behave like a good little girl," he got in your face for the last few words, "and agree that we ain't gettin' no cat."

You slump, "But…"

He shakes his head, "No buts."

You huffed, removing your hands from around his neck as you moved to stand. As soon as you were lifting off of his lap, he pulled you down again by your waist and made you face him. It was the very last card you had as you forced a tear to slip down your cheek, staring at him with the biggest eyes you could manage and allowing your frown to deepen.

The way he stared at you was almost frightening. It was incredulous, almost frustrated as he watched you exaggerate your sorrow for being told a very simple 'no'.

"Right," he began, "I want that pout and that fake little tear off your little scrunched up face right now, or I'll wipe it off myself."

A tear fell down your other cheek, and you had to turn away to hide it from him. He grabbed your face by your cheeks, squishing them together to bring your attention back to him.

"You have to the count of three, luv," he warned, displaying his hand as he readied it to begin his slow countdown. "One."

Your expression did not shift, your pout remained and your two crocodile tears dropped from your chin.

"Right, then."

He did not finish his countdown. He grabbed you roughly, manhandling you onto his lap so that you were laying across his huge thighs. You yelped in surprise as you were folded over, your bottom on display for him.

He began lifting up your dress, adjusting everything to give him a clear view of your white, silk undergarments. Then he tore those off of you so he could see your precious ass.

"Since you want to behave like some spoiled brat," he said, "we're going to treat you like one."

He gave you no warning at all before his hand was coming down rather harshly on your ass. It burned, a bright pain blossoming over your skin and staining it with a deep shade that Alfie marveled at. A surprised cry slipped out of you. He grunted.

"There we go. Let's give you something to cry about, sweetheart."

And he did. Smack after smack, he painted your skin the darkest shades of red as the pain bloomed along your ass and thighs. You bit your lip and, until he reprimanded you for it, tried to muffle your cries.

There was a sick kind of pleasure you were getting out of this, the both of you. Being bent over his lap like this, scolded for not being "a good little girl", It was a type of pain that was twisting in your gut and leaking out of your cunt.

By the time the punishment came to an end, your face was streaming with real tears as he wrapped his hand around your throat and lifted you to see your face again. "Look at me," he directed. "Have you learned your lesson yet, luv?"

You nodded quickly, propping yourself up as best you could so you could obey his simple command. "Yes," you breathed. "Yes, sir."

He examined your face, flushed and stained with tears. "Nah," he shook his head. "Nah, I don't think you have." He dipped his hand between your thighs. He wasn't even touching your pussy, but he could feel the wetness spreading along the inside of your legs, warm and soaking.

You closed your eyes, suppressing a moan as you nodded your head again to convince him. "Please."

He bit his bottom lip for a moment, a wicked grin spreading over his face as he nodded slowly. "Yeah, see?" he whispered. "Still askin' for things."

You would have scoffed or called him out for tricking you if you were so fucking frustrated right now, in need of his thick fingers to finally stop teasing your sensitive thighs and bury themselves in your waiting cunt. "I'm sorry, Alfie."

His thumb swiped over your cheek as he nodded. "I know you are, luv, but I'm not through with you yet."

Before you had time to respond to his words, he leaned forward and swiped everything off his desks. Papers flew in the air, pens shot across the room, plastic and metal miscellaneous scattered over the freshly swept floors scratched up from previous beatings and scuffings of shoes.

He tucked his arm under your body and picked you up easily, his biceps flexing and bugling out of the rolled up sleeve of his white shirt. He dropped you onto the cold wood with less sympathy than if he were not as angry with you. The coolness of the desks seeped through your dress and threatened to bring your nipples to a harder peak as you grasp at the edge of it, chest heaving with the anticipation of what he’d do. There was a stretch of silence where you heard nothing but felt the security of your dress lessen.

Alfie took a hold of your waist, clutched your sides with a tightening and loosening grip, as if he was testing out your stability, your strength. He came to a determination, choosing to flip you over onto your back with a rough shove. You moaned lightly when the table dug into across your shoulder blades and he tutted.

You looked up at him through hooded eyes, waiting for Alfie to make his next move as he stood over you, thinking, calculating. He nodded a little, quiet and staring. When he finally moved, his hands came up to clutch around your dress as he slipped it off your body and discarded it on the floor like trash. At least he hadn’t torn it, he liked doing that.

Layer by layer, he yanked your clothes away until you were so completely bare before him. He admired you for a moment, just staring, thinking. “Right,” he mumbled under his breath, just another grumble of a word spoken into the air. He bent down, taking your face in his strong hand and clutching, your lips scrunching into a pout. “Since you want a pussy cat so bad,” he said, his eye contact searing, “why don’t I just pay some attention to yours? That should cancel out, eh?”

He didn’t leave time for you to respond before he was finally pressing his lips to your bare chest. Your back arched into him and a stifled moan wormed its way from your throat. His kisses traveled sparingly down to your soaked cunt. He hummed, a deep sound that rumbled in his chest. A surprised yelp cut through the air when his hand came down on your folds, a loud smack accompanying the quick movement as your body jolted.

“Alfie,” you breathed.

He looked at you quickly, “Right, did I say you could fuckin’ speak, girl?” You shook your head, laying your head back on the desk a moment before meeting his gaze again. “That’s what I thought. Do yourself a favor and shut your mouth unless you’ve a pretty little moan for me. Alright?” You nodded quickly and he nodded back.

He gripped your thighs, kneading the flesh and spreading it wide. He blew some against your folds, testing your sensitivity and smiling to himself when your legs twitched. He leaned forward and pushed your chest back down when your back arched at his warm lips wrapping around your cunt. His hot tongue laved over your folds, licking up the arousal that coated your flesh and working his tongue into your hole.

You bit your lip as you moaned, eyes screwed shut as your mouth fell open. He worked you up and kept you there, making you climb higher and higher as he brought you to the cusp of pleasure. Your little mewls and moans were music to him, and you sang the most beautiful songs to him as he grunted into you. You made a mess of him with nothing but your slick arousal, riding his face as best he could when his strong arms held you down so easily.

And when you came, you did so with the broken moan of his name, gasping and clenching and arching your back off the table. But he didn't stop, even as you tangled your hands in his hair, he didn't stop. His insistent tongue continued to lick and his talented lips continued to suck.

You were reduced to a mess of tears and slick and rambling cries. You were so sensitive, the overstimulation was too much to handle as he tortured you.

He pulled back finally, granting you mercy as he watched you, face drenched, beard sticky with your cum. His kiss-swollen lips smiled as he loomed over you. "Oh, look at that," he marveled. "Now those are some fuckin' tears, right. Some big fuckin' tears."

You panted as you tried to catch your breath, ignoring the tears that tickled down the side of your face. "I'll be good," you whispered. "I promise, I'll be good."

He leaned forward and kissed your lips, you could taste yourself off him. "I'm sure you will, luv. I'm sure you will," he said. "But I am gonna give you some more, alright? Jus' in case." You whimpered pathetically, watching him descend your body one more to press his tongue against your oversensitive clit.

And you cried and moaned and promised you loved him until he finally let up and granted you pity. He kissed up your body again until he reached your lips. "There, there, sweetie," he cooed, moving hair from your face with a smile. "Alright, look at me. Beautiful, luv."

He kissed your cheek and dipped down to your ear, his voice deep and quiet and rumbling in his chest. "Now," he spoke, sending shivers down your spine, "I'm gonna fuck ya, and I want to hear your pretty little moans. How about that? Can you do that?"

You nodded quickly, anything to please him. "Yes, sir," you gasped. "Yes."

"Good," he smiled, straightening his spine again as he pulled himself out of his pants, hard and thick and red. "Right, spread your legs for me."

He set his hand on your thigh, squeezing and pushing it aside to open you up. Still breathless, you yelped as he pulled you a little closer to the edge. He licked his lips, lightly smacking his hand against the wet juncture between your thighs.

When he entered you, you gasped. Your mouth fell open and your eyes rolled to the back of your head as his cock, thick and throbbing, filled you inch by beautiful inch. "Alfie!" you moaned, reaching up to grasp his shoulders roughly.

When he was fully seated within you, he lingered there for a moment as he let out a heavy sigh. "Beautiful. So tight, luv," he breathed, eyes fluttering shut as a slight ramble fell from his lips. "That's a good girl."

After making you wait too long, he began to move again. His cock slid in and out of you in long, slow strokes as he filled you to the brim. You bit down on your bottom lip, your eyes closing as you breathed a heavy sigh.

His grip on your waist tightened as he eased himself in and out of you. A groan rumbled in his chest as he sighed. He was hardly slow or gentle as he rocked in and out of your squeezing cunt. He was paced, although his rough thrusts were not forgiving, and they left you pleading for more. You threw your head back as a stifled moan caught in your throat, and your hands shot up to wrap around his neck to hold him closer.

He pulled your arms away from him, and you whimpered pathetically when his cock slipped out of you. He grabbed you harshly, flipping you over the desk to lay on your stomach as he thrust back into you again. The new angle had completely different sensations rushing through you, and you welcomed them with desperate moans.

Alfie nudged your legs apart, spreading you wide for him as he continued to fuck you, building in speed as his rough thrusts filled you with him. The pleasure echoed off your bones just as your sounds echoed off the walls of the office. Your open mouth was unrestrained with noise of lust and passion.

The arousal was leaking down your legs, painting the insides of your thighs like a canvas, offering a generous lather of paint to the space. His cock spearing into you made the dirtiest sounds—skin on skin, wet against wet. Your mouth fell open and you let out breathless cries accompanied with their own pleasure tears.

He bent down over your back, nuzzling his face in the crook of your neck as he whispered into your ear at the sound of your whimpers. “Oh, is it too much for you, eh? You can’t take it?” he mocked. You responded with another pathetic moan. “That’s jus’ too bad, innit? You’re gonna have to, treacle.”

He seemed to go rougher after that, holding you close as he fucked into you from behind. You couldn’t control the obscene sounds falling from your lips. It was a mixture of “Alfie, Alfie, Alfie!” and open-mouthed moans that tore from your throat with the rhythm of the snap of his hips.

You were getting so close, driven to insanity by the passionate rock of his cock inside you. Your pussy fluttered as you grew nearer and nearer to your release. You could tell he was going to reach his peak too, with the way his moans become just a little bit louder, his thrusts become just a little bit more erratic.

“Alfie,” you gasped. “Alfie, please. Gonna cum!”

He sniffed, a little preoccupied but completely engrossed in your pleasure. “Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, luv? You gonna let me cum inside of ya and fill you up with our baby?” he whispered into your ear. A higher pitched moan squeezed out of you then, and he feels you clamp down around him. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Like the idea of being bred by me, eh?”

You spoke between gasping breaths and a quivering smile. “I’m surprised,” a breath, “you haven’t done it already–Ah!” He interrupted you with yet another rough thrust. “Husband, I’m gonna cum.”

He reached around you, his fingers finding your pussy and shifting until he reached your clit. With an expert hand, he rubbed your clit and had you seeing stars. “Smart mouth,” he commented, shaking his head with a soft tut. A knot built in your gut until you couldn’t hold it anymore as your silent moans caught in your throat. “Go on, luv. Cum for me.”

As your orgasm came crashing down on you, it was loud and hard and you felt like you might have blacked out for a couple seconds as your body was overcome with this beautiful intoxication. You screamed his name, gripping the edge of the desk and burying your face in your arms.

Alfie groaned as you clenched around his cock, squeezing harder and harder until he couldn’t hold back anymore as well. His arm wrapped around you, pulling you close to him as he seated himself as deep as he could, coming deep within your hot pussy. “Fuck,” he groaned deeply in your ear, his voice a consuming rasp that prolongs your own mind-numbing release.

By the time you were both coming down, your body was limp against the now warm wood of the desk as you laid there, trembling with the aftershocks of pleasure sparking in your muscles. Alfie let out a deep breath and pulled out of you, looking down as the mixture of cum slipped down your thigh from your sopping cunt. He groaned deeply in his throat before finally wrapping his arm around you once more to ease you up.

He sat heavily in his chair, sighing loudly as he pulled you into his lap to rest against his chest. You nuzzled your face in his neck, wrapping your loose arms around him as you caught back up to reality. You both sat in silence as he rubbed gentle circles into your back, whispering soft praises and shushing you gently.

After a beat of silence, he sighed and pursed his lips as he thought to himself. Then he gave in.

“You can get a cat,” he relented. You pulled away from the comfort of his neck, your arms still wrapped around him as your face lit up with elation. He was quick to add his condition, “But if it doesn’t behave, I’ll have Cyril eat it, yeah?”

You gave him a bright smile, one of those looks that reminded him why you were his wife. “Thank you! I love you, Alfie!” you exclaimed, holding him again as you pepper his face in excited kisses.

“Yeah, yeah,” he sighed. “I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Alfie Solomons, one of the most dangerous men in London, proudly allowed his wife to cover him in kisses. Alfie Solomons, a Jewish gang leader, preened under the attention of his lover as he held her close to him, cradling her with all the affection in his heart. Alfie Solomons, a man from Camden Town, smiled like a lovesick fool as he and his wife shared one of those “I’d give you the world” kisses before they would depart to finally go home in the late hours of the night to make love again before retiring to bed and beginning another day of business and pleasure.

Peaky Blinders taglist: ... Tag yourself here...

[futurefamousdeadmusician]

You Have a Deal

Author's note; Hey all, this is my first run at publishing my writing, hope someone likes it and let me know what you think! I have done some mild PB plot alterations to fit my story better.

Summary; When the Shelby family is under attack from the Changrettas the youngest sibling, Lillian, makes a deal with a distant business partner to ensure the safety of her loved ones.

Content warnings; mild spoilers.

The air of the afternoon was cold this day. Impenetrable grey covered the sky above Birmingham and pressed an awful feeling into Lillian. Her gaze down at the cobblestone, she made her way through the lively Calver Lane until she reached her destination, Solomon’s Mill. She looked up at the building and thought once again of her reasons for coming. No one had known she was here, and she liked it that way. With her family under siege and fair reasoning long gone from the Shelby family, she decided that it was her who needed to devise a plan. A way out. A way through. She moved through the final steps until she reached the door of the old brick building. Built sometime in the 1820’s she could tell Solomon’s Mill was a long standing business on the outskirts of the city. A staple of Birmingham that lasted through the most disheartening economic conditions. Owned and founded by the Solomon’s family after they immigrated to England. Nothing shook this old place; not guns, not violence, not the bloody communists. Always there and always of interest to the Peaky Blinders. They were cordial, if not cooperative at times. Now, Lillian relied on that mutual respect to hold steady when she pushed open the large barn-style doors. 

The air sweeping from the factory carried the sent of the fresh grain being processed through the large, rusted machinery. The shadows of the quick moving men bustling around danced at her feet as she walked through the threshold and made her way to a small room attached to right wood slat wall. Rapping three times on the fragile wooden frame a younger man looked up from his desk and cocked an eyebrow to Lillian. 

“Ye’,” he said quickly, barely parting his lips to speak. 

Slowly, calmly, with the utmost care to appear collected in her appearance, she spoke, “ I’m here to see Mister Solomons.” 

Eyeing her up and down, the nameless man gradually stood from his seat and addressed her more directly than before. He stood not much taller than the young Shelby. Short curls held close to his head and a tattered apron hung off his thin frame. 

“And what’s yer’ order of business?” he questioned. 

“I believe that to be a private matter.” 

He walked around his desk and Lillian did her best not to release the stern eye contact she held on him since her arrival. A lesson from Tommy she knew well, for when you look into the eyes of another man it is much harder to lie; and much harder to kill. 

“Open the purse.” He spoke flatly, unblinking. 

She dropped the small purse defiantly onto the wood-back chair in front of her. She flipped open the small titanium latch and took a small step back to allow the gaunt man his inspection uninterrupted. He drew a pencil from behind his ear and flicked through her things, like they were dirty. Like they were not worthy to be touched by the human hand. Without a word, he looked once again into the dark eyes of the woman before him and peaked over he shoulder into the doorway leading back to the vast factory floor. 

“Come with me,” he ordered in the same flat tone. 

Picking up her bag, Lillian followed him as he walked quickly out into the large room and maneuvered through the men and machines working in impeccable rhythm. She willed herself to keep pace with the small man, heels echoing through the loud space and causing men to turn their heads both in amusement and strict curiosity. Once her escort reached the back most offices of the mill he cracked open the door and spoke softly in a language Lillian did not recognize. After a few exchanges the man stepped to the motioned for Ms. Shelby to enter the small, dark closet. 

There, Mr. Solomons sat at an old oak desk, leaned far back in his seat with the amusement of a child lingering on his bearded face. 

“Ahhh Lillian,” he spoke loudly, “to what do I owe this enormous pleasure.”

“Mr. Solomons.” A brief pause as Lillian sat herself slowly on the chair paced strangely close to the overbearing desk. “There are a few matters I wish to discuss with you and I preferred them to be in person.” 

“Ah sweetheart, and what might that be. Did the new sweets parlor open up just past Harding, is that it?” He bellowed with laughter and Lillians eyes remained engrained in his skull. She always thought back to the words of her older brother in moments of this gravity. 

“Don’t look away from them - the men who wish to kill you - it only gives them time to make that decision.” 

Once the fitful bits of laughs subsided and the ringing from the old slat walls hushed away, Lillian spoke in the same calm tone she had mastered years earlier. 

“I believe I have something you want.” 

Another astonished chucked escaped the burly man. 

“And what would that be?” 

A cold breeze moved through the room. It never occurred to Lillian why men of such power chose to have a room so small to reside in. When her family had the means, they awarded themselves luxury. But Alfie, he hid away in this small closet. Maybe it made himself feel bigger in some way. 

“Brooklyn.” 

“The fuck you mean ‘Brooklyn’,” 

“Brooklyn. New York. Chicago. Shit maybe Boston by the time we are done.” 

The boss moved up farther in his seat. He readjusted his head to the side, believing that he may have heard the young girl wrong. 

“Love, what the fuck are you on about? Did you brother send you.” 

Almost too quickly she responded, “I came on my own accord.” She didn’t like always falling under the wing of her family; Tommy in particular. While the Shelby name came with certain privileges bestowed upon her at birth, she valued her identity. So long she had relied on Thomas to protect the family. Now, with the looming threat of the Italian’s hanging over like a dark cloud, she was on her final idea to pull her family through to safety. 

“Shelby company limited has taken a special interest in the American liquor market. We feel that it would be in your interest, as well as ours, if we cooperated on this matter. Together, we both have much to gain,” she continued, finally regaining her full composer. 

“Ye’ and why would I want business in America? What’s the fuckin’ catch?” Solomons pressed. 

“The Changretta family has made advances against my family. We are now using this opportunity to move into the American market while they are occupied here. This is a quite unique chance to collaborate with our American acquaintance without the influence of the Italians. With your power, as well as ours, I think that we could quite a fitting sum.” For the first time, Lillian broke her gaze away, reaching into her purse to exhume a cigarette before flashing her eyes back to Alfie. He leaned back in his chair, the creak of the old wood breaking the frigid silence. He gaze slowly moved back and forth over the ceiling while his hands rested behind his head. 

“Power,” he began. “Your power and my power,” almost as if he was explaining the concept to a child. “Where is your brother at, Lillian?” 

“He is attending to other business in Bristol.” Lillian, as a principle, didn’t like lying. But, as a Shelby, it came as naturally as breathing. 

“Where is Arthur?”

“Overseeing the tracks.” A puff of smoke escaped from her lips following her statement. 

“Then who in the fuck sent you?” His anger showed. Frustration. Questioning. He was half expecting one of Tommy’s men to appear from behind the doorframe and put a bullet between his eyes, finally revealing this to be an elaborate set up orchestrated by the young woman before him and her devilish relatives. But the bullet never flew and Lillian sat motionless in his chair waiting to respond. 

“I come as a representative of the Shelby Company Limited with a legitimate proposal for enterprise cooperation.” 

“And why should I trust the lot of you? Bunch of gypsy crooks.”

She sat once again, silent, patient, and held his gaze for just a moment to long. Leaning forward, she put the stiff out in a small crystal bowl on the corner of Mr. Solomon’s desk. She retrieved her handbag from her feet and pulled out a small, white envelope. After tossing it lightly on the desk in front of the bearded man she returned to her natural position in the chair, arms crossed, the Shelby, deadpan expression returning to her features. Alfie pulled his spectacles onto the bridge of his nose from the chair laced around his neck. He collected the envelope and carefully took out the ivory card within. A black handprint stained the cover. Mr. Solomons didn’t need to examine the paper any further and flicked up his eyes to meet Lillian’s once again. 

“Every one of us got one.” 

“I see.”

“If the Shelby family dies, your possibilities of every entering the American market get buried with us. Or burned rather…” she trailed on, looking off to the side, examining the bookshelf behind him. “You know, Gypsy things.” 

Alfie released a deeply held sigh and placed the card down back onto the desk with more care than the original owner did. Somewhere, deep down, he held grace for the young woman before him. He recognized that she was a result of her surroundings. Born into the small, violent hole that is Small Heath as a Shelby and since her birth has survived through the forces of her family and her gritty resilience. He new she wanted out. She loved her family, that was her weakness, but she longed to see the hills of the Netherlands and the cathedrals of Austria and the new bustling cities of America. To do this though, she must survive.

“I would need a more formal manner of proposal, numbers and such,” he explained still keeping that condescending tone. But Lillian already began to sit up straighter in anticipation carful not to let this emotion overtake her. “But tentatively, I believe we can work something out.”

A small smirk graced across her lips as she extended her hand. “Very well, Mr. Solomons, I’ll have my associates reach out to your tomorrow.” With that, she was on her feet, quickly remembering to pick up the dreadful letter she had pulled out moments ago. Carful in her movements she walked slowly out of office and shut the door behind her, leaving Alfie sitting in silence, wondering what he had just agreed to. He held much respect for Thomas and therefor placed some onto his younger counterpart. 

Lillian exited the factory and began down the darkening street until she was able to hail an oncoming cab. 

“Watery Lane, please,” she said quietly to the driver who nodded at her instructions. She was eager to meet with Aunt Polly and tell her of her plan of action knowing the elder Shelby would be much more receptive to this idea. Her only fear was Thomas, but that would have to wait. She just hoped that she had done the right thing. 

[fallatyourfeet]

Faded Shadows (Alfie Solomons x Reader)

Summary: Alfie never could have guessed how things would play out after you virtually forced your way into his office.

Word count: 1205

Warnings: Swearing, lots and lots of it. Alludes to physical abuse. And the reader is a newly widowed woman.

A/N: Okay, so this fic started off with playful intentions, but quickly grew pretty macabre. I take no responsibility for it. It just happened. It's not my fault.

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

If you like this, please feel free to visit my blog and take a look around! You can find my masterlist in my bio.

It was true. The people in Alfie’s neighbourhood were hardly known for their fine King’s English. It's fair to say the Camden Town tongue was a little rough around the edges and not shy of curse word or two. And Alfie’s ears were certainly no stranger to the odd colourful word slipping from the mouths of the women in his life. But never, as a boy, teenager or fully grown man had he heard such brutal language coming from such a sweet-sounding voice. If everyone around him swore like sailors, then the faceless voice causing a ruckus from somewhere outside his office, surely wrote the sailor’s dictionary. 

Partly frustrated but mostly amused, Alfie dropped his pen to the desk and leaned back in his chair, listening to the string of words caught between the all the expletives. “Fucking let go of me you filthy c**ts, I’m gonna get in that fucking room one way or another... That bastard in there, had my bloody husband killed... and I wanna see his goddamn face.”  

Alfie’s amusement dissolved, replaced by an audible sigh of dread as he mumbled under his breath, “Fuck... a bloody widow.” Yelling out to Caleb, he demanded, “Let the woman in would ya, she ain’t gonna let it go.” Standing up he moved to the side of his desk, mumbling to himself again, “Might as well get this over with.” 

Coming through the door between two of his men, you ripped your arms from their grip, giving them the filthiest look as you did so. Your face was one of the sweetest things he had ever seen, but the look was so deadly Alfie had to hold back a chuckle. ‘You were a feisty one, weren’t you?’ 

Taking a deep calming breath, you smoothed over your dress. It was well worn and long out of fashion, but you were immaculate. You obviously didn’t have a penny to scratch together, but you took pride in yourself, making the most of what you had. And Alfie found himself warming to you already. 

Running your fingers through your hair, you tamed all the locks that had escaped during your scuffle with his men, and finally looked at him. Your expression had lost almost all of its venom, nearly matching the sweetness of your beautiful features and he instantly felt a pang of guilt. One, for being the reason you were now a widow, and two, for finding a newly widowed woman so bloody attractive.  

Lifting your chin in a show of defiance; or was it pride? you held his intense gaze, and if you felt a single ounce of fear, you did not show it. Either way, he thought to himself, ‘Hmph, beautiful and brave.’  

Clearing your throat, you spoke, your words suddenly devoid of any of the foul language he heard spilling from your mouth just moments ago, “Alfie Solomons?” 

With a nod, Alfie crossed his arms before him, “Yeah, that’d be me.” 

Taking a step closer, you also nodded your head, your eyes never leaving his, “My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and your men murdered my husband, Peter, three days ago.” Alfie opened his mouth to respond, but you held a single finger in the air, a silent, but very clear gesture to shut him up. The moment he closed his mouth you lowered your hand, and continued, “Did they shoot him on your order?”  

Alfie wasn’t quite sure how to respond. Sure, from time to time he lost a bit of sleep over the number of men that were tossed into shallow graves by his order. But the reality of standing there, looking into your expressive E/C eyes and taking responsibility for killing the man you loved, twisted like a burning hot poker in his stomach. He doubted he would sleep for months.  

A moment of silence passed, and your expression shifted with a touch of impatience while you waited for your answer. Moving his arms from across his chest, he shuffled on his feet, his hands coming to rest at his hips, it was almost defensive, “Yeah, I did... He was becoming too much of a liability.” Alfie almost cringed at his words. Although true, they seemed too harsh as he heard them slip from his lips. His bluntness had never bothered him before but using it on you felt like a crime. Raising his hands in the air, he quickly spoke again, wanting to rephrase a little more tactfully, “I’m sorry, forgive my bluntness... but your husband-” 

Taking him by surprise, you cut him off, “Stop. I don’t need to know the reason.” Alfie stood there, mouth open, completely unprepared for the words you spoke next, “You don’t know how many times I stood beside that drunk, good for nothin’ monster as he lay passed out on the bed, just wishing I was brave enough to push a pillow against his face.” Honestly, Alfie was at a loss for words, but you were not. Taking a step closer, you were almost close enough to touch. Searching your eyes, he tried to understand the gratitude they held, but he quickly understood when you spoke again, “I’m thankful he’s gone... but I’m thankful I didn’t have to do it myself... because I don’t think I could have lived with the guilt.”  

And that was when Alfie saw them, the faded shadows across your arms... around the base of your neck... and along your cheekbone. The ghosts of bruises partially disguised by whatever powder you had covered them with. Suddenly, any worries he had about sleepless nights, dissolved. The only guilt he felt was for not killing the bastard sooner.  

Words finally found their way to his lips, trying to lighten the rather heavy interaction, “Well, ain’t this a fuckin’ turn of events? I thought I was a goner when I heard you out the front of my office... Remind me to never get on your bad side, yeah?” 

For the first time, you looked a little coy, “Ah... yeah sorry about the language. My mouth has a habit of running away with me when I’m worked up... and your men just wouldn’t listen.” 

Alfie chuckled, “With a mouth like that, you fit right in around here.” Speaking the words flicked a switch on inside his head. This feisty little firecracker of a woman really would fit right in, and God knows he was drowning in paperwork. It was high time he could do with some help. If he was being completely honest with himself, the thought of having you close by pleased him in ways he couldn’t explain. And under his protection he could make sure he never had to see those horrible faded shadows across your skin again. He would make sure of it. 

Moving back to his seat behind the desk, he gestured to the chair in front, “Why don’t cha take a seat Mrs Y/L/N, I’d like to make a little proposition... and if ya accept, those men out the front will have no choice but to listen to ya.” Resting his elbows on the desk, he leaned forward and asked, your answering smile, lighting up the edges of his heart. “How well do ya know your way around a typewriter?” 

[justreblogginfics]

I don’t know how I’ve missed these Alfie Solomons fics by the amazing @fabulaprima because they are just so ✨💫⭐️💫✨⚡️✨✨✨💫⭐️✨💫✨!

You really wrote Alfie so so well, and I love the details you always capture and you write them in such a way that I can picture it. Just amazing!

I know I only linked their Alfie Solomons masterlist but if you want to read more of @fabulaprima’s amazing writing there is so much more on AO3 and here! Check them out!

[dyns33]

Family honor

So Alfie x Y/N Shelby wife will be a little series now

There were several differences between a Gypsy wedding and a Jewish wedding.

The most obvious being that gypsy marriage was not recognized by anyone except gypsies.

But if it wasn't celebrated, you could walk past a priest, a rabbi, an imam or the fucking King himself, to live for years with the same person, under the same roof, with children, that would not have the slightest importance for the gypsies.

Alfie Solomons muttered several times that none of this was kosher, but he respected all the rites and traditions of Y/N's family. Even drinking alcohol, he who hated having a foggy mind.

"Already quite foggy the rest of the time, love. But if your savages of brothers insist…"

“The savages insist.” John said, giving him a whole bottle of whiskey.

“I can’t believe this asshole is going to become one of us.”

"Oh, Arthur, I'm touched that you accept me so quickly into your heart."

It took several people besides Tommy and Y/N to stop them from killing each other, when they were completely drunk.

Then they insisted on walking together in the horse field, the older Shelby brother ending up giving his blessing before falling asleep under a tree, making it clear that he would slit Alfie's throat if he did not treat his beloved little sister correctly.

The wandering jew left him to return with the others, who were dancing and singing. A perfect wedding, completely normal.

If he was offended when Y/N told him that the Jewish marriage was practically the same, he didn't show it, just made a strange sound with his nose.

There may have been less alcohol, and it was legally recognized, but the rest was a gathering of a lot of loud people, not speaking English, jumping around and congratulating them on their union.

Y/N, however, quickly noticed the biggest difference between gypsy marriage and Jewish marriage.

Although they had been a little surprised and worried by her choice of husband, her family had decided to give a chance to Alfie Solomons, whom they judged solely because of his actions. The rest didn't matter in the slightest.

With the Camden community, it wasn’t so simple.

“Your lovely wife is going to convert ?” an old woman asked, although it sounded more like an order than a question.

"Ah, frau Aldermann. It is true that I am such a pious man myself, it is a very important subject that my wife and I have talked about a lot. Isn't that right, treacle ?"

“Good, good.” sighed a man, patting his shoulder, not seeming to understand Alfie's sarcasm. "This is very important, especially for such an admired member. Perhaps your mother was of Jewish parentage ?"

She could have replied that she had not really known her mother, and therefore even less her family, but her husband saved her from this discussion, which he considered ridiculous, by inviting her to dance.

A true act of love, for him who hated dancing, in addition to suffering terribly because of his back.

It didn't take long for her entire family tree to be dissected in every way. The old harpies of Camden were like all the harpies of London.

The fact that she couldn't answer their question was almost a good thing. This mystery made it possible to say that if we could not verify that she was Jewish through her mother, we could not verify that she was not either. And everything always went through the mother.

The deplorable past of her father and the Shelby family could then have been forgotten.

The problem was mainly that her mother was not Mr. Arthur Shelby Sr. wife, which made Y/N a bastard. A gypsy bastard at that.

Even when she didn't understand the language, she guessed that people were talking about her. These looks and these laughter, she knew them well. Her brothers had suffered them when they were younger, before they used their fists to silence the ignorant and conquer Birmingham.

But she wasn't in Birmingham. Her brothers were not there, and it was her husband's kingdom.

Alfie wasn't the last to comment on gypsies.

"You know, I expected to have to sleep in a caravan for our honeymoon. It would have been terrible for my back, I don't know if Thomas took pity on us or if his petty posh side is to be thanked."

“They had a tent for us, but Finn threw up in it.”

"Fuck off, love. You're kidding me !"

“Then we would have danced naked around a fire asking the moon to give us happiness, health and above all a lot of fucking money.”

"… Yeah, you're totally kidding me, you little rascal." Alfie said, mock irritated, pulling her in for a kiss.

He didn't seem to notice that every little word spoken against her family and their traditions was beginning to weigh on her.

At least it was never completely mean when it was him. Almost innocent, full of prejudice and stupidity, but not crossing certain limits.

The rest of the community was not so kind. Many had not appreciated that the King of Camden, such a prized party, war hero, respected gangster, charming man, ended up with a girl like her. It must have been business, blackmail, or black magic.

There was no other possible explanation.

For several months, she decided to be the reasonable adult, remaining calm and polite, taking the blows as best she could. Tommy had taught her how to do it.

He had also taught her the pride of gypsies. Honor.

So there came a day when she was walking through the bakery, and some of the employees made a little joke about stealing and fortune telling, laughing like the idiots they were.

Normally, she would have ignored him. But Y/N was exhausted, and Polly's voice repeated in her head that no Shelby would ever allow themselves to be treated like this, so before they had time to react, she grabbed the hair of one of them, placing a knife to his throat.

"Tell me another joke about gypsies. Then I'll tell you a joke about Jews. Then I'll kill you."

The boy squealed, calling to his colleagues for help with his big, frightening eyes, but no one dared to move. Because they knew she would go faster. And even if she wasn't moving fast enough, she was Tommy Shelby's sister and Alfie Solomons' wife. Literally untouchable.

"Come on." she whispered in his ear. "Make me laugh. No ? No more jokes ? You're going to play the victim. It's funny, people who complain about being mistreated, then do exactly the same thing to others while thinking they're superior. You're all the same."

She didn't comment on the puddle under his legs, nor the little cry of panic when she released him.

Everyone stood still, watching her leave, and when she met Ollie's gaze, she knew she had just made a mistake. She only proved that she was indeed the savage they all described, the bad person.

Alfie probably wouldn't be happy when his right hand man told him what happened.

He did indeed seem to be in a terrible mood when she found him waiting for her in the living room, sunk into the sofa, indicating that his back was hurting badly, but that he would refuse to talk about it.

"Come, love, have a sit. Come on, sit down here."

Not wanting to act like a child, she remained silent as she took a seat in the chair he indicated to her.

This was obviously not what he expected, because he didn't speak either, staring at her intensely, hands crossed, displaying a small pout.

“Do you want to tell me what happened at the bakery today ?”

“Why ask if you already know ?”

“I would like your version.”

"I threatened to slit the throat of one of your workers and disrupted production. Do you want to spank me ?"

"Tempting. Why did you want to slit his throat ?"

“Unimportant.”

"Unimportant, uh ? Unimportant, love ? Because Ollie came to tell me that some guys were talking bad about me wife."

Groaning slightly, Alfie stood up just enough to push a piece of paper and pencil in her direction onto the table between them.

"Names."

“Alfie…”

"I want the names, treacle. I've already gone around the bakery telling everyone that insulting me wife and her family was insulting me, and I don't like being insulted. Names."

“You always make fun of gypsies.”

"Wrong." he retorted, holding up a finger as if that proved his point. "I do it when your brothers are around, because Thomas can be a little prick, and it's hilarious to see Arthur react like a mad dog. But I have nothing against gypsies. Lovely people. The proof, look at you. And look at me. The two most wonderful creatures our communities could spawn, right ?"

Despite all her strength, Y/N couldn't help but smile, which seemed to please her husband. He then placed his victorious finger on the paper, insisting on names.

If she had shown mercy by not cutting, this would not be the case with the wandering jew, king of Camden Town.

No one insulted his wife. No one looked at his wife badly, no one criticized her, no one tried to take away from her, no one thought of her with bad thoughts.

“Not even you ?” Y/N asked with a mischievous smile.

"Not at all. Now you brought up spanking. You brought it up first, love, not me."

“My brothers would be furious to hear that you beat me.”

"Don't tempt me, I can spread false rumors all the way to Birmingham just for the thrill of them all running here, and finding us…"

“You’re the one who deserves a spanking.”

"Ungrateful wife. Threatening me, under my own roof, when my back is killing me and I have just condemned half the city for the love of her."

The Shelbys never knew about their sister's difficult first months in Camden. Tommy noticed that he seemed to be treated with a little more respect when he walked the streets, but neither Y/N nor Alfie talked about what had happened before this outpouring of acceptance from the community.

On the other hand, Arthur noticed marks on his little sister's neck, and he tried to strangle Alfie, even after realizing that it wasn't what he thought, because it wasn't really better for him.

And Solomons reminding him that he was his brother-in-law didn't help at all.

[wonderlanddreamer]

Tommy Shelby × Reader

Rough Desires - Tommy is always gentle with you, but you crave something with more ferocity. 18+ Only.

The Stable Girl's Sacrifice - Tommy Shelby is forced to confront his feelings when you take a bullet meant for him.

Shadows & Vows - When Tommy discovers bruises on your skin, a fierce protectiveness awakens within him.

Jealous Heat - It's a dangerous game making Tommy Shelby jealous, but you play it so well. 18+ Only.

Sleep vs. Sex - Tommy wakes you up in the middle of the night because he needs you. 18+ Only.

Buried - Buried beneath the earth, Tommy's only hope lies in your relentless determination to bring him back.

Lean On Me - When you're hurt during an incident at the Garrison, it's Tommy who notices and takes care of you.

Do You Know What Happens To Naughty Girls? - Where discipline sets the stage for an intense power play with the Shelby brothers. 18+ Only.

John Shelby × Reader

Bite Me, John Shelby - "Wait, I didn't mean literally!" You get more than you bargained for when you playfully challenge John Shelby. 18+ Only.

Obsession - John Shelby owns you, and he isn't going to let you forget it. 18+ Only.

Alfie Solomons × Reader

His Serenity - After Alfie has a bad day, you help him find peace in your own, sensual way. 18+ Only.

Head Over Heels - A business meeting with Alfie Solomons when Alfie has anything but business on the brain. 18+ Only.

[followsfrankiep]

Haunted (Alfie Solomons)

Chapter 3 - Camden

TW: Light smut, violence

"Welcome to the bakery," Ollie said, his voice carrying a hint of pride. He led them through the maze of machinery and workers, explaining the intricate process of rum production. The distillery was a labyrinth of copper stills and oak barrels, the air filled with the hum of machinery and the clinking of glass bottles. Izzy listened intently, her mind absorbing every detail, even as the pungent smell of fermenting molasses filled her nostrils.

Alfie Solomons appeared from the shadows, his presence commanding and unmistakable. He approached Izzy, his eyes flicking to the jewelry she wore. With a rough, calloused hand, he brushed his fingers over the necklace, a smirk playing on his lips.

"Looks good on you, love," Alfie murmured, his voice low and gravelly. Izzy felt a shiver run down her spine, but she held his gaze, unflinching.

Tommy Shelby, ever the strategist, stepped forward, breaking the moment. "Alfie, this is Izzy. She's our new operating officer," he announced, his tone businesslike. Alfie's eyebrows shot up in amusement, a chuckle rumbling from his chest.

"Well, ain't that a surprise," Alfie drawled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let's see what you've got, then."

They moved to a dimly lit room, the air thick with tension and the scent of rum. Maps and documents were spread out on a large wooden table, and the discussion began. Tommy and Alfie dominated the conversation, their voices a mix of sharp commands and gruff agreements. The Shelbys puffed on cigarettes, the smoke curling lazily in the air, while Alfie abstained, his focus unwavering. Izzy listened, her mind racing with ideas.

"We need to secure our supply lines to America," Tommy stated, his eyes narrowing. "Michael and Izzy will handle the logistics."

Michael, who had been hovering close to Izzy, chimed in eagerly. "We'll make sure everything runs smoothly, Tommy. Izzy and I have already discussed some preliminary plans."

Izzy leaned forward, her voice steady and confident. "We should use smaller shipments, staggered over different routes. It'll make it harder for our enemies to intercept," she suggested. Alfie glanced at her, a spark of interest in his eyes.

"Smart girl," Alfie muttered, nodding in approval. "I like it."

Throughout the meeting, Alfie couldn't help but notice how Michael seemed to be constantly hovering around Izzy, his attention almost possessive. It annoyed Alfie slightly, but what bothered him more was the subtle discomfort he saw in Izzy's eyes. She was trying to stay focused, but Michael's proximity was clearly unsettling her.

Alfie leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing as he observed the dynamic between Michael and Izzy. He could see the tension in her shoulders, the way she subtly shifted away from Michael's touch. It irked him, this boy's overbearing presence. Alfie had always prided himself on reading people, and right now, he could see that Izzy was not comfortable.

"Michael, give the girl some space," Alfie said, his tone deceptively casual. "She needs room to think."

Michael shot Alfie a look but stepped back slightly, giving Izzy a bit more breathing room. Alfie watched as she visibly relaxed, her focus sharpening once more on the task at hand.

Ollie entered the room, carrying a tray with a teapot and cups. He served them tea, his movements efficient and practiced. Alfie nodded to him, a silent signal to take extra care of Izzy. Ollie placed a cup in front of her with a small, reassuring smile.

As the meeting continued, Alfie found subtle ways to flirt with Izzy, his words laced with double meanings that only she seemed to catch. He would lean in slightly, his voice dropping to a low murmur, his eyes locking with hers.

"So, Izzy," Alfie said, his tone casual but his eyes intense, "how do you find Camden? Bit different from what you're used to, I reckon."

Izzy smiled, feeling the thrill of his attention. "It's... unique. But I like it. There's a certain charm to it."

Alfie chuckled softly. "Charm, eh? Well, I suppose that's one way to put it. You know, not everyone can appreciate the finer details of a place like this."

Izzy's eyes sparkled with amusement. "I guess I'm not like everyone else."

Alfie leaned in a bit closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. "No, you're not. And that's what makes you interesting."

Izzy felt her heart race, the subtle flirtation thrilling her. She glanced at Tommy and Michael, who were engrossed in their discussion, oblivious to the exchange between her and Alfie.

The meeting continued, strategies and plans taking shape. Alfie and Izzy exchanged secretive glances, their connection growing stronger with each passing moment.

As they prepared to leave Camden, the air was suddenly filled with the sound of gunfire. The Sabini's men had ambushed them, swarming the distillery. Chaos erupted, bullets flying and men falling. Michael tried to shield Izzy, but she was already in motion, her instincts kicking in.

Izzy ducked behind a stack of barrels, her eyes scanning the chaos. She spotted a fallen man with a gun and quickly grabbed it, her movements swift and precise. She fired at the attackers, her aim true, each shot finding its mark. An enemy lunged at her, and she fought back with a ferocity that left everyone stunned. She twisted and turned, using her agility to her advantage, landing a solid kick to the man's chest.

Alfie, meanwhile, was a whirlwind of controlled violence. He moved through the fray with deadly precision, his gun blazing. He took down one attacker after another, his eyes constantly flicking to Izzy, ensuring she was safe. He saw her fighting, her movements fluid and fierce, and felt a surge of admiration.

"Bloody hell, woman," Alfie muttered, a mix of admiration and disbelief in his voice. "Where'd you learn to fight like that?"

Izzy didn't answer, her focus entirely on the battle. She spotted another attacker aiming at Alfie and fired, taking him down before he could pull the trigger. Alfie glanced at her, a grin spreading across his face.

"Nice shot," he called out, his voice carrying over the din of the fight.

The battle raged on, the Sabinis relentless. Izzy found herself grappling with another attacker, their struggle intense. She managed to disarm him, using his own weight against him to throw him to the ground. Just as he was about to overpower her, Alfie appeared, his gun aimed at the man's head.

"Get off her," Alfie growled, his voice deadly. The man hesitated, and Alfie didn't. He pulled the trigger, the shot echoing through the distillery.

The fight was over, the Sabinis retreating. The survivors were left in shock, their eyes on Izzy. No one dared to question her as she turned to Michael.

"Take me back to the hotel," she said, her voice steady. She glanced at Alfie one last time, as she found his eyes fixed on hers as well.

Polly and Tommy exchanged a look, their suspicion growing. Izzy was an enigma, and they intended to uncover her secrets. But for now, they had a new ally, one who had proven her worth in the heat of battle. And Alfie, ever the wild card, was drawn to her in ways he couldn't yet understand.

Back at the hotel, the room was quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. Izzy stood in front of the mirror, wiping the blood and grime from her face. Her hands trembled slightly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. Michael was in the bathroom, splashing water on his face, his expression a mix of frustration and embarrassment.

Izzy glanced at him through the mirror, her eyes softening. She knew he was trying to protect her, but his overbearing nature had been more of a hindrance than a help. She took a deep breath, deciding to address the situation delicately.

"Michael," she called out, her voice calm. "Are you alright?"

Michael emerged from the bathroom, his hair damp and his shirt stained with blood. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mix of guilt and anger. "I should have done more," he muttered, his voice low. "I should have protected you better."

Izzy turned to face him, her expression gentle. "You did what you could," she said, trying to keep her tone soothing. "We all did. It was a tough situation."

Michael shook his head, his frustration evident. "You were incredible out there, Izzy. I... I didn't expect that."

Izzy smiled faintly, trying to ease the tension. "Survival instincts," she said like it was nothing. "But it's not about who did better. We survived, and that's what matters."

Michael sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just... I wanted to prove myself. To you, to Tommy, to everyone."

Izzy stepped closer, placing a hand on his arm. "You don't have to prove anything to me, Michael. We all have our strengths and weaknesses."

He looked at her, his eyes searching hers for reassurance. "You really think so?"

Izzy nodded, her smile warm. "Absolutely. You have a lot to offer, Michael. Just... maybe give me a bit more space next time, okay?"

Michael chuckled softly, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Yeah, I can do that."

Izzy moved closer, wrapping her arms around him in a tight hug. She could feel the tension in his body slowly dissipate as he hugged her back. She pulled away slightly, looking up at him with a soft smile. "Thank you for being there. It means a lot."

Michael's heart swelled with a mix of relief and affection. He had always admired Izzy's strength and determination, but seeing her in action today had deepened his respect for her. He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his touch lingering.

"You're amazing, Izzy," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I don't know what I'd do without you."

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You're pretty amazing yourself, Michael."

They stood there for a moment, wrapped in each other's embrace, finding comfort in the closeness. But while Michael's feelings were genuine, Izzy's affection was a carefully crafted facade. She knew how much he cared for her, and she used that to her advantage, maintaining the illusion of mutual feelings to keep the peace.

Eventually, they moved to the bed, lying side by side. Michael stayed with her through the night, with his arms wrapped around her body. Izzy's mind, however, was elsewhere, replaying the events of the day and the brief conversations she had shared with Alfie.

Meanwhile, back at the Shelby office, Polly and Tommy were deep in discussion. The room was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of cigarette smoke. Tommy leaned against his desk, his expression thoughtful.

"Something's not right about Izzy," Tommy said, his voice low. "She's too good. Too prepared."

Polly nodded, her eyes narrowing. "She's hiding something. But whatever it is, she's proven herself useful. We need to keep an eye on her."

Tommy took a drag from his cigarette, exhaling slowly. "Agreed. But we can't afford any surprises. Not now."

Polly's gaze was steely. "We'll find out what she's hiding. And when we do, we'll decide what to do with her."

-

After the ambush, the Peaky Blinders received troubling news from across the Atlantic. A new gang, the Black Hand, had emerged in New York, threatening to take over the lucrative bootlegging routes that the Peaky Blinders had painstakingly established. The Black Hand was ruthless, well-connected, and had already started muscling in on the Blinders' territory, causing significant disruptions to their operations.

In the dimly lit office of the Shelby Company Limited, Tommy Shelby sat at his desk, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The room was filled with the heavy scent of tobacco and the tension was palpable. Michael Gray stood before him, awaiting instructions.

"Michael, we can't afford to lose our foothold in the States," Tommy said, his voice steady but laced with urgency. "You need to go back to New York and solidify our branch there. Make sure the Black Hand knows who they're dealing with."

Michael nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. Just as he was about to leave, Izzy stepped forward, her mind racing with thoughts of how she could be of more help. "Tommy, I want to go with Michael. I can assist with the negotiations and ensure our interests are protected."

Tommy shook his head, his expression firm. "Izzy, you're officially part of our operations now. You can't just tag along with Michael. We need you here."

Izzy's heart sank, but she knew better than to argue. She thought about wanting to visit Sophia for a long time now. Tommy continued, "Remember, we have ongoing operations with Alfie's rum dispatch to the US. With Michael gone, you'll be the one to oversee it. Make sure everything runs smoothly. We can't afford any mistakes."

-

Michael stood by the window of Izzy's hotel room, the city lights of Birmingham casting a soft glow on his face. He turned to her, a mix of determination and regret in his eyes. "I can't fucking disobey Tommy's orders. The Black Hand is a serious threat, and we can't let them take over our operations in New York."

Izzy nodded, trying to mask her own conflicting emotions. "I understand, Michael. Just be careful out there."

He stepped closer, placing kisses on her neck. "I'll miss you," he said softly, his voice tinged with genuine affection. "I will comeback."

They spent the evening together, savoring their last moments before his departure. As soon as Michael finished, he placed a soft kiss on Izzy's lips, laying down beside her and covered their naked bodies with a blanket as his arm draped protectively over her. Unsatisfied, Izzy lay awake, her mind racing. She thought about Sophia, her closest confidante, and the life they dreamed of building together.

With Michael gone, she would have more freedom to maneuver and further her own plans, feeling a strange mix of relief and anticipation. She was now free to act without Michael's watchful eye. She could check on Sophia and ensure their plans were still on track.

A few days have passed, her mind already shifting to the task at hand. She knew this was a critical moment for the Peaky Blinders, and she had to prove her worth. She sat at her desk in the Shelby Company Limited office, her mind focused on the operations in Birmingham. Tommy was off on business with Polly, leaving Arthur in charge. Arthur, however, was struggling with the management side of things, his frustration evident as he barked orders at the staff.

“Izzy!” Arthur called out, his voice gruff. “I need you to go to Camden. Get some papers signed and hand this bag of payment to Alfie. I’ll have a car and driver ready for you.”

Izzy shook her head, a determined glint in her eyes. “No need for a driver, Arthur. I’ll handle it myself.”

Arthur grumbled but didn’t argue. Izzy grabbed the bag and the papers, heading out to her car.

Izzy left the office, the weight of her new responsibilities pressing down on her. She drove through the bustling streets of Birmingham, her mind racing with thoughts of the tasks ahead. The trip to Camden was supposed to be straightforward, but she knew better than to expect things to go smoothly.

As she navigated the winding roads, she couldn't shake the feeling that she was being watched. Her instincts, honed from years of surviving on the tough streets, told her to stay alert. She glanced in the rearview mirror, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the unease lingered.

Halfway to Camden, her car started to sputter. She pulled over to the side of the road, cursing under her breath. "Not now," she muttered, popping the hood to take a look. She wasn't exactly a mechanic, but she knew enough to get by. After a few minutes of tinkering, she managed to get the car running again, but the delay had cost her precious time.

When she finally arrived at Alfie's Bakery, she was greeted by Ollie, who looked surprised to see her. "Miss Russo, I didn't expect you today. What brings you here?"

"I need to see Alfie," she replied, her tone firm.

Ollie led her to Alfie's office, where she found him slumped in his chair, a pained expression on his face. He looked up as she entered, trying to mask his discomfort with a smile. "Izzy, what a pleasant surprise."

"Alfie, are you alright?" she asked, concern evident in her voice.

"Ah, it's just this bloody sciatica," he grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. "But let's get on with it, eh? Got papers to sign, money to count."

Despite his discomfort, Alfie couldn't resist his usual charm. "So, where's Michael? Thought he'd be with you."

"He's back in the US," Izzy replied, noticing the flicker of delight in Alfie's eyes. "Looks like it's just you and me."

Alfie tried to hide his pain, but Izzy could see through his facade. "You should let me help you with that," she offered.

He waved her off. "Nah, I'm fine. Just a bit of pain, nothing I can't handle."

She smirked, teasing him. "Come on, old man. Let me help you."

They shared a playful exchange, and eventually, Alfie relented. Izzy helped him to a more comfortable position and began to massage the area affected by his sciatica. As she worked, they continued to banter, the tension easing between them.

"You're not so bad at this," Alfie admitted, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Don't get used to it," Izzy replied with a grin. "Just doing my part to keep our operations running smoothly."

As she finished, Alfie looked at her with a newfound respect. "Thank you, love. I appreciate it."

She nodded, feeling a sense of accomplishment. "Anytime, Alfie. Now, let's get these papers signed and the payment sorted."

With the business concluded, Izzy bid Alfie goodbye and turned to leave. But Alfie stopped her. "Hold on a minute, love. Why don't you stay a bit longer? Have a drink with me."

Izzy shook her head. "I can't, Alfie. I'll be driving back home."

Alfie raised an eyebrow, the information clearly of interest to him. "No driver, no companion?"

"That's right," Izzy confirmed.

Alfie called out to Ollie. "Fetch the lady some tea, will you? And make it quick."

Izzy was taken aback by the unexpected hospitality. As she waited, Alfie leaned back in his chair, studying her. "You look well, Izzy. Probably because Michael's not around, eh?"

She forced a smile, not wanting to blow her cover. "It's just been busy, that's all."

Alfie wasn't convinced. "Come on, tell me the truth. What are your true feelings for Michael?"

Izzy hesitated, then lied, "I love him, Alfie. He's important to me."

Alfie chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar, Izzy. I can see right through you."

Her face flushed with agitation. "Believe what you want, Alfie. It's none of your business."

Alfie leaned forward, his eyes piercing. "In this line of work, everything's my business. Just remember that."

Feeling cornered and frustrated, Izzy stood up abruptly. "I need to go. Thanks for the tea."

She left the bakery, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The drive back to Birmingham was tense, her thoughts racing. She knew she had to be more careful, more guarded.

---

Days went by with Izzy working diligently at the Shelby Company Limited office during the day. Some evenings, she would drop by Polly's house for dinner, as per Michael's request. But late at night, she found solace in a gym in London. Once everyone had left, she would start to box alone, letting out her frustrations and fears.

One night, after leaving Polly's house, she felt a familiar unease. As she drove to London, she couldn't shake the feeling that someone was trailing her. Her heart pounded as she parked her car and quickly closed the gym door behind her. Pulling out her gun, she slowly roamed around the gym, ensuring it was empty. Much to her relief, it was.

She proceeded to spar alone, her fists pounding the heavy bag. Covered in sweat and breathing heavily, she was jolted by a sudden noise. She spun around, gun in hand, only to see Alfie Solomons emerging from the shadows.

"Alfie! What are you doing here?" she demanded, her voice trembling with a mix of exhaustion and fear.

Alfie smirked, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Relax, love. Just came to see how you're holding up."

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, still panting.

"In my line of work, you learn to keep tabs on people," he replied cryptically.

Izzy's agitation grew. "Leave, Alfie. I need to finish my workout."

But Alfie didn't budge. He watched her with a knowing look. "You know, Izzy, you look different. Happier, maybe. Probably because Michael's not around."

She forced a smile, lying through her teeth. "I love Michael, Alfie. He's important to me."

Alfie chuckled, shaking his head. "You're a terrible liar, Izzy. I can see right through you."

Her face flushed with anger. She angrily removed her boxing gloves using her teeth and stormed over to him, meeting his gaze. "What do you want, Alfie?"

He leaned in closer, his voice low and mysterious. "You know what I want."

Izzy's heart raced, the tension between them palpable. She knew that whatever Alfie wanted, it would complicate her already precarious position. Her heart raced as she could feel Alfie's warm breath against her lips.

Alfie took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. Her breath hitched, her mind racing to find a way out of this situation. "What do you want, Alfie? Just say it."

He smirked, his gaze intense, slowly running his index finger against her body. "I want to know what you're really after. With Michael, with the Peaky Blinders. I don't believe for a second that you're just a loyal girlfriend."

Izzy bit her lip as her body feels more heated. "You don't know anything about me."

Alfie chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, but I do. I see the way you look at Michael. There's no love there. Just ambition."

She clenched her fists, the truth of his words stinging. "Everyone does."

"True," Alfie conceded. "But not everyone is as good at hiding them as you are."

Izzy took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. "What do you want from me, Alfie?"

He leaned in her ears, his voice a low whisper, his palms were already holding her hips. "I want you to be honest with me, yeah? Tell me what you're really after, and maybe we can help each other."

Izzy's heart raced, her mind reeling from the audacity of his offer. "And what makes you think I'd betray the Shelbys like that?"

Alfie shrugged, his expression nonchalant. "Because, love, I see Michael as your puppet. And you're too smart to be wasting your time with him."

Izzy's eyes flashed with anger, her fists clenching at her sides. "My loyalty belongs to Michael and the Shelbys," she lied, her voice steady.

Alfie chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You can keep working with the Shelbys, love. Just don't tell them about our little arrangement. Think about it."

Izzy thought of Sophia, the letters she had been writing, and the future she wanted. She pushed his hands away and took a step back, reclaiming her space. Without breaking their eye contact, she nodded, she couldn't trust Alfie completely, but she also knew that he could be a valuable ally. "Fucking hell, Alfie. Okay. I do not love Michael and I am here for the fucking quid. Happy now?"

Alfie nodded, a satisfied smile on his lips. "Now we're getting somewhere. You see, love, I can help you with that. But you need to be careful. The Peaky Blinders are not to be underestimated."

Izzy's eyes narrowed. "And what do you get out of this?"

Alfie leaned against the wall, his eyes never leaving hers. "An alliance. You and me, working together. We can take control of the rum trade, expand our operations, and make sure we're the ones calling the shots."

Izzy's mind raced. The offer was tempting, but she knew it came with risks. "And what about Michael? What happens when he comes back?"

Alfie shrugged. "We'll deal with that when the time comes. For now, we focus on building our power base."

She took a deep breath, considering her options. Aligning herself with Alfie could give her the leverage she needed, but it also meant walking a dangerous line. "Alright, Alfie. I'm in. But we do this my way."

He smiled, a glint of approval in his eyes. "I wouldn't have it any other way, love."

[loulouwrites]

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."

[fandom-puff]

Hi! Congrats on 10k!! Wondering if it would be alright to request 📚 for Alfie Solomons with the prompt: "thought I'd never see you again". Thanks and congrats again.

Thank you so so much!! I hope you enjoy 🥹

Warnings: reference to violence

The front door slammed shut and Cyril let out a booming bark, before the gruff voice of Alfie soothed him. You barrelled through to the hallway, barely seeing Alfie’s eyes crinkling into a smile before you were in his arms, your arms wrapped around his neck.

Poor man nearly fell down, but your Alfie was always firm and steady beneath you. “I’m here love,” he murmured into your hair, his lips pressing against your head.

“Hate when you’re gone for so long,” you whispered, hiding your face. Alfie let out a low grumble of agreement.

“And you know I hate being away from you for so long too, Sweet, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Thought I’d never see you again, I hate it when you go to Birmingham,”

Alfie smiled, rubbing your back. “It is a shithole,” he agreed. “But no brummie or blinder will do me in love,” he tipped your face up to look into your eyes. “Or they’d have Mrs Solomons to answer to, hm?”

[darklydeliciousdesires]

I saw your requests are open! I would LOVE to see Alfie with number 8, “I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.” 🥵

I’m all about dark too if you feel like it. Thank you! 😊

Can do, one order of Alfie with a large side of dark!

Warnings - Dark!Alfie & smut below the cut. Minors DNI.

The wood emits an odour of damp, the drips from the leaky pipe above it moistening the surface, adding to the overall old, musky fragrance of the cellar. Long ago, it was used for storing wines of the finest vintage, but now the space serves as something else entirely.

The leaky pipe continually drips onto the beam above, your hands and wrists wet, yet not enough for you to struggle free from your rope bindings. How many years does it take wood to rot, you wonder at times. One snapped beam would equal your freedom.

Would you truly want to leave here, though? That would of course mean leaving him.

He might be the one who keeps you in this state of torment, but imagining a life without it is perhaps bleaker than the surroundings you're held prisoner within. Who and what would you be, if not Alfie's plaything?

The sound of heavy footfalls creaking the floorboards above signals his impending appearance, the creaky cellar door opening, the lamp he carries with him finally bringing a little illumination into the darkened space.

He descends the stairs carefully, sniffing, clearing his throat, the scent of him cutting through the musk and the dust, Alfie placing the lamp down on the table.

"'Ello, poppet. Want me to let ya down for a bit, do ya?"

You nod. "Yes, sir." You used to cuss him out, spit in his face, kick him, bite him, but now you know, it all goes a lot more smoothly if you show what he demands. Obedience.

"Good. Right, come on, then. Let's get this rope untied, yeah." Reaching to the hook connected to the upright support strut, he unwinds it, the tension slowly slipping from your wrists and arms as the tightness is loosened. He only lets you go when he has use for you. Falling asleep standing up has become a talent you have mastered, although your weary bones ache for a bed.

Walking to you, he watches as you shake a little life back into your arms, your bindings still tight, the rope that once tied you to the beam above shaking gently. "Still pretty, ain't ya? Bit pale, though. Then again, I suppose ya would be for not seein' no sunshine for a couple 'a months, innit?"

His chuckle, all foreboding grit and rumbling darkness, sets your skin on edge. It's thrill laced with trepidation, an exotic, potent mix, goose pimples rising as your blood begins to run hotter, Alfie reaching for your face. His thumb skims your cupid's bow, eyes touring you as he leans in close.

He smells of rum and deviance, his breath warm where it flutters against your cheek. “I want to see those pretty lips wrapped around my cock.”

You know exactly how to oblige him, sinking to your knees, waiting patiently as he unfastens his trousers. You can already see the outline of his colossal erection through the black fabric swathing it, your captor pulling himself free, pumping his bulky shaft in a gold ring-adorned grip a few times before steering it to your mouth. "Open wide, love. Yeah, that's a good girl."

He shows no mercy, pushing forth between your lips, his hand fisting in your hair and making you take every last, fat inch of him. You choke him down, sucking gently to begin with, your tongue working the underside of his shaft as he slips back and forth.

The wet heat encasing him has him grunting deeply, cock twitching against your tongue. "Yeah, darlin'. You suck cock like a good'un, don't ya?" He moves faster, fucking your mouth with greater purpose, the need to spill into your throat consuming him.

It never takes too long, your mouth just too delicious an outlet for him, the thrill of knowing he's using you as nothing more than a mere toy adding to the ecstasy that rockets through him. He spurts thick and plentiful onto the back of your tongue, his cum dripping down your throat, his eyes two shards glittering at you through the low light.

It's the sight of him above you like that which burns itself into your brain, keeps you warm and lit up when the illumination is gone, when he's tied you up again and left you all alone in the dark once more.

Sometimes, it's in the darkness where we find the light. You understand only too well that Alfie's darkness is absolutely no exception.