#alfie solomons fanfiction
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Say it Dirty - An Alfie Solomons/Reader One Shot Story.
For my babes @cillmequick and @zablife. Enjoy!
Words - 1,467
Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!
Alfie. One could never use the word tall to describe the gangster rum distiller of Camden town, but suffice to say, he is big. He takes up space. He has presence. Alfie is so wide in both physical width and the enormity of his personality, he fills whatever room he happens to be within.
Everything about Alfie is imposing. That is why you fell for him in the first place. What gets your blood tingling with desire the most, though...
“Next lad!”
Oh, that enormous voice. He doesn’t shout often, but when he does, it sends your knees to jelly.
“Next lad!”
He’s handing out the weekly wages, the precise count out of pounds, shillings and pence into a small paper envelope, handing them to each of his employees for their, ahem, “baking” endeavours. The smell of the rum within the large casks fills your nose as you walk past them down in the dingy distillery, moving past the line and entering Alfie’s office.
“Bear with me, sweetheart.” He doesn’t even need to look up from his desk to know you’ve arrived. He can smell the sweet notes of your perfume in a sea of rum and sweaty men a mile off. “Just gotta get these fellas paid, innit.”
You perch on the edge of his desk, his hand moving to stroke your thigh fleetingly. “Next lad!” God, you’ll melt off the edge of the desk if you’re not careful. “Is there a fuckin’ reason you’re gorping, boy?”
“Um, n-no, Mr. Solomons.”
Alfie lowers his spectacles, raising his eyebrows. “You seriously comin’ in here for your pay, and giving me missus the once over with your beady little eyes while you’re here, eh? Nah, son. Off you fuck, while you still have them legs to carry ya. Just know, though. If I ever see you lookin’ at her like that again, yeah, it’ll be the last fuckin’ time you have eyes, mate.”
The young man takes his wages with a stiff gulp. “S-s-sorry, Mr. Solomons.”
“Ain’t me you was lookin’ at like a slab of meat.” He folds his arms, jerking his head in your direction, a smile spreading beneath his beard. “Apology should be directed at me wife, really.”
“I apologise, Mrs. Solomons.” He’s steadier when talking to you, wringing his cap between his hands nervously all the same.
Alfie studies you, watching you nod. “Alright, fuck off outta here. Next lad!” He scurries from the office, your husband continuing to hand out each wage envelope and mark it off with a pencil strike in the ledger. With the last lad paid, he stands, moving before you.
“Now, how about I take my little turtle dove out for a bit of nosh, yeah?” Well, that’s the sole reason you came to meet him from work, after all. He goes for a quick wash and to change his shirt before you leave, yet when he returns, he finds you not quite as ready to leave as he is.
The double take at seeing you sitting atop his desk naked is priceless, eyes touring your bare curves with much interest. “My darlin’, I dunno what kind of fuckin’ restaurant you think we’re going to, right, but it ain’t the kind where the customers sit about naked.”
“Can’t help it,” you purr, pulling him close, hands smoothing over his fresh shirt. “See it’s when you raise your voice, Alfie, when you get defensive of me, too. It does things to me, that voice of yours.”
He looks quietly thrilled at that. You don’t quite know how one can raise an eyebrow with cocky intent, but Alfie nails it every time. “Yeah, that right, love? You like the sound of my voice? Why don’t you sit on my cock while I talk to you, then?”
Grasping his shirt, you pull him close. “That’s exactly what I had in mind, Alf.”
Your lips meet in a slow tempest, all heat and honey, his hands beginning to glide where his eyes have already roamed, touring your bare flesh keenly. When his mouth follows, you whimper, each kiss sinking into your skin, the soft of his beard coaxing tickles over your flesh. Hot hands adorned in cool gold knead at your thighs, fingers slipping between.
The sweet sting of him toying with your clit radiates, little pricks of pleasure trickling down your spine, puddling at those clever fingers, his teeth sharp at your neck. “Always did love my hands, didn’t ya, dove?”
You hum in appreciative response against his tongue, mouths locked, those fingers you do indeed love so much thrusting within. He opens you, pushing greedily, his raspy chuckle low and self-satisfied at each little mewl that pours from your mouth like wine, your cunt clenching around each rotation as he roots those thick digits, so inordinately deep.
“Fuck, get in the chair,” you pant, hands moving to slide his braces down, undoing his trousers. “I need to ride you. Now.”
He chuckles, his thumb rolling over your clit sending sparks to skitter wildly. “Ain’t half a demanding little mare tonight, aint’cha?”
“Yeah,” you breathe, Alfie letting his trousers and undergarments fall to pool at his ankles, sitting down in the chair and guiding you astride him. “But then I always did know what’s good for me.” Taking him, you squeeze the thick of his rigidity, pushing him to your glistening opening and dropping down until you’re full.
You can feel every inch of him pressing your soft walls, thick and heavy, his hand weaving into your hair and pulling until you arch for him, bending like a crescent moon. “Fuckin’ ‘ell, look at that body bow for me. Can’t wait to watch these pretty little tits bounce while you ride me, darlin’.”
His mouth devours you, nipples sucked and bitten, his free hand grasping your hip as you begin to roll against him, his girth sending sensations to flutter up your spine, fizzing like champagne bubbles, the hint of teeth upon the peak of your nipple sending glimmers to join them. “Ain’t even half started properly yet, and this sweet little cunt is like a fuckin’ lake. Yeah, look at you. So fucking pretty for me, ain’t ya? So pretty and sweet, split open on me.”
His words mist hot beneath your skin, rising like steam, the torrent of seductive filth unabating. “Think I could have you like this on me for hours, and I wouldn’t get tired of watching you gripping tight on my cock. And you would, wouldn’t ya? Yeah, you’d keep giving, my beautiful, cock hungry little doe.”
His thumb stretches, and it sends a rain of pleasure pelting through you when he brings it to your clit, circling, your bundle twitching against the stroke, your toes gripping on the floorboards beneath as you begin to ride him with more determination. “That’s it, sweet. Show me how much you love this cock.”
The moan seeps from your lips, sweet and slow, like thick syrup, the clasp of your cunt tight upon him, the sound of him punching into the very wet of you lewd, mixing with the slap of your arse smacking hard against his solid thighs. It’s a symphony of utter sin, his groans adding delicious baritone, your tits bouncing, his hands moving to clutch them as his tongue swipes your cleavage.
His touch has lightning forking from nerve to nerve, your ministrations greedy in desperate need to come around him, wet his cock further with the dew of your orgasm, your hands fisting tight in his hair, a shift of his hips sending him deeper into the flutter of your cunt.
You sob his name, and he pushes even deeper, so heavy and overwhelming within you. “Come on, my beautiful little darlin’. Come pretty for me on this cock.”
Oh, how you do, the pleasure burning neon through your nerves, a sky of colours painted over you as it topples you completely. The scream it pulls from you has him twitching, and he becomes caught in the tide of it, cock pressed filthily deep into the rhythmic clasping of you, spilling hard, everything tense undoing and softening to fluid bliss. You both swim in it, adrift on the endless ocean, panting against one another.
“Fuck, that worked up a right appetite,” he finally breaths, kissing your neck as you roll your eyes.
“Do you ever cease thinking about your stomach?”
He chuckles, low and dirty. “Yeah. I often think about how good me wifey feels when she fucks me like she just did. And you can count on it, treacle, that I’ll be thinkin’ about it for the rest of the night an’ all.”
The way he keeps stealing heated glances at you all the way through dinner, you’re left in little doubt of that, too.
#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons smut#alfie solomons x reader#alfie aolomons x you#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders fic#alfie solomons fic#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons imagine#tom hardy#tom hardy fanfiction#tom hardy smut
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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,”
#alfie solomons smut#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons#alfie solomons fanfiction#Alfie Solomons x you#alfie solomons x y/n#Alfie solomons blurb#peaky blinders blurb#request
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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.
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Family business
I still need to watch the show but I wanted to do a Alfie Solomons x reader. I'm sure all the characters are ooc, so sorry about that.
The good thing about being part of the Shelby family was that its members were very united because blood ties were sacred.
The problem about being part of the Shelby family was the same thing.
Y/N often repeated it to herself, closing her eyes to keep her calm, while her brothers asked ridiculous or difficult things, considering that she didn't have the right to say no to them, just as they didn't have the right to tell her no either.
The fact that they didn't have the same mother didn't change anything. Their father may have been an asshole, but they were all Shelbys, united, hard-working, persevering, and here for each other.
They didn't often ask her things that would put her in danger. They were terribly protective of their little sisters, especially Arthur, but there were times when a feminine touch became essential to finalizing a deal or gaining someone's trust.
Almost no one knew that Y/N was a Shelby. Her mother had died when she was young and Polly had welcomed her into this strange world as soon as she learned that her idiot brother was her father. However, as soon as she was able to earn her own money, Y/N found a small place to live on her own, although she remained close to her family.
For Tommy, that made her perfect for a mission he'd had in mind for some time.
“I want you to become Alfie Solomons’ secretary.”
"Who ?" Y/N had asked, trying not to wince.
"It doesn't matter. He doesn't trust easily, but he's been having trouble managing his business for some time, too many unforeseen events, too many incompetent people. You are competent. Earn his trust, become indispensable, listen to his conversations, read his letters, and brings us all important information."
Y/N didn't know what important information was, even less so since she still didn't know who this Alfie Solomons was when she showed up at his office. Her brothers had decided that it was best for her not to know too much, not because she might be afraid, but because the man was very good at seeing through people. It wasn't very reassuring.
However, at first glance, Mr. Solomons did not seem that terrible. He showed a big smile when he saw Y/N, opening his arms and inviting her to come and sit down, offering her tea during their interview and listening attentively to everything she said. Despite his broken back, he insisted on walking her to the door, lowering her hand and declaring that he was delighted to have found his new secretary.
Two things quickly became quite clear after several weeks working with Alfie Solomons : he wasn't running a bakery at all, and he was perfectly charming.
Well, it happened that he shouted at certain employees, even hit them, and probably worse when there were no witnesses, but with Y/N, he was undoubtedly the most sweet and polite man. the sweetest in the world.
Even when she made mistakes, which didn't happen often, he would shrug his shoulders and say it was her fault, because he was asking a lot of her, before offering her a cup of tea and some biscuits.
Sometimes she would find flowers on her desk when she arrived in the morning.
“Slept well, love ?”
"Very well, Mr. Solomons, thank you. And you ?"
"Call me Alfie, love. And I haven't slept yet."
"Are you saying that so I don't wake you if I find you asleep again before a meeting, Mr. Solomons ?"
“I know you will do it no matter what, you cruel woman.”
When they didn't have too much work, they talked. Alfie Solomons had an opinion on everything, stories to tell, anecdotes or more or less strange questions on philosophical subjects as well as on perfectly futile or strange things. He often made her laugh, which seemed to please him.
On the contrary, he did not like it when another employee, client or business partner allowed themselves to be rude to his favorite secretary. It wasn't often, word had quickly spread about what Mr. Solomons did to those who misbehaved with Y/N.
For some, they were sleeping together. It didn't help that he often drove her home, even if it was only when it was very late, raining, or very cold.
Even though she promised them it wasn't true, her brothers were a little worried. They didn't like seeing Alfie hovering around their little sister like that, even if she brought them some interesting information thanks to her position.
It wasn't normal that she managed to have so much information, which worried them even more because Alfie Solomons really wasn't the type of man to take such a risk, so either he had discovered who she was and he was either giving Y/N wrong informationsn or he liked her so much he let her have everything.
The Shelby brothers didn't know which would be the worst. With all the information turning out to be true, they didn't know what to make of it.
Y/N didn't ask herself these kinds of questions, too busy with her work as a secretary, trying to keep her distance from her employer who was much too charming to be honest, and who was obviously not very appreciated by her family .
He sometimes asked her to marry him, but only as a joke, when she brought him a meal or when she forced him to put a pillow behind his back so that he wouldn't suffer the next day, or when She took care of his business perfectly.
Everything stopped after Arthur's beating.
The next day, Tommy called his sister to order her to leave. He was kind enough to apologize when he told her that she would probably have to move, but that she could always stay to Watery Lane with them while she found something, to make sure that Alfie wouldn't find her. Although he didn't see why he would look for her.
Solomons was disappointed to learn that his beloved secretary had to leave town for family reasons, but he seemed to understand, kissing her one last time on the hand and wishing her a good life.
“I guess it’s still a no for marriage ?”
"Mr. Solomons…"
"I know, I know, I'm just an old idiot. Take care, love. Shalom to your brothers and sisters."
Several months passed before this little sentence made sense to Y/N.
It hadn't shocked her, because the man talked too much for her to take in everything he said, it was only polite that he wished the best for his family, and she had been too busy not to show that their separation affected her.
Not seeming to see that she had become attached to the wandering Jew, Tommy did not warn her when it was decided to do business with him, against the Italians. He hadn't warned Arthur either, who wasn't happy to see Alfie again.
The meeting went well, from what Y/N understood. Alfie presented his "apologies" to Arthur, before agreeing to help him sort out their affairs with the Italians. He didn't ask for too much money, which surprised the brothers a little. He didn't hold them by the balls, it was the opportunity.
But no, he decided to be a gentleman, helping them in honor of old times. As he left, he only asked Tommy to greet his charming sister for him, winking.
The deal then no longer really mattered, because the Shelbys discovered something much more important. Solomons had discovered who he had hired as his secretary. He knew Y/N was one of them.
"… You're not serious. Thomas, you said it would be temporary."
"I know… I know ! Little sis, you have to understand that he is very dangerous. He is going to get revenge, he is going to hurt you and there is no way I am letting that happen."
“He won’t do anything to me.”
"It's business. He'll do it like he did to Arthur. You need to understand that you're not safe out there. Stay with us, stay home."
Y/N's worst nightmare was happening. Locked up with her family, without hope of independence or freedom. She should never have agreed to help Tom.
Unfortunately he seemed to be right, because she saw Ollie several times through the window, and other employees of the Bakery hanging around in the street. It was too risky to go out.
Then the flowers arrived. Deliveries of packages containing perfumes, books, tea. There was no need for him to sign them, but Alfie Solomons seemed to insist that the Shelbys understand that he knew full well where to find their sister.
Arthur wanted to kill him. John thought he needed to speak with this madman before it was too late. Tommy considered that just not bringing up the subject would make him calm down, too busy with other problems.
When the flu came, staying indoors protected no one. Ada brought the illness home and soon the most fragile members of the family were bedridden with fever.
A doctor came to examine them, to the surprise of the older brothers, who did not have enough money this month to pay for his services. He only said that they didn't need to worry about it, taking care of Finn, Ada, then Y/N, before going out without asking for a penny, leaving them with remedies and instructions.
The others' health improved quickly, but Y/N remained sick, shaking and sweating, sleeping for several hours before being awakened by nightmares, tired as if she hadn't slept for days.
One night, a hand on her damp forehead brought her out of her torpor. The hand remained still, only the thumb caressing her skin.
"You have to sleep, love. I brought tea, for your throat."
“Al… Alfie ?”
"Yes, love. Everything is fine, rest."
"It was you… who sent the doctor…"
"I wasn't going to let my favorite secretary die from a slight fever. Why isn't anyone at your bedside ? I don't like it, I'm going to have a word with your brothers."
Arthur and Tommy would undoubtedly have taken this as a threat, Solomons managing to enter their home and sneak up to their little sister's room without being seen, then being able to do her all the harm he wanted.
Y/N knew he wasn’t going to hurt her. It had been obvious for several weeks that he didn't intend to, with all these ridiculous gifts and letters, where he kept asking her if he wanted to marry her.
He was having fun, nothing more. He continued to tease her, while scaring the Shelbys.
"It's not very nice." Y/N whispered, trying to keep her eyes open.
“It’s too easy to annoy them, it’s not my fault.”
“I wasn’t talking about that.”
"Ah. You see, love, I don't know what to do about it anymore. I did everything to make you see that I was serious, I who never seem serious. I knew it would be difficult at first, because you thought I didn't know who you were. I knew before I hired you. Then you left, I thought I was going to die, but I told myself that now that you weren't working for me anymore , if I said that I knew, then it would be easier. What should I do ? Buy a horse ? A trailer ? There is a gypso rite that I don't know to ask for the hand of a woman ? I have to go and see Arthur and duel him ? I can do it, he doesn't scare me, love. I can go right now."
"No… Stay with me…" she begged him, holding out her hand, coughing again.
Unable to not get agitated when he was speaking, Alfie Solomons had stood up to show that he would go to her brother's room to beat his face, but he immediately sat down next to Y/N, I took her hand which he kissed with all the tenderness he was capable of.
“Stay with me…” she repeated miserably.
"Yes, love, I'm here. I'm not going anywhere, I'm here."
And he was still there when she opened her eyes the next morning, holding her hand and smiling as her fever seemed to be going down.
The moment was slightly ruined by Finn, who wanted to see if she was better and who screamed when he saw Solomons. Alfie yelled louder, even if it was to order the bellowing to stop because Y/N needed to rest.
This of course alerted the entire Shelby family, who ran into the room.
At first, Alfie refused to leave. He promised he would stay, so he would stay.
Then, seeing Y/N's pleading look who didn't want anyone to get hurt, he sighed as he agreed to follow the brothers into the kitchen, for a discussion, but only if he was allowed to come back to see her to say goodbye to her afterwards.
"If I didn't kill you first…"
"Oh, Arhur. Shalom ! Glad to see you haven't lost your humor !"
Ada stayed with her sister, helping her to drink, rubbing water on her forehead, and not being able to stop herself from asking her what had happened. Y/N reassuring her, explaining that Alfie had sent the doctor, that he wasn't dangerous, not at all.
Unlike the others, Ada did not take care of their brothers' less than legal affairs. She understood that this Solomons was not a good person, but neither of them were, and he seemed very attached to Y/N.
"And you ? What do you think of him ?"
"He's a fool."
"I see. You like him. Do you think Tommy would be alright with you dating ?"
"I'm afraid Alfie doesn't care about Thomas' approval." Y/N sighed, trying to hear if any screams were coming from downstairs. "He is very stubborn."
"I thought I noticed, with all these gifts. If he asks you to marry me, I want to be a bridesmaid."
“He’s asked me before, several times.”
“Damn, Y/N, Arthur is going to have a heart attack.”
Fortunately, the eldest did not have a heart attack, but he initially refused to believe Solomons' sincere feelings. The others were skeptical too. As she predicted, it didn't matter to Alfie, who only cared about her opinion.
He also pointed out that only Y/N had the right to order him to leave, by telling him that she never wanted to see him again. One word from her, and he wouldn't bother them anymore. But a yes, and he would be the happiest man in the world.
“With a beautiful family of fucking gypsos, but the happiest all the same.”
“She will never say yes to you !” John replied.
"Fucking hell, still speaking for her. Let's ask her. But not now, she still needs to recover. Leave her alone."
The brothers did not obey, waiting until the wandering Jew had kissed Y/N's hand and finally left to question her in turn, despite Ada's protests.
Only Tommy remained near the bedroom door, watching his sister in her bed. When their eyes met, he seemed to ask her a silent question, and she felt tears forming, unable to hide her answer.
He nodded, before whistling to tell everyone to get out. He said nothing, only smiling tenderly as he closed the door, leaving her alone with his blessing.
When Alfie Solomons would be back, with a white horse, new flowers and his proposal, she could say yes to him if she wanted, without fear of war. Because even though business was important, family was more important, and if Y/N was happy with him, then no one could say anything against that.
Her future husband only had to remember that if he hurt one of them, her the first, he would pay for it.
#peaky blinders#alfie solomons#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons imagine#alfie solomons fanfiction
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CIRCUMSTANCE . ALFIE SOLOMONS
summary: alfie solomons always swore he was not suited to be any woman's husband - but a terrible circumstance has him questioning that.
warnings: pregnancy, angst, mention of abotion, unsafe abortion, swearing (obviously), unedited
word count: 2.9k
A/N: this is a prequel to home but it can be read as a standalone :)
The first day she had been sick, she assumed she was still hungover from her birthday the night before. She had celebrated with all of her friends, who had taken advantage of the bill being footed by her 'secret lover', ordering enough gin to make even the hardest drinker queasy the next day.
The second day she had been sick, a pit formed in her stomach, a small, but haunting, realisation creeping into her mind - but she tried not to ponder on it.
She continued her week as normal. She continued to go to work, getting up from her desk every few minutes to sneakily be sick in the alley outside. She would go home and smile through her queasiness, insisting to her mother that she was just wasn't too hungry lately.
When following week came around, and she was being sick every morning, and her menstrual cycle was over one month late, she had to acknowledge that seed of doubt in her mind - she was pregnant.
It was a terrible thing to discover. An unmarried woman, pregnant with a child that belonged to a man that most agreed was terrible, was not how she had envisioned her life would turn out. She had always imagined the moment she discovered she was with child would be a joyous experience - she would be married, living in a large house with a foyer and garden with roses - she wasn't getting any of that now. Not with Alfie Solomons' child growing inside of her.
She would be lying if she had never envisioned a nice life with the gangster. It was a silly thing to think about, and she only allowed to imagine it in the dark of night, when her thoughts were only her own. She would often wonder if he felt anything for her, or if she was just a convenience for him.
He had hired her as his secretary about one year ago, but they had known each other for longer. More women were entering the workforce and he thought it would be beneficial to have one in the 'bakery', claiming women had a better attention to detail than any of the men he worked with. It hadn't taken long for him to push her against his desk and lift up her skirt, and she had been more than happy to let him.
That's all it was, really. She had never seen him outside of work, she had never been to his house, nor had he been to hers, their little affair only existed in the small confines in his office, when everybody else had gone home, and she had been perfectly content with their arrangement.
But now, she was pregnant.
And he was going to fucking kill her.
Her mother breathed a sigh of disappointment as she leaned against the kitchen bench in the small, dull kitchen, watching her daughter with a look of disgust as she heaved into the kitchen sink. It had been over a week of her daughter skipping meals and trying to quietly throw up in the bathroom, and it did not take a genius to figure out what was going on - she had been through it herself, after all.
"I hope he's planning on marrying you," she said with her arms crossed against her chest.
"Excuse me?" Her daughter said through deep breaths, lifting her head from the sink to frown at her mother.
"I'm no fool, and neither are you, we both know what's going on here," the older woman walked to stand beside her daughter. "Who's the father?"
The younger woman froze.
Of course her mother knew.
She knew everything.
"I haven't told him yet."
"That's not what I asked."
Her daughter sighed, and lifted herself completely from the sink, the sickness seemingly disappearing in that moment. Tears pooled in her eyes as she looked at her mother.
It had been just the two of them supporting her and her siblings for so long. Her father had passed suddenly when she was a younger, and her mother had began working as a seamstress to make ends meet, and as the oldest daughter, she had started working as soon as she was old enough to help support the family.
She couldn't help but feel guilty. Her mum had sacrificed so much, all for her daughter to grow up and get pregnant to a man who she was certain didn't care if she lived or died.
"I'm sorry, mum," she breathed out, the tears now freely dripping onto her puffy cheeks.
The woman sighed heavily, making no move to comfort her distressed daughter. "You will tell whoever it is, and he will marry you," she turned to leave the kitchen, "and if he doesn't - don't bother coming back here.
The bakery was buzzing with life the next day, there didn't seem to be spare moment to even take a breath. Workers approached her desk almost constantly, asking about their pay, and threatening strike action 'if Solomons didn't pay what he owed'. This wasn't rare, her workday was always busy, but every interaction was making her want to break down in tears.
She hadn't seen Alfie. He had been in his office when she arrived and hadn't left all day, despite it nearing six o'clock in the evening. She noticed Ollie giving her concerned looks whenever he passed by, but she would avoid his gaze, her eyes trained on her typewriter or the various documents spread across her desk.
A feeling of dread curdled in her stomach as more people left the building, throwing down their aprons on their way out. She would usually look forward to this time, when everybody else would clear out, and Alfie would call her into his office but this day it did nothing but cause panic to envelop her.
"Are you okay?" She looked up to see Ollie stood at her desk, his apron gone and his black coat held in the crook of his elbow. She muttered something nonsensical, that she was fine, just not feeling well, but the look the man offered told her he didn't believe it. "You don't have to stay, you know?" She just gave him a confused look, and he sighed as he continued. "Alfie isn't going to sack you or anything...if you...say no, you know?"
She scoffed at his words, his misplaced concern endearing him even more to her. "Thanks, Ollie. I know that."
He didn't say anything else, knocking his fist on her desk gently before heading for the exit.
And then there was two.
She could have sworn he was watching Ollie leave, because as soon as the sound of the heavy door slamming shut rang through the now empty building, he was calling her name.
Every step to his office felt heavy. It was as if her body was telling her to just turn around and run.
Run away.
You'll get another job, just leave now.
But she ignored the protests of her body, and the screaming thoughts in her brain, slowly opening the heavy door and stepping to his dimly lit office.
"Y'alright, love?" He said as soon as the door shut behind her. He was sat on his chair, his legs up on the desk - so nonchalant, so unaware.
Bastard, she thought.
She walked to his desk, but rather than approaching him as she usually would, she sat down in one of the chairs on the other side, instead, placing her shaking hands on her lap.
He raised a brow at her actions, swinging his feet down onto the floor and leaning forward, his forearms resting on the desk, his hands clasped together as he studied her.
A sheen of sweat formed on her forehead as she sat under his gaze, her eyes darting everywhere in the room in order to avoid his gaze. He opened his mouth to speak, but she beat him to it, summoning every bit of courage she still held.
"Have you ever thought of marriage?"
Her question caused him to sit up a bit straighter in his seat, his head cocking to the side and a smirk playing on his lips.
"You proposing, love?" He joked, his smiled fading when she shot him an unimpressed look, her lips pressed into a thin line. "No," he cleared his throat, "ain't for me, all that."
She nodded in response, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.
"So you never want that?" He just shrugged. "Under no circumstances?"
"There is not a circumstance in the world that would get me to do that, love, no."
An uncomfortable silence filled the office. She had returned to looking at everything but the man sat across from her, and he continued to stare at her with a frown on his face.
She felt her chest tightening, her breaths coming out shorter as his words replayed in her head.
Not a circumstance in the world.
He called her name, rousing her from her thoughts and she stood up from her seat.
"Are you okay? You don't look well," he said in a tone that she would consider caring if it had come from anyone but him.
"I'm sorry, Alfie, I'm feeling a bit under the weather, I think I should go home."
"Of course, love," he nodded, beginning to stand but she briskly left the room before he could. "You be careful," he called after her, not sure she even heard.
There were days Ollie really enjoyed his job. The days where everything went right and nobody got punched, or killed, were considered goof days. But, the days that went wrong, always seemed to go disastrously wrong, and they usually started with him giving his boss some bad news - which is exactly what he was about to do.
"Are you goin' to say somethin' or are you just goin' to stand there like a lost fucking lemon?"
Ollie cringed at his boss' voice, his eyes trained on the cabinet in the corner of the room.
"Ollie, I swear to fucking-"
Ollie spoke the secretary's name abruptly, causing Alfie to pause mid sentence, relaxing in his chair. "I heard back from the men you got to follow her."
It had been three days since she had been to work. She had rang in sick the first day, and seeing as how she acted the night before, Alfie was inclined to believe her, but when she failed to check in the following day, he had ordered some of his best men to 'check in on her.'
"They saw her at Mrs Levy's..." He trailed off, watching as his boss' expression went from confused, to understanding, to fury.
"When?" There was a darkness to Alfie's tone, though his posture was relaxed, Ollie knew better, this was the calm before the storm - and he was about to bare the brunt of whatever was about to happen.
"Just now. It's the first time she's left her flat in days, they sent someone straight away-"
Alfie didn't stay to hear another word, flying out of his chair before Ollie had the chance to say another word, and Ollie breathed a sigh of relief.
He also said a prayer for Alfie's poor secretary.
Mrs Levy was not the kindest woman. She had helped many girls in a similar position, but she had never claimed to do it out of kindness. If you asked her, she would say it was a way to save the reputation of girls in her community and an excellent money maker.
The young woman looked around the bedroom she was in, it was clean, if a little cluttered. There was a table next to the bed with various instruments laid out, little metal pieces that made her stomach turn if she looked at them for too long.
Mrs Levy had already explained everything to her - what would happen, how it would feel, and what could happen after - which did nothing to quell her nerves.
She had asked for a moment alone, and Mrs Levy had rolled her eyes, telling her it would be extra if she stayed there too long. She sat on the bed, her shoes laid on the floor, and her hand resting on her stomach. She didn't feel an overwhelming sense of loss about what was about to happen, but it did make her sad, and just for the moment, she allowed herself to think about the 'what ifs'.
What if she had told Alfie she was pregnant?
Would he have changed his stance on marriage?
Would he have given her the money for this himself?
Would he have confessed his undying love for her and dropped to his knees in front of her?
She scoffed to herself, shaking her head to rid the fantasies from her mind. There was no point of dwelling on it now, it was done, and he would never know. She would return to work in a few days and claim she had just had a stomach bug.
It would all just be a bad memory.
She was about to call Mrs Levy back into the room when a crash sounded from outside the bedroom door.
"You get back here, right now, you little-"
Mrs Levy's voice became background noise when the door swung open, and none other than Alfie Solomons blew through the doorway, pistol in hand.
"You and I need to talk, love," he said, causing her eyes to widen in dear. He looked at her confusedly before following her gaze to the pistol held in his hand. "Fuckin' hell, I'm not...I wasn't..." he huffed a sigh, tucking the gun into his belt and holding his hands up in surrender.
"You can't be here," Mrs Levy's voice cut in. "Get out!"
"Oh fuck off, you ol' bat," Alfie rolled his eyes, swinging an arm out as if to bat her away. "C'mon," he held an arm out to the woman who sat on the bed, her eyes wide and her hands shaking.
The car was silent as Alfie drove through the streets of London, the only sounds coming from the shouts of pedestrians as they avoided the car that sped past them, narrowly missing them as they tried to cross the road.
"How did you know?" She asked meekly, her eyes downcast.
"Had my men follow you when you didn't show up for work two days in a row - you're sacked by the way," he said simply, as if he were discussing the weather.
"What? Alfie-"
"Well you can't be workin' now anyway," he shrugged. "With you being...y'know," he gestured a hand to her stomach, "wouldn't be right to make ya sit in a distillery all day."
"I need to work now more than ever, Alfie," she protested, turning her body slightly to face him as best as she could in the cramped vehicle. "I need money if I'm going to be raising a child alone."
Alfie's head snapped towards her, a frown on his face. "Who said anythin' about raisin' it alone?"
"Really?" She raised a brow at him, as if she were waiting for him to burst out in laughter. "You said it yourself, Alfie, under no circumstances would you get married."
"Is that what all this is about? You skive work and go to see that daft bint because of I said I didn't want to get married in passing."
"Mrs Myers is not a-"
"She's killed more people than I have, love."
"That's not funny, Alfie," she admonished, crossing her arms across her chest. "So you're saying you would get married?"
"No," he replied. "But I ain't sayin you'd have to do it alone. I paid for your birthday night out but you don't think I'd pay for my own fuckin' child?"
"I can't go home, Alfie. My mum said-"
"Fuck that daft cow," he pointed a finger in her direction, he had known her mother for years, and he had hated her for just as long. "And you will be living with me."
"Unmarried and cohabitating? Are you trying to get me ostracised?"
"You should have thought about that before you let me get ya pregnant, darlin'," he looked at her with a toothy grin. Her face twisted in confusion when she looked out of the window, taking in her surroundings.
"Where the fuck are we?" She asked, looking at the big white houses with a mixture of uncertainty and wonder.
"We are home," he told her plainly, parking the car in front of what she considered to be the nicest house on the street. She wordlessly exited the vehicle, following behind him as he ascended the steps and opened the black door, holding it open for her.
"Better than your mum's flat, ain't it?" He threw an arm around her shoulder, pulling her to his side as if the entire situation wasn't an absolute nightmare.
She hummed in response, taking in the foyer, the walls were bare, and the wallpaper was dated, but that could all be fixed - and she looked forward to doing it.
"If I were to consider marriage," Alfie spoke from her side. "I would only consider it with you," he pulled away, clearing his throat. "Let me give you a tour."
Alfie wasn't lying. He proposed to her when she was four months pregnant, right after they felt their baby kick for the first time. They married one week later, a grand affair considering it was on such short notice.
Their son was born exactly five months after their wedding, in their shared bedroom.
thanks for reading! for anybody who has read more of my stories do you think they're too similar plot-wise? i enjoy writing angst a lot but get scared that my fics are too samey lmao. so if you'd like to see me write something different pls lmk
#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons imagine#alfie solomons x reader#peaky blinders imagine
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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.
#cillian murphy fanfiction#tommy Shelby fanfition#Shelby family#peaky blinder fanfiction#Alfie solomons fanfiction#Shelby sister fanfiction#tommy shelby x sister!reader#writing#Shelby family fanfiction#thomas shelby#peaky blinders imagine#Alfie solomons imagine#tommy shelby imagine#thomas shelby imagine#futurefamousdeadmusician#fanfiction#Alfie Solomons x fem!reader#Alfie solomons x shelby sister!reader
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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?”
#alfie solomons x reader#alfie x reader#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons#alfie solomons imagines#peaky blinders#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders imagines
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1. Alfie Solomons 18+
Word count 3,175
1. Alfie Solomons 18+
(Y/n) p.o.v
I've had enough of Small Heath, Birmingham, so I told Poll I'm going to London to visit Ada. Granted I was staying with my younger sister, but I spent most of my time with old friends that moved out of Birmingham. They told me about this club, it's supposedly the rage of London, and I'm dying to see just how big this place is.
"Hurry (y/n)! The car is here." My friend, Mildred yells for me.
"I'm coming!" I rush past Ada with a kiss on the cheek. "Be back in the morning Ada!" I yell over my shoulder.
"All because your name is Shelby doesn't mean you have to act like one!" I hear Ada as I climb into the car.
As Mildred, Joan, and I rode in the car we told stories of our lives, and we'd laugh. We finally got to the club, and I'm so thankful no one knows who I am, or my family. We walk in, check our coats, and immediately I get an idea of what kind of club this was. There were people doing drugs before you even got to the main club part, along with people having sex against the wall. I might as well have stayed in Small Heath for this. The only difference was this was high class instead of the dirty Garrison.
As the night went on I lost each friend to guys, one with snow, and the other to dancing. I stayed at our table, relaxing against my seat, just enjoying the music, and my drink. That was until some high-end guy sat in the seat next to me, and moved it closer. I slightly move to the side to take a sip of my drink, trying my best to ignore him, but he takes my drink out of my hand.
"You shouldn't be alone." He states. "It's not safe for a woman to be here alone."
"I'm fine." I say in a monotone.
"Why don't we get a drink? I can get you the top stuff." He boosts.
"I have the top shelf. Thank you" I state trying to reach for my glass.
He grabs my arm while he stands, lifting me up with him. I try to pull my arm away, but his grip hardens.
"Dance with me." He commands.
Before I can curse at him a big fist collides with his jaw, making him fall to the ground. I turn to my savior to see a man with a beard, top hat, and a cane. He moves to stand in front of me.
"Right, you say you're sorry to the lady." His cockney accent throws me.
"I'm not…" the man stops when he looks up. "Sorry ma'am." He then runs away.
"Names Alfie Solomons, love. " He tips his hat to me.
"(Y/n)." I purposely leave my last name out.
"You need a new drink, love. What you havin'?" He points to my spilt glass.
"Gin and water." I told him. I could tell it surprised him.
"That's fucking awful. Let me get you a proper drink." He sirs as he holds two fingers to the bartender.
"So, what has a gentleman, like yourself, in a club like this?" I smirk at him.
"I could ask the same, love." He chuckles.
We are a couple drinks down. Apparently the rum in London is a lot smoother than in Birmingham. We laugh at each other's stories. I say goodbye to my friends when they leave with their own men.
"I couldn't possibly drink another one." I giggle as I move the half empty glass away.
"Let me help you." He helps me stand straight as we walk out.
Alfie walks me to a cab that's sitting waiting outside. I laugh at myself as I slip into the seat. I lay my head against Alfie's shoulder as he tells the driver to go he moves to rest on my crossed knee, and the other over his cane. I run my hand along his arm until it wraps around his bicep, and the other rests on the top of his rough hand. He flips his hand to actually hold my hand. We rode in comfortable silence until I eventually leaned my head on his shoulder.
When we pull up to his hotel he pays the driver, and helps me out. I keep hold of his hand as he guides me up the stairs. Once we get to his door his hands go to my waist to pull me close to him. I run my fingers in his beard as I smile up at him as we lean into each other. We kiss like we haven't seen each other in years, like we needed each other. He starts to kiss along my jaw.
"Al…Alfie please open the door." I softly moan into his ear.
He gives me a smirk as he takes a small step back, but doesn't let go of me as he turns to the door. I squeal from being picked up from the waist, and I hear the door slam behind me. I giggle as I'm set on my feet again. I turn to Alfie, playfully hitting his arm.
"You awful man." I laugh.
He chuckles as he throws his jacket off letting it fall over a chair while his cane falls to the floor. He grabs me by my waist to pull me to his chest. I smile up at him as I move his suspenders down his arms. He backs us to the bed making us fall onto the bed, with my knees on his hips. I gasp when he starts kissing my shoulder to my neck. I grab the back of his neck as he starts moving his hand up my leg, bringing my skirt up with his hand. I rest my hands in his hair while I open my legs for him to kneel between them. He locks his eyes with me as he pulls my underwear down. With a tight grip on my thighs he begins to kiss along the inside of my thigh then doing the same to the other side. I tried to lean on my elbows to watch him, but the closer he gets the more intense I feel. I fall on my back with soft moans. He finally is close enough, but all he does is kiss my lower lips with a quick kiss. I almost whine, but it stops in my throat when he licks up my opening.
"Alfie." I reach for his hand on my hip.
He entwined our fingers, giving me a slight squeeze before completely devouring me like a starved man. My back arches into the air as I grasp the top of his head. I've never had a man do this, this good before. My thighs already start to shake from him playing with my clit.
"Alfie, please! I…" my head falls back as I beg.
I feel his free hand run up my stomach to my chest as he sucks my clit while pulling away. He uses his hand to hold me down while I shake under him, a moaning mess. While I catch my breath he stands to look over me, and slides his pants off. I quickly slide my dress over my head as he crawls between my legs. I rub my hands over his shoulders as he gets in between my legs. My body is just melted, a puddle under him. I actually need him. I've never needed anyone this way before, and it's throwing my mind off. I can't keep any sense to me while he slowly slides into me. He doesn't stop until his hips are against mine, and he leans down, his groans vibrating my shoulder.
"Fuck, love." He starts to move.
I move my hips along with his as he moves faster. He knows every spot like I've known him for years. The faster he moves the louder the bed squeaks, the harder I grip his arm, and he tightly squeezes me to his chest. I bite my lip to hold my moans in, but he rams hard enough to reach deeper than I could ever imagine. I have to hide my mouth in his neck as I moan out.
"Alfie. Please." I beg into his neck.
His movements become sloppy, and I can feel myself tighten around him, feeling every grove of him. With a deep groan and another deep ram we release at the same time. I tried to catch my breath, but Alfie pulling me to his chest didn't help. I usually leave after I relax for a moment, however his arms are so warm I fall asleep.
I wake up at some point in the morning, and begin to slowly leave. I have to get out of here before he gets up or it's going to be awkward. I don't have many one nights, but I know the rules. I get back to Adas while she is at work, so I just go back to bed for a couple hours. I'm woken by the phone ringing.
"Ada Thorne residents." I answer.
"(Y/n), I need you back soon. Come straight to the Arrow House." Tommy orders before hanging up.
"Oh yes Tommy. No problem Tommy." I grumble to myself hanging up the phone.
He's such a pain in the ass. I tell Ada Tommy's orders, and she just rolls her eyes as she helps me pack. I give her and Karl a final hug as I board the train. I can't stand how I have to follow Tommy's rules, and orders. I swear I'm gonna smack him one day.
Coming into the station I see Tommy's driver waiting for me, and helps with my bags. Of course Thomas Shelby couldn't meet his sister at the station. The drive to Arrow was peaceful, and all I thought about was Alfie. I start feeling guilty for leaving, for some reason. Pulling into the long driveway of the house I roll my eyes at Tommy's new living.
"(Y/n) welcome back. How's Ada?" Polly asks as she helps me step out of the car.
"Ada is fine, Karl is driving her mad with his shenanigans, but overall fine." I laugh with her while we walk inside.
"Well Tommy of course was ahead of himself, because his meeting isn't until tomorrow." She walks me toward the living room. "I told him you would already be here, but of course he didn't listen." She lights her cigarette as she talks.
"It's okay I wasn't really doing anything." I shrug.
She hums in reply, but Tommy stops her from actually saying anything. He doesn't even acknowledge us here, he just pours him a drink.
"(Y/n) my business partner will be here tomorrow afternoon. I need you there to have the papers in order." He simply tells me.
"Why can't Lizzie help you?"
"Because I have you doing something else." He walks away with no response from me.
The rest of the night I talked with Polly. I went to bed dreaming of ocean water. I woke to Polly shaking me awake for breakfast. I took my time getting ready, and setting the papers in front of Tommy making sure he saw I put them there. John, Arthur, and Tommy start talking business, so I just leave.
Around two in the afternoon I was called into Tommy's office by Polly. She has hard eyes when I see her, but I should've been listening to the voice in the office. As I walk in everything goes quiet.
"(Y/n)." When I hear that deep voice again I almost fall to my needs, but instead my head snaps up to the man standing next to my brother's desk.
"Al…what?" I try to gather myself, but of of course a girl can't do that when she has brothers.
"How the fuck do you know our sister?" Arthur stands from his seat.
Alfie just looks at me in shock as I do him, maybe in deeper shock. I look at Tommy as he stares at me. He knew. He knew, and that's why he called me to come here. My head begins to spin as John and Arthur start yelling, so I just run out of the room.
"(Y/n)!" I hear multiple voices call behind me.
I run to the side of the house, squatting down, and just take deep breaths. I slept with their business partner, and I might actually feel something for him. I already know it's not going to end well for me or Alfie. I stay leaning against the house until I hear my name being called.
"Love where are you?" I hear Alfie's voice call with the others.
I take a deep breath before walking out. Polly, John, and Alfie are watching me walk toward them. Alfie looks my body over with sad eyes before turning to his car. Polly puts her arms around me as Alfie drives away. I know we weren't together, but it still hurt he left.
"It'll turn out right (y/n)." John rubs my arm.
We walk back into the office we're a fuming Arthur is sitting with a calm looking Tommy. Polly sits me in a chair in front of the desk, and sits next to me as John stands behind my chair. The look Tommy is giving me is like he's looking at every depth of my soul. He clears his throat before light a cigarette, and turning his eyes to Arthur.
"His name is Alfie Solomons, and he runs the Jews in Camden Town. We started working with him when we went against Sabini, but Alfie decided he wanted the Italians." Tommy clears his throat. "You know everything after that, but he hasn't done anything lately." He looks at Arthur when he scoffs. "I need to know if you knew him."
"No, I swear we met at the club in London." I tell the truth.
"Do you care for him?" Tommy asks.
"I… well.."
"Who cares?! You go near him again, I'll cut him." Arthur storms out.
"Answer me." Tommy pushes.
"Thomas enough." Polly steps in, but Tommy just stares me down.
"I don't know." I shrug.
"You don't know, but yet you slept with him." He scoffs.
"Oh please like you are the Virgin Mary." I roll my eyes. "I did know he was a gang leader or something like that. He stood up for me and bought me a drink. He was different." I say the last to myself but of course Polly heard, and snapped her head to me.
"Alright that's enough. She hasn't done anything wrong,Thomas. What she chooses is her choice." Polly tells Tommy, and gives him the eyes that meant that the conversation is over.
She walks us up to my room, and shuts the door when I sit on my bed.
"Now it's my job to tell you what he said." She smirks at my reaction, and hands me a folded paper. "If you want to call him he will answer, and business is business not this." With that she left.
Over the next couple days I keep thinking of Alfie, so when the guys are gone I use the library phone to call Alfie, and when his deep force answers I freeze.
"Hello!" He calls again with frustration.
"Alfie?" I quietly answered.
"(Y/n)? Wha…are you okay?" He sounds so flustered.
"I'm okay. I just decided to call you." I hear something move in the background.
"I'm glad you called. I knew you couldn't resist me, love.'' He chuckles along with my giggles.
We talk until I hear a while blowing in the background. He grumbles under his breath.
"It's quitting time, love. I have to go."
"Oh okay." I pause for a moment. "Where do you work?"
"A bread factory in Camden Town." He tells me, but a loud bang is heard before I could respond. "Love I gotta go, I work with idiots."
"Okay bye Alfie." I giggle.
"Bye love." He hangs up.
I turn around to leave with a giddy smile on my face, but Tommy leaning against the door with his arms crossed.
"I'll deal with Arthur, just don't lie to us." He walked away before I could hug him.
I rush to my room, and throw things into a small bag. I have to get back to London. I tell my family where I was going, and the only thing Polly tells me is to be careful. The train pulls into the London station, and I see Ada waiting for me. When she sees me she gives me a smirk with her hands on her hips.
"I told you just because you are named Shelby doesn't mean you act like them." We laugh as we get to her car.
The next morning I got ready. I make sure everything is perfect before I get into the taxi. As the drive gets closer to where I'm going I begin to get nervous. What will happen? We stop close enough to the door. I knock on the big door almost getting hit with it when a scrawny man with an apron answers.
"I'm here for Mr. Solomons, the name's Shelby." I simply tell him.
He opens the door further for me, and I follow him through the bakery, up the stairs to Alfie's office. He points toward the door before going back down the stairs. I softly knock on the door before opening it slowly.
"What now, Ollie?" He doesn't look up from his papers until the click of my heels hit the floor as I walk to him. "What are you doing here, love?" I sit on the corner of his desk.
"Well I decided that I wanted to come see you, and that maybe we could talk somethings out." I nervously twist the bead on my dress.
"What is there to talk out? I assumed with your call the other day you were mine." He simply tells me as he stands.
"Well I guess so. I just…" He cages me with his arms.
"You wanted to see me." He finished for me. "I'm glad you're here." He kisses me deeply.
I stayed with Alfie for a whole week, and he almost had my brother banging down his door when he wouldn't let me leave. He ended up coming to Small Health for a few days until the smog got to him. After a couple of months of back and forth Alfie asked me to marry him. Arthur beat him up when we told everyone, but everything is overall okay. The day before my wedding Polly told me I was pregnant, and the baby was going to be famous. My sweet Sylvia was born. She was our angel. However our son Jack became a gang leader like his father. I love him to pieces, but he gives me heart failure.
#x reader#x reader smut#smut#fluff#fandom#reader x oc#reader#romance#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons fic#alfie solomons imagine#alfie solomons smut#alfie solomons x y/n#alfie solomons x you#alfie x reader#peaky blinders alfie#peaky blinder imagine#peaky blinder fanfic#peaky blinders imagine#peaky blinders fanfic#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders x reader#long reads#peaky blinders fic
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“Thé Noir” (Alfie Solomons x fem!Reader) — Part 1
SUMMARY — Soulmate!AU. Life is not exactly a bed of roses when your soulmate is none other than Alfie Solomons. This is the story of an unbreakable bond you share, with the heartache of war and the epic love story that follows.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — This is... Full of tropes! And cliche, and corny, and really romantic I hope! I also hope this is the Alfie content you all like and love, because I surely enjoyed writing it! Also it's part one out of two my loves purely because this fic turned out so so so LONG! ❤️ ❤️ ❤️
WORD COUNT — 4,084
Masterlist
By the time you were seven years old, you thought you knew everything there was to know about soulmates. Some were born and some were made, and then there were also those who never had one at all.
Soulmate marks and bonds differed between people—some had a symbol, some a name, some a scar resembling a burn mark that could fade or protrude against the skin depending on whether a person’s soulmate was far or near.
Some marks were faded and grey and those, you learned from your mother, those sometimes meant a person’s soulmate was long gone already.
“But other times,” she told you, seeing as that thought saddened her daughter, “other times it means their person wasn’t yet born.”
What your mother didn’t tell you, however, was how to live with the condition she had pretended to run in your family. Your soul bond was different and while your mother pretended to the world it was hereditary, you very quickly learned that it wasn’t.
Your soul mark wasn’t a mark at all. In fact, your person could hurt you or break you even at a distance; long before you two could even meet. What you had was different, what you had was a bond you tolerated, mostly hated, and at all times considered an affliction rather than any sort of blessing.
“Some people don’t have soulmates,” your mother reminded you whenever you would throw hands and demand of the Universe to sever all ties with the insufferable arse It had decided to tie you with for all eternity.
“And good for them!” you would shout then, eager to take your anger out on anyone and no one in particular. “Then they’ll never know what it’s like to have this!” you’d show your mother another bruise that had appeared on your arm overnight, “or this!” another cut that you now had over your left eyebrow and made your mother promise she would do everything in her power, with her creams and natural remedies, to make it fade away.
“He’s a right urchin, I’ll admit,” your mother would sometimes agree, then smirk knowingly when you repeated the word under your breath, trying to let out the steam along with it.
It’s not that you yourself were a particularly well-behaved little miss, but somehow calling your soulmate that name made you feel better about your shared experience.
Your affliction was to feel, most of all. You could feel everything your person felt, to some extent, but first and foremost—whatever trouble they had gotten into, whatever beatings, scars or bruises they received when acting reckless, you would get them, too.
That is why you listened patiently when your mother told you all about soulmates, and you nodded and stored and neatly packed all the pieces of information you could get from her about them.
It was not to understand, not even so much as to learn. All you wanted was to find the bastard who was doing this to you and strangle him yourself.
Because you knew it must have been a boy. Girls were generally more sensible, this much you were certain of.
Well… Perhaps not those who had their soulmates’ names ready on their arms, served to them by life on a silver platter. Those girls you avoided. As you learned very early on, they were right insufferable.
Those kinds of soul bonds annoyed you to no end, too, as it meant the people involved would have a choice—finding their person was as easy as going to the office on your sixteenth birthday and filing a clerical form.
You, on the other hand, had to spend your life hoping your senseless oaf of a soulmate wouldn’t just go and throw himself into the Thames if he so one day pleased and drowned you with him.
Judging by the tattoo he had presented you both when you turned thirteen, you wouldn’t be surprised if drowning on a dare wasn’t a possibility with him after all.
The tattoo, as expected, was too much for your father to stand. Generally not a patient man, and far too quick to smack your mother around when he thought no one was looking, once he noticed that tattoo on your hand you thought he would hit you, too.
All he did was throw a chair, though, and called you a name. Then he stormed out of the house and slammed the door behind him. For some reason your mother tried to persuade you to forgive him, but you thought nothing of it, really. You were used to the temper your father had—after all it was part of your inheritance.
What you couldn’t stand, though, was how your mother had spent her entire life trying to persuade her friends and neighbours that your condition was hereditary.
That you got it from her.
That you knew to be bullshit. Early on you learned not to contradict her, however, and let everyone assume the cuts and bruises on her skin had everything to do with a soul bond and nothing to do with your father being a despicable person.
As you got older, you realised through all the types of soulmates people had, you have never met anyone like you. So you learned to hide it just in case.
When you got your first job and tried to find out more about soulmates on your own, you quickly learned that hiding your condition was the safest option for you after all. People looked at you differently once they realised and you never were a person looking to get into trouble, not if you could avoid it. That was reserved for your person—always getting into something and marking you both for it.
But as far as you were concerned, you and your stupid street urchin could very well be the only two people in the world affected by this condition.
And even if it sometimes made you feel special, you would never say it.
When the war broke out, your attitude towards your soulmate changed somewhat.
The only uncontrollable force around you until that moment was your bond and your father’s unpredictable character. Now it felt like the rug had been pulled from under your feet and every day was spent on dreading that stupid man of yours would be called to the front.
You knew he was scared of that, too. Sometimes late at night you could feel your heart beating so fast it nearly jumped out of your chest, and you knew that what felt like an iron chain around your stomach was his admittance. It was him, telling you his deepest, darkest fear with no words spoken.
And you got it, because it wasn’t just about his bravado now. It wasn’t just him, leaving you both bruised after the fights you were sure he had started anyway.
There was a possibility of your soulmate dying and you realised that scared you more than your own death could.
Because one thing you never dared to ask your mother or anyone else was: if he died, would you die along with him? Or would it be your soul that crumbled into dust, leaving you a shell of your former self?
For the first time in your life you learned that you didn’t really hate him as much as you used to.
You didn’t know what to do with all of this, though. You weren’t even sure if he lived in London or not, but because you felt like you were so out of options, you were prepared to do something desperate enough to at least try to find that idiot of yours before it would be too late for you both.
Two more days passed before you felt that feeling of an iron chain around your stomach was back. One night you just couldn’t fall asleep and you knew then it was time for him to go to the front. Suddenly, the thought of never even meeting him scared you into action. Up until that point something told you that you two running into each other one day was as sure as the sun rising in the morning. Now you knew that wouldn’t be true unless you finally got up and did something about it.
As soon as the clock struck three in the morning, you snuck out of the house to get to the train station where you knew the drafted soldiers were being transported to the front.
It was there at the platform where you felt something other than anger or fear you had learned to associate with your soulmate for so very long. All of a sudden, there was something else, something that could only be described as a pull, followed by a surge of excitement and warmth that somehow told you straight away where you had to go.
You ran straight through the sea of soldiers until you felt that pull grow strong like a magnet, directing you towards the right wagon. But it was already closed when you got there.
You felt all that anger mixed with sadness and slammed your hand against the closed door, causing the station master to notice you and quickly trot towards you to get you away from the train.
“Miss!” he shouted, but you ignored him.
Helpless and scared, you screamed once more, this time jumping and slamming both hands against the window to at least get the attention of all the soldiers on the other side of it.
Because you knew your person was in there. You were so sure of it that at this point nothing else made sense—except for getting your message into that thick skull of his.
“Don’t you die, you hear me?!” you shouted at the wagon and one of the soldiers inside it grinned at his friends and pointed at you.
“Miss!” the station master made his way towards you and tried to pull you away, but you didn’t care.
You kicked the wagon in anger and pointed your finger at the window, because you couldn’t care less if you were making a spectacle of yourself.
“Don’t you die, you bloody idiot, because I swear I’ll find you and kill you myself, you hear me?!”
That earned you some laughs and whistles from the other soldiers, some of them even clapped in appreciation of the encouragement, since even if you were speaking to one of them directly, you knew full well that all of them could use lifting their spirits a little.
“Miss, get away from the train!” the station master barked and forcefully pulled you towards him as the whistle sounded and the train started to move.
“And don’t you get any more of those fucking tattoos, or so bloody help me, ya twat!” you screamed one last thing towards the wagon, kicking your legs in the air and trying to get away from the man’s iron grip.
It was then when one soldier in particular finally stuck his head out the window and you locked eyes with him. Your heart beat faster and you looked at him until he disappeared from view. Was it him? Suddenly you weren’t even sure.
“Miss…” the station master finally let go of you and even if you had caused him some concern, his wrinkled face looked more saddened than angry.
“That was my soulmate on this train,” you explained, not without some spite to your voice.
“So I figured.”
You looked behind you to catch a glimpse of the very last wagon crossing the line of the platform and disappearing into a thick morning fog.
“Am I going to be arrested?” you asked, thoroughly accepting of your fate.
After all, what more was there to lose on a day like this.
“Go home,” the station master placed his hand on your shoulder and this time it was meant as a comfort.
You nodded, though at the same time you knew full well home was the very last place you wanted to be.
You wandered the streets of London until mid-afternoon, when your worry was finally replaced by hunger and some sort of motivation to at least try to take care of your own needs.
But home still posed too real a possibility of too many questions from your parents you didn’t feel like answering. You went to the pub instead and bought yourself dinner with what little money you still had left from your weekly wages at the laundry house.
As you slurped the tasteless stew and thought of your next move, an idea appeared in your head that finally managed to put you in a better mood. It was a two birds, one stone sort of scenario and even if it felt a little bit like revenge, you knew it could ultimately help you both.
You had a rough idea where to find the person you needed for the job and so after dinner you went to the banks of the river.
You didn’t exactly know where to look first, but when you got there, you asked one of the sellers where to find the artist who tattooed the sailors.
Seeing as you were a woman, and tattoos were technically illegal, he wasn’t exactly eager to tell you. But you weren’t necessarily in the mood to explain your entire life story to a stranger, so instead of negotiating, you rolled up your sleeve and pointed to the one tattoo you already had there. The man didn’t have to know it hadn’t been your choice to get it there, though it seemed to do the trick because his attitude at once changed.
“Aye, all right,” the man sighed and pointed his finger in the right direction. “Ask for Bill, though he ain’t so keen to take no wenches, I can tell ya that.”
You told him a quick thanks and nearly sprinted towards Bill’s shabby establishment. There was a small chance he would accept your money if you explained, and as you entered the shop, that thought was the only thing that kept you going.
“No women,” the burly man, who you assumed was Bill, grunted from across the room.
You kept yourself from rolling your eyes at him, because aside from the fact that you wanted something from him, he was tall and intimidating—bald as a newborn bird and covered in various scars and tattoos.
“I got money,” you lied and repeated your plea once more afterwards, because the man refused to even glance in your direction. He was busy pretending to read the paper instead.
“Please,” you said then and stepped towards him to roll up your sleeve once more. “Do you know the man who has one just like this?”
“Plenty people have one like this,” Bill replied, not even bothering to look.
“But do you know one who has one in the exact same place?”
That finally caught his attention, because the question was unusual enough to suggest exactly what you wanted it to suggest.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” Bill gasped and all of a sudden there was a wide grin all across his face, replacing the scowl. “Yer Alfie’s girl!”
Alfie’s girl. That, you had to admit, sounded almost pleasant.
“He was drafted this morning,” you replied.
“Aye, so I’ve heard,” Bill nodded sagely and finally put down his crumpled newspaper. “So what can I do for ya, Alfie’s Girl? ‘Cause I don’t take no women clients, if ya want that then get out.”
You crossed your arms over your chest.
“Why?”
“Aye, ‘s ‘cause I don’t.”
“Not even the paying ones?”
“Naah, can’t take no risk. Women are different, ya see, softer. They can’t take that sorta pain.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.” Bill grinned at you again and this time you felt like fighting him just a little.
“Try bleeding for twelve weeks a year, then we’ll talk,” you scoffed and felt satisfied when Bill’s face scrunched up in disgust.
“Right you are, get out!” he pointed towards the door then, but there was no threat to it so you opted to ignore him.
“Please,” you said once more, “I never even got to meet him and now I don’t know if I ever will. Until today I never even knew his name!”
“Wha’?” Bill scratched his bald head and you could see he was mulling it over. “What d’ ya mean? He never found ya?”
“No.”
“Dirty bastard, I knew he wouldn’t,” Bill shook his head and motioned for you to come closer. “Listen. How ‘bout tea, then? ‘S a foul batch I got, tastes much like Satan’s piss, right, but it’s sure as hell more pleasant than a needle in yer arm.”
You considered that for exactly a split of a second before agreeing. This conversation at least felt like some sort of a victory. Perhaps you didn’t find him, but your instincts were correct. You now knew his name and before you was a person who at least knew him—or enough about him to tell you more.
“Tell me about him,” you asked Bill as soon as you two were sat down in the dingy back room of his parlour.
“Who, Alfie?” Bill chuckled as he poured hot water into the teapot. “Aye, believe you me, luv, he’ll be back. He’s a hell of a lot tougher than they gave ‘im credit for at the Fields.”
“Coldbath Fields?!” you exclaimed, knowing full-well that prison was one of the toughest there was. “What was he doing in there?”
“Aye, servin’ time, mostly,” Bill gave you another grin and sat down in front of you with a grunt. “Let me tell ya, there’s still a chance for ya to get out of this, yeah? You seem like a nice girl an’ I don’t have to tell no one if you don’t want me to.”
You frowned at the suggestion and shook your head quickly. You weren’t about to back down now, not when sitting together with a whole encyclopaedia of knowledge about your soulmate.
“He ain’t no peach, your soulmate, right,” Bill said then and pointed to your arm where the tattoo was. “That right there is a gang mark they ask me to do for him.”
This one almost took your breath away. That first moment of being somewhat enamoured with the idea of Alfie quickly faded right back into the familiar feeling of hate and annoyance.
“That bloody idiot!” you exclaimed and Bill, clearly taken aback by your reaction, leaned back a little in his seat.
“So all this time he had me walking around London with a fucking gangster mark on my arm?!” you shouted. “What the hell was he thinking?!”
“Aye, clearly he wasn’t, but pipe down, girl, bloody hell!” Bill chuckled and motioned for you to settle down.
You did just that, but only to stew in silence as Bill continued to talk:
“Right, so he was in prison more times than that. Only now they told him they could either hang him or send him to the colonies. He almost chose the colonies, right, but then they started draftin’ the inmates for cannon fodder an’ so they sent him out to die for the cause. Since that’ll teach ‘im, eh? Good enough to steal, good enough to fight, I reckon’s what they think.”
You shook your head and tried to take a calming deep breath just like your mother taught you when your temper reached a boiling point.
“But now he’s out there and he doesn’t even know my name,” you said, quieter than before. You looked up at Bill and tried to plead with your eyes.
“That’s what ya wanted me to do?” Bill frowned and that made you laugh, because for sure it couldn’t have been the most outlandish brand anyone has ever asked him for.
“I was thinking it’d be only fair,” you explained and pointed to your shoulder where you wanted your own tattoo to be. “Seein’ as he got me this one, and the one on my leg. And then there’s the scar here,” you pointed to your stomach, “and something I’m pretty sure is from a bullet. That one hurt like hell for weeks.”
Bill shook his head again and finally reached to pour you two that cuppa.
“Fuck me, he weren’t lyin, right,” he said quietly. “You twos are the proper twins then.”
That made you pause because you had never heard anyone give the bond you shared with Alfie any sort of name before.
“Yous are what they used to call reduplicated,” Bill explained further, taking real pleasure in uttering the last word in a way more complicated than necessary. It made you smile.
“Two of the same soul. Stuck in two people.” Bill held up two fingers and crossed them together. You nodded, because as far as you knew that made perfect sense.
“That’s how it is,” you shrugged and took a sip of the tea before you.
It was as bitter and every bit as foul as advertised and Bill laughed in earnest when you started coughing.
“Aye, ‘atta girl, let it out,” he laughed once more and reached across the table to pat you on the arm. “‘Atta girl, ‘s not that bad. Ya better get used to it, right, ‘cause we’re friends now, an’ I’ll be wantin’ ya to check in on me from time to time, yeah? See if yer alright, Alfie’s Girl.”
You nodded and let out one final cough before sipping the disgusting liquid again and scrunching your nose at the taste.
“There,” Bill reached across the table once more and poured you a hefty portion from his hip flask.
“Will this help?” you asked then, unconvinced.
“With the taste? Nah. But it’ll sure as hell help you. Now,” Bill raised his mug towards you and emptied the last of the flask’s content into it. “To Alfie Solomons, that right bastard! May his luck never run out and may his fuckin’ legs stay put to bring him back to his beloved!”
You laughed at that toast, but nodded when you drank it. The alcohol burned slightly less than Bill’s tea concoction.
That first week after the draft was the worst you have ever felt in your entire life. It wasn’t much better afterwards, but the way things quickly turned to shit even at home, you found yourself working more and more, then desperately grasping at any odd job still available for women in London.
You still felt him, though. Alfie. Wherever he was, you could at least still feel him and you knew he was alive.
After that first desperate week, though, one good thing to come out of it was Bill finally obliging your request. As stupid as he thought it, he tattooed your own name on your left shoulder. You didn’t make a sound, which you knew annoyed him a little, because it wasn’t exactly what he expected from his first woman customer. Once he wiped out the blood and leftover ink, you noticed that he had added a little heart after the name. You gave him a sharp look and Bill chuckled at it, not afraid of your temper in the slightest.
“Aye, give ‘im somethin’ to hope for at least,” he said. “You can break his heart later, I know he’d let ya.”
You rolled your eyes and told him you had to go back to work. That was a lie, though. You just wanted to get away from Bill in case he realised. In case he could read it in your face.
Because you didn’t really want to break Alfie’s heart anymore, not in the slightest. Yes, you were still annoyed with his choices, but all you now wanted was to see him. You wanted to meet him, you wanted to slap him across the face for all the scars and muscle ache, but most important of all you wanted to hold him close—alive. You wanted the chance to reunite the two of the same soul and see what it would be like.
So that night when you finally got the chance to rest for a couple of hours in your own bed, you looked at the fresh scar of a tattoo, still burning and inflamed, and you thought, Please don’t die, you fucking oaf, not until I find you.
For the first time in a long time, you slept easy that night, hoping that wherever Alfie was, for once in his life he could do you the bloody courtesy of doing as you asked.
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Always Were My Favourite | Alfie Solomons x gn!reader
『••✎••』
↳ ❝ Alfie Solomons (enby, gn, or male reader)
“Pumpkin, you're dating an asshole.” ❞
: ̗̀➛ There's a slight problem when Alfie happens to be in love with his best friend, right as they're going through a terrible breakup.
: ̗̀➛ swearing, mentions & references to cheating, threats of violence
•───────────────★•♛•★──────────────•
You huffed as you sat down opposite your best friend, scowling and lighting a cigarette that sat at the corner of your mouth. Of course you were well aware of how much he detested and despised and loathed the man you had chosen; you couldn't blame him.
The Italian-American mafia had always been a pain in his backside, and he was disappointed; there were plenty of good, decent men in Camden.
Why the fuck did you decide to run off with some Italian who would use you against him?
But Alfie did also understand it; your man spoiled you rotten. He bought you all the finest clothes from the best Italian tailors, he bought you all the best shoes from the best Italian makers.
He loved you with his money.
Alfie could see the appeal, to be looked after and never want for anything; but Alfie also knew you very well, and he knew that you weren't happy. Not truly. You put on a tough front, you always did, but Alfie could see right through it.
You wanted something more than just flashy, pretty, expensive gifts; even now, Alfie could see that you were wearing your old boots. Scuffed up and scruffy from years of hard work.
He almost wanted to smile, until he saw your eyes; the whites were red, and he could easily tell that you had tried to cover up where you had been crying.
A hitch in your throat when you took a drag from your cigarette.
A shake of your fingers when you withdrew it from your lips.
An audible gulp and a harsh swallow.
Alfie tilted his head to the side, furrowing his brows and closely watching you for a moment before he cleared his throat, coming to sit at the edge of his desk. His thick fingers drummed against the dark reddish brown wood.
"Pumpkin," he tutted. "Pumpkin, you're dating an asshole. I don't know how many fuckin' more times I can tell you... what'd that cunt do this time?"
You shrugged as you sniffled, shaking your head. "Note- nothing. Nothing, Alf. He did... he did nothing..."
"Bit more than nothin'," Alfie growled. "Talk to me."
"Don't be mad," you breathed out, shaky and unstable.
His gaze narrowed as he clenched his jaw, squinting. "Why the fuck would I be?"
You took in a sharp breath, trying to gather yourself for a moment. "I caught him with someone else... and he just... he sat there... didn't even... didn't- didn't look at me."
Alfie's gaze turned to stare out for a thousand yards, his grip on the desk making his knuckles turn white, his shoulders suddenly tensing up. A ragged breath left him, and the veins in his hands became more prominent.
Alfie promised he would never let anyone harm you, that he would never let anyone upset you; now you were sitting just a few steps away, shaking and crying and telling him so openly that you had caught your man in bed with someone else.
He was going to kill him.
But then his gaze snapped back to you, and Alfie sighed as he took the cigarette from you, chucking it aside; he was as gentle as he could be when he brought you to stand, slowly and carefully guiding you to stand between his legs when he sat down in his chair.
He tugged at your sleeves, and when you sat on his lap, he was quick to pull you in closer. Your head rested against the side of his neck, and he put one hand at the small of your back to keep you steady. You broke completely, crying and crying against him as he softly hushed you and told you that it was alright - he would deal with it.
Alfie always did.
Maybe it was because he had a weak spot for you; he had done for so long and he had never been able to find the time to tell you. Maybe he loved you a lot more than he was letting on, and maybe that was just something of his that could never be washed away. You were his favourite person, you always would be.
"Thank you," you whispered softly, pulling away and gently resting a hand on his cheek, his beard bristling and tickling your skin. "Really, Alfie, I, I, just-"
Alfie wasn't even expecting it when you leaned in, kissing him softly; he knew it was wrong, but he kissed you back eagerly.
"We shouldn't," he breathed out, shaking his head.
You shook your head. "I'm do sorry, pumpkin, I-"
"I should have known," you sniffled. "He was... Alfie, he was never any good for me, but... but you?"
"No," he begged softly.
"You've always been there for me," you wept softly. "You've always been my favourite..."
Alfie frowned as he felt tears sting at the corners of his eyes. "You don't wanna do this, now. Trust me, it's a fuckin' mistake and you ain't ready and-"
"But I want to," you told him. "Alfie..."
For a brief moment, he closed his eyes, sighing heavily as he licked his lips. "I'm gonna kill that fuckin' cunt. For everythin' he did to you, I'm gonna kill him."
But he knew that it was more than that, he really did. He hated it but he knew he couldn't change it even if he wanted to; you were his biggest weakness and he would do anything to keep you safe and away from harm at all cost.
Of course Alfie wondered if maybe the whole thing was just some horrible scheme to get under his skin so the mafia could fuck him over, but... even if it was, he knew that he had to do everything to protect you, and to make sure that no one ever hurt you again.
"Come on," Alfie murmured, gently patting your back as he dared to crack a broken smile. "Why don't we fuck off down the little alley where that little coffee shop you like is? We'll pick somethin' up, go back to mine, and then you can rest, yeah?"
You nodded slowly. "Alfie?"
"Mm?"
You gently kissed his cheek, as much as it pained him. "I love you."
#mlem writes#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons x y/n#alfie solomons x you#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons fic#alfie solomons#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders x y/n#peaky blinders x you#peaky blinders imagine#alfie solomons imagine#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders fic#peaky blinders#tom hardy x reader#tom hardy x you#tom hardy x y/n#tom hardy imagines#tom hardy imagine#tom hardy fanfic#tom hardy fic#tom hardy fanfiction#tom hardy
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Dirty Bliss - An Alfie Solomons/Reader One Shot Story.
Here we are then, everyone. The first winning submission from my new Tell me your Fantasy feature is here, this from @liliac-dreamer, their fantasy as follows -
Now, we all know the mad baker gives massive public-place-sex vibes, BUT! To me he mostly gives off possessive/territorial vibes, so... Is there any way you can mix these two things together? (maybe one of the people he's dealing with tries to get too close and he NEEDS to show you're already spoken for? Maybe he let's them overhear something? 😉 )
I hope this lives up to your little fantasy, darling! :)
Words - 1,666
Warnings - Smut below the cut, minors DNI!
You can always feel when Alfie is on edge. It isn’t just the fact that his muscles stiffen like lead, or that his jaw clenches and he begins grinding his teeth. His entire being seems to seethe with palpable annoyance, just like he is now, sitting next to you within the private box at the Royal Opera House, tension coursing through him. There’s a very specific reason why, too, why he cannot enjoy Aida, one of his favourite operas.
Albert Ross is that reason.
The business associate, a fellow figurehead within the organised crime world, has never made a secret of his desire for you, no matter how perilous such might be, to openly covet another dangerous man’s wife. Especially when that man is Alfie Solomons.
“He’s fuckin’ undressing you with his bleedin’ eyes,” he hisses in your ear, the sound of back teeth grinding in fury audible as his eyes dart between the stage and Albert.
Resting a calming hand to his thigh, you stroke, hoping to settle him. “He’s only looking, love,” you remind him. “I’m not about to go dive on him, you know that. And he’d be even more of a stupid prick than we know he already is if he tried anything with me.”
Alfie rumbles a quiet laugh, his hand covering yours. “Ain’t that the truth, treacle.”
It seems this notion is entirely negatable, though, you discover after excusing yourself to go and powder your nose, wanting to ensure that your visage is indeed perfect. The toilets up there for the private box guests are a single room with one lavatory, able to be locked from the main entrance door rather than housing multiple sectioned cubicles, but since you are only there to quickly check your face, you do not bother clicking said lock.
About ten seconds after placing your compact back into your small, beaded clutch, you wish that you had.
“Evening, you lovely little filly.”
Turning to Albert, you lift your chin, not wanting the small flare of nerves you felt within grow to show upon your face. “Mr Ross.” Straightening, you push your chest forward, willing yourself to radiate confidence and nonchalance over his intrusion. “This is a ladies’ only bathroom. I shall have to ask you to leave.”
Albert sucks a breath over his teeth, making a show of pondering your words. “I know, Mrs Solomons. It is, however, the only place I could get you alone, to reveal to you my intentions.”
“I care not for them, excuse me.” Stepping forward, you swerve around him, the man catching your arm in a firm grip.
“Not so fast.”
Snatching your arm back, he hangs onto you. “Get your fucking hand off me!”
“No,” he tells you firmly, closing the space between you, his eyes radiating entertainment at your biting reaction to his advances. “Won’t be doing that, not until I’ve had a piece of you, you pretty little thing.”
“Now, now, old son,” you hear Alfie speak, pushing open the door. Horror fills Albert’s eyes immediately. You aren’t the only one who wishes they’d locked it behind them on entry to the facilities, something Alfie does after stepping in. “You heard the lady. Get your fucking hand off her.”
His words are delivered quietly, but with all the frost of an arctic chill, Albert releasing you from his grip immediately, his mouth floundering. “Alfie, mate. It isn’t what it looks like.”
His eyes widen as he stands at your side, his chest barrelling. “Oh, do forgive me for not having my glasses on, because what it looked like, yeah. Is you putting your dirty fucking hands on my wife. And what it sounded like, right, was you telling her you wouldn’t remove ‘em until you got a piece of her!” Turning to you, he amps up the slight theatrics of his retort. “Apparently, I need an ear trumpet as well as a new pair of specs, my darlin’.”
“Alfie, please, I...”
“No!” he bellows, reaching into his jacket and pulling out a gun. “You’ve said quite enough for tonight, sunshine. Now, what you’re gonna do next, yeah, is fucking stand there against them sinks, and watch me get a piece of what you wanted.” His face falls, Alfie chuckling. “Oh yeah, that’s right, Albert. Ain’t nobody who teaches a fuckin’ lesson like me.”
The blaze of arousal you feel melts down your spine, puddling between your legs, turning to kiss Alfie’s neck, his soft beard tickling against your nose. “Yeah, take your dress off, love. I want him to get a full view of that’s mine and mine alone.” He reaches with his free hand to assist, lowering the zip while you smirk at Albert, arousal radiating from your every pore.
To fuck in front of someone else has always been somewhat of a turn on for you, but to do it before a man who has presented himself as an adversary, while your husband keeps him there at gunpoint, well. It is not your typical Friday night, that’s for certain. Once your gown is removed, you take it to hang upon a brass peg mounted onto the tiles, Alfie moving to close the wooden lid upon the toilet, seating himself, arm still raised, his pistol pointed at Albert.
Crouching before him, your smile widens, Alfie’s eyes flitting to yours for a second, grinning. “This is gonna be a good time, treacle. A right memorable trip to the opera.” Unzipping his trousers, you pull his rapidly thickening cock free, taking him into your mouth, your lips gliding down the thick, vein ridged shaft. “Oh yeah, sweetheart,” he encourages, his free hand coming to rest gently on your shoulder. “That’s it, my darlin’, fuck!”
You can only imagine the look upon Albert’s face at being forced to watch, hearing Alfie chuckling softly with amusement between his gruff grunts, your mouth working him, leaving little trails of red from your lipstick all over his flushed cock, precum wetting your tongue as you moan around the thick of him. You work him so well, you can feel his thighs tremble, his cock twitching a little in your throat, Alfie reaching to gently grasp your jaw.
“More of that later, my love,” he speaks, winking at you. “Don’t wanna spend myself before Albert here gets to watch the main act.” Standing up, he pushes your hip in indication he wants you to turn, facing Albert, his face set in a mixture of arousal and chagrin, while you take Alfie’s cock and guide him to your glistening apex, sinking down with a soft sigh.
“Mmmm, there’s no better cock in the world than yours,” you hum, turning to kiss him, all smouldering embers as you begin to bounce upon him.
“Yeah, look at that, Albert,” Alfie moans, his arm tightening around you, hand then reaching to grasp your breasts in turn. “Look how beautiful she looks split around a great, big cock. And you were hoping it’d be yours. Nah, son. Not tonight, and not with my missus.”
The sight of someone watching has thrill meeting fire, the heat misting, biting pleasure warming your veins as you chuckle, Albert’s face reddening more.
“I think he likes it,” you purr in tease, turning to run your tongue up Alfie’s cheek, your husband beginning to move beneath you, doing an excellent job of bouncing you upon his long, girthy cock.
“And who wouldn’t like watching a woman as fuckin’ sublime as you getting fucked, eh, my sweetheart? He’s just sour that it ain’t him doing the fucking though, ain’t you, Al?” The man remains quiet, looking at the floor. “Oi! Chin up and answer me, you cunt!”
“Yes, Alfie. I am.”
“Yeah,” Alfie chuckles, panting as he kisses your shoulder, “bit of truth never hurt no one, did it? Except maybe you and your pride. As it should.” He continues to laugh, his tongue touring your throat, gun still primed as you circle your hips on him, your walls fluttering as the sound of your sex fills the room, the wet squelch of him cutting into you deeply, your flesh smacking together. “God, fucking ‘ell, my love. You bloody don’t half know how to ride a cock. Yeah, fuck, that’s it.”
His encouragement spurs you on, your eyes never leaving Albert’s, watching the humiliation dance in his irises, your mouth dropping open as you feel Alfie’s fingers reach to begin rubbing your clit, his lips peppering kisses against your spine.
“Mmm, fuck, darlin’,” he pants. “Let’s get you comin’ hard all over my cock, yeah?”
The tempest of fervid heat begins to wind within you, coiling hard, the pleasure rolling and coursing as you pant, his fingers rubbing at your bud tightly, the press firm as he strokes your slick, his teeth sharp at your shoulder.
“Fuck!” you cry, breathless as it catches you, wailing ferally as he tips you into the glittering abyss of your release, Alfie staccato beneath you as his cock twitches and then fills you with thick ribbons of cum, everything that was frenzied beginning to slow, catching your breath.
“Well, Albert,” he begins, panting hard. “I hope that taught you a thing or two over just what the fuck I will and won’t tolerate. Now, if I ever see you in my neck of the woods again, the belly of the Thames will get what my dogs don’t finish from that festering bag of bones. You fuckin’ understand, yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. Now, get the fuck out.” Albert tears a path from the room, and you get up quickly to go and re-lock the door, save anyone else coming in and witnessing your near nudity, snickering into your evening glove covered hand.
“I think I enjoyed that,” you laugh, Alfie pulling himself back into his trousers as he stands.
“I know you did, you mucky mare,” he chuckles with affection. “Had you wailing louder than the bird out there on the stage, didn’t I?”
Yes. He most certainly did.
#alfie solomons#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons smut#alfie solomons x female reader#alfie solomons x you#alfie solomons imagine#tom hardy#tom hardy fanfiction#tom hardy smut#tom hardy x female reader#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders smut#ddd tell me your fantasy feature
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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?”
#10k celebration#fandom-puff’s 10k celebration#10k blurbs#10k baby blurbs#alfie solomons x reader#Alfie Solomons x you#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons#peaky blinders x reader#peaky blinders x you
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sugar & spice—Alfie Solomons x f!reader
summary: being married to the infamous Alfie Solomons has its ups and downs. and so do your visits to his office.
word count: 1.3k
WARNINGS: swearing. a little spicy but nothing too explicit.
AGELESS/EMPTY BLOGS & MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED!
A/N: took prompt #10 (“Now, I ain’t gonna tell you twice, sweetheart—get out of my bloody office.”) from the film noir celebration list of @solomons-finest-rum ❤️
gif: @userfezcos
He was menacing, powerful and not to be messed with. That much you knew from whispers heard around the block. Yet when the day came that you got to meet the infamous Alfie Solomons, you were… surprised. To put it mildly.
There was something about him that seemed to be calling out to you. He liked an intellectual opponent to tussle with, and you were every bit of that. You exchanged fake pleasantries, followed by plenty of innuendos that were not left without cheeky grins and lustful looks. It was more than evident after the first hour that the interest was mutual, and that you both wanted the same thing.
After a while, it went beyond carnal pleasure, sweat dripping down your bodies and names being shouted in the throes of passion. It turned into love, the purest affection, and just like that, Alfie Solomons knew he had found the one for him.
Now everyone knew Mr. and Mrs. Solomons. Everyone knew not to mess around with you, to not even throw you a single conspicuous glance down your way. You were meant for his eyes only, the most precious jewel ever to be worn by a singular man.
And the truth was, you’ve never felt more alive and cared for than whenever you were around Alfie.
You allowed yourself certain liberties though; as his wife, it was your duty to support him and his business and you did exactly that. However, whenever you showed up at the office, you made sure to look your best.
Like any respectable woman, you enjoyed some looks every now and then. You felt flattered, nothing more. All your devotion, attention and arousal were for Alfie, no one else, ever. And your appearance was meant strictly for Alfie as well.
He’s heard you by the click, click, click of your heels on the marble floor. He grins to himself, eyes still immersed into the papers before him. He lets you do your devilish walk to his office before choosing to do any move. It’s all part of the little cat and mouse game you always got going on. You both love it, both thrive off of it, so why not let it run its course?
“Come in,” his coarse voice announces as he hears the knock on the door.
Then, as his eyes rise from underneath his reading glasses, he nearly chokes on nothing but air.
You chose bolder clothing for today. Usually you carry some form of respect for the name you now have and for his business, but today it seems you went for carelessness. Your dress is as tight as it could be, embracing your front, your curves, and it shows a little more leg than usual. Now for him, this is the most mouth-watering sight he could possibly wish for, but the idea of you walking around like sex on a stick is troublesome, and it rises his blood pressure more than he would’ve thought, awakening some primal instinct within.
“What brings you here today, love? Dressed like that, no less.”
You take a look at your own outfit, playing innocent for a while longer.
“I thought you are more open-minded than other men, my dear,” you lovingly scold him.
“What’s that have to do with anything?”
You throw him a side glance, accompanied by a coy smirk.
“You are not one of those men who dictate their wives what to wear or what to do, are you?”
“The bloody hell I am! But there’s no one that could ever tell you what to do, love.”
You grin, oddly proud of yourself. “True.”
You pace around the office, staring at its walls—but subconsciously, letting Alfie take a good look at you.
“To what do I owe the pleasure then, love?”
“Better ask, ‘to whom I owe the pleasure’, to which I’d answer ‘to me, of course’.”
Alfie raises one eyebrow, scanning you carefully.
“This what you wanna do then?” he questions. “Parade yourself around to get me riled up?”
You shrug. “Measure your words, darling.”
You see him take a deep breath, finally rising from his chair. In an ideal world, if it wasn’t yet another busy day, he’d be already lifting your dress and bending you over the desk. But you admire his strength nonetheless.
“Do I need to walk around this much to get you riled up?”
“Woman, you only need to look at me and I’d be good to go.”
You chuckle, your ego receiving a boost like none other.
“So why are you here?” Alfie inquires.
“Can’t I visit my husband at work?”
You waltz near him, biting your lower lip and playing with the collar of his shirt.
“You’re a minx,” Alfie coos. “I don’t trust you with these visits of yours.”
“Would you rather I tell you straightforward what I’d like?”
“Ideally, yea.”
There’s a coy smile sprayed across your face, a trademark wicked one that Alfie fell for each and every time. It was a surefire way to let him know that you were up to no good, but fucking hell, it was one of his favorite things in the whole wide world.
“I’d appreciate it if you’d lock that door, bend me over that desk and let me know just how much you despise me walking into your office dressed like this.”
Alfie chuckles, the same devilish intention residing behind the sound.
“Fuckin’ hell,” he keeps on laughing. “I knew you had it in ya.”
“I don’t have anything in me yet.”
Alfie keeps grinning, much like a madman, but eventually decides that two can play at that game. He stares you down for as long as he can, looking you up and down.
“Best be on your way home cause when I get there, I’d wanna see that pretty arse of yours bent over for me.”
You pretend to pout. “Are you throwing your wife out? Really?”
“Now, I ain’t gonna tell you twice, sweetheart—get out of my bloody office.”
“Or what?”
He feels his blood pressure rise more so than before, his pants impossibly tighter by now, but he prevails.
“Or I might take you up on that offer of yours.”
“That is the least threatening thing you could tell me.”
Alfie grins, reaching around to pull you in by your waist and the next second, he hungrily kisses you.
The kiss is wet, needy and hot and it sets you both ablaze with the speed of lightning. Neither of you wants to let go, especially not when you feel Alfie hard against your crotch, struggling to catch his breath and trying to grind against you.
“Where’s your smart mouth now?” you cheekily ask.
“Hoping to be on more of you, actually.”
“Then do me a favor—lock that fucking door already.”
Alfie pulls away so abruptly you have difficulty believing that anything even happened before. You feel a little insulted, really, but not too much. You know you’ll be well rewarded – although right now the scale seems to be tipped towards punishment—later.
“You come into my office, my bloody office, right? Wearing something like that—and you want me to do you on your terms, sweetheart? I fucking think not.”
He grabs hold of your ass, squeezing it as hard as he can, and you gasp, the heat between your legs growing impossible to ignore.
“Go home, and best be ready for me cause you’ll be too fucked out to say anything but my name, love.”
Left speechless, you don’t fight him on it. You lick your lips in anticipation of what’s to come, swaying your hips to the exit and throwing him one last siren-like gaze that you make sure would last him for the next several hours.
tags:
@phoenixhalliwell @potter-solomons @solomons-finest-rum @acourtofsnakes @alexxavicry @wildmoonflower @minxsblog @hotchlover @kaitieskidmore1 @hp-hogwartsexpress @doin-stuff
#alfie solomons#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons x you#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons fic#alfie solomons smut#tom hardy#tom hardy fanfiction#tom hardy smut#peaky blinders#peaky blinders fanfiction#peaky blinders fic#peaky blinders smut
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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.
#peaky blinders#alfie solomons#alfie solomons x reader#alfie solomons imagine#alfie solomons fanfiction#shelby reader
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HOME . ALFIE SOLOMONS
summary: alfie comes back to a not so peaceful home
warnings: unedited, pregnancy, period typical sexism, gender roles, angst, alfie isn't a very good husband but he's trying, they're a lil toxic but they're in love, swearing, slight sexual content (literally one mention of it), lmk if i missed any.
word count: 3.8k
The days were too fucking long.
That's what Alfie thought as he walked through the front door, the sun had set hours hours ago, a nighttime fog clouding the dimly lit streets.
His day had been an easy one, by all accounts. He hadn't had to reprimand anybody, he had received minimal visitors in his office, and his knuckles were not bruised from where he had to smack a man for mouthing off. All in all, it had been a good day for the gangster.
Home had always been a welcome reprieve from his day job. Growing up in Camden, with no money and without a pot to piss in, he had never known the comfort of having your own home to come back to, one without the shouts of arguing neighbours coming through the walls, or black mold coming through the peeling patterned wallpaper.
Once he had finally made enough money through his multiple business ventures, he had bought a pretty house on the corner of a nice street - a street with trees that blossomed in the summer, one where the residents had time to take pride in their gardens - a truly upper class paradise.
He always thought his mother would have liked a home like this one.
It didn't come without its challenges - his neighbours would tend to cross the road when they saw him walking home, they would rush back in their houses when they saw him leaving his, even his dog was isolated from the other canine residents of the street - still, it was his home.
It was the home in which he had held his wedding reception, big enough to host the many people that came to wish him and his bride a happy life together. It was the home in which his first and second child had been born in - the first tears they cried occurring in their parents bedroom. It was the house the baby that was still growing in his wife's belly would be born in, too.
The house was different now. When he had first moved in - a single man that spent more time in his distillery than the expensive home - it had been slightly cold all the time, bare walls and empty cupboards. Now, the house was always the perfect temperature, the walls were decorated with stylish wallpaper and art he didn't understand in gold frames, there wasn't a cupboard in the house that wasn't full, perfectly organised and tidy.
It had gone from Alfie's status symbol to his family home.
It was hotter than usual when he walked through the foyer, though he didn't have time to dwell on it, the screams of his youngest child piercing his ears the second he opened the front door.
It was unusual and it made Alfie reach for the gun he always kept tucked into the back of his belt. The house was always filled with laughter when he arrived home from work, especially when he was home as early as he was now.
He crept toward the kitchen, the pained cries of his little girl getting louder with every step he took, his gun held in front of him.
"Daddy's home!"
He barely had time to register what was happening when he reached the kitchen, a harsh shove to his side sent him flying into the door frame, the gun going off and shooting a hole in the china cabinet before he even knew what was happening.
"What the fuck, Alfie?" He could barely hear his lovely wife's voice over the cries of his children. Looking to his right, his son was crouched on the floor, his hands covering his ears as he cried for his mummy.
His little girl was crying even louder now from her place on her mother's hip, her small hand gripping the woman's hair that had fallen out of her up-do.
"It was an accident," Alfie held his hands up, quickly dropping them to his side when his children cried louder at the sight of the gun in his hand, "he pushed me," he gestured to the boy that was still crouched on the floor.
"He's fucking eight years old, Alfie," his wife scoffed, rushing over to the little boy and kneeling beside him, running a hand through his hair in the comforting way only a mother was capable of.
"Stop swearing in front of the children."
"You just fired a fucking gun into the china cabinet," she shrieked, struggling to stand with the pronounced bump of her belly and child in her arms.
"I'm sorry," he sighed, tucking the gun back into his belt and running a hand over his face. "Benjamin," he held a hand out to his youngest, who had stopped crying, his face stained with tears. The young boy ignored his father, tucking himself into his mother's side, throwing a glare at the man.
Alfie sighed heavily, hands on his hips as he studied the three most important people in his life as they stood in front of him, a team that he was not on.
He was about to open his mouth and apologise when a cloud of smoke drifted over to him, stinging his eyes. He glanced to the oven, where the pot on the stove began to shake. The liquid inside bubbled furiously, its simmering turning into a violent boil. The aroma, once promising and inviting, transformed into an acrid, burning smell that hit everyone in the kitchen all at once.
"Shit," his wife spat, shoving their daughter into her father's arms carelessly before rushing to the stove, grabbing the pot with uncovered hands, and throwing it into the sink. She hissed as the pain registered, running her hands under the cold water, the skin red and angry.
"I can get these two ready for bed," he offered meekly, shrinking back slightly at the glare he received.
"Oh, how kind of you," she hissed, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, turning back to the sink before anyone in the kitchen could see them fall.
Bedtimes were not Alfie's forte. He would usually arrive home after the children had been bathed and changed, just early enough to dip into their respective bedrooms and kiss them goodnight. Even when he was home, he was too tired from his day to do much more than that, leaving it to the woman that seemed to be a natural at such things.
"Bessie, please," Alfie huffed as the two year old splashed him with water. It had taken him longer than he would like to admit to even get her in the bath, her body straightening into an unbreakable line when he tried to lift her in, wriggling through his hands in a way that made him feel like he was holding the world's strongest jelly.
The little girl laughed as she continued to soak her father with bubbles, blowing them from her tiny hand in his face whenever he tried to reach over and rinse the suds from her curly hair.
He gave up eventually, hoisting her out of the bath before she knew what was happening, wrapping her in a towel and carrying her to her bedroom.
She sat on her little bed, watching him with curious eyes as grumbled to himself digging through her wardrobe trying to find a pair of pyjamas.
"Don't suppose you fancy wearing this to bed?" He held up a frilly dress he remembered her wearing to his cousins wedding, throwing it back in the drawer when she giggled at him.
"Her pyjamas are in the drawers, not the wardrobe," Benjamin's voice called from the door frame. He was stood in his nightwear, his hair still damp from his own bath.
"I knew that," Alfie scoffed, slamming the wardrobe closed and stalking over to the other side of the room, pulling open the chest of drawers less than gently.
"Second drawer, not first," Benjamin stated, and Alfie failed to recall a time he felt more judged than in this very moment. He finally located a pair of pyjamas, moving to sit on the bed next to his daughter as he began to dress her, thanking his lucky stars she seemed to have burned off most of her energy in the bath, her body floppy with tiredness.
"Mummy cried a lot today," his son said, leaning against the door frame, his arms crossed in a way that reminded Alfie too much of himself. "Bessie was being difficult."
"Bessie is two years old," the older man's eyebrows pinched together. "You were difficult too at that age." He finished dressing Bessie, gently pulling the covers back and placing her small head on the pillow as her eyes began to droop closed.
"How would you know?" Alfie's head snapped towards his son at his words.
"Excuse me?" The question was asked through gritted teeth.
"Bubbe came over," Alfie fought the urge to roll is eyes at the mention of his mother-in-law. The old cow had never liked him. "Mummy told her you were never around when I was little and you're not around now."
"Did she now?" He muttered, his fists clenching at his sides.
"Bubbe said you always have been a bad husband, and you're an even worse father."
"Now you listen right here," Alfie rose to a standing position, pointing a finger at his son, his voice quiet despite the anger he was feeling, careful not to wake the sleeping terror now tucked up in bed. "I am your father. You do not speak to me like that."
"I wish you weren't."
Alfie didn't know what to say, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He had received gun shot wounds that were less painful than hearing those words come from his son's mouth. Benjamin didn't wait for a response from his father, pushing himself from the door frame and storming to his bedroom, slamming the door shut.
His eyes drifted to his daughter, now dead to the world, her long eyelashes fluttering as she dreamed of whatever two year old girls dreamed about. He leaned down to press a kiss to her forehead, his stomach clenching as the words repeated in his head.
I wish you weren't.
She was sat at the kitchen table when he eventually made his way downstairs. The shattered glass from the china cabinet had been cleaned up, and he made a mental note to have someone come out to replace it as quickly as possible.
Her cup of tea had gone cold, but she still had her hands clasped around the delicate china.
"Your hands alright?" He asked, throwing himself down in the chair on the opposite side of the table. She hummed in response, her eyes not lifting from the kitchen table. "Is dinner ready?"
That got her attention, her narrowed eyes meeting his, and she scoffed in disbelief at his audacity. Her chair scraped against the tiled floor as she stood, stalking over to the other side of the kitchen. He kept his eyes in front of him, his hands resting on the table, not hearing her until she came up behind him, throwing the burned pot in between his hands on the table.
He was silent for a moment, his eyes fixed on the silver pot that had now turned black on the bottom, before he slammed his hands down on the table, his own chair scraping as he stood up angrily.
She rolled her eyes at him, walking out of the kitchen carelessly and into the living room, her husband hot on her heels. It was as if he wasn't there, the way she strolled into the room and sat on the dark blue velvet sofa, crossing her legs as if she were about to pick up a book.
The living room was always his favourite room of the house. It was warm and inviting, a room that had been filled with so much laughter and happiness. Now, it felt like the coldest room in the house.
"The fuck have I done now?" Alfie stood in front of her, hands on his hips and chest puffed out, ready for a fight.
"Besides shoot at me and your daughter?" She raised a brow, it could almost come across as playful to someone who didn't know her as well as he did.
"Fuck off," he sneered. "You were nowhere near."
"The bullet went right over my head, Alfie."
"I've shot a gun in this house several times - I know you're not upset about that."
"Aren't I a lucky lady?" She shook her head, rubbing her eyes tiredly.
"Fuck-"
"Tell me to fuck off one more time," she rose up from her seat on the sofa, poking a manicured finger in his chest.
"Tell me what I've fucking done, then," he tried to grab her wrist, but she shook it out of his grasp, taking a step to the side to avoid his reach.
"Nothing, Alfie," she groaned, running her hands through her hair. "You've done absolutely nothing."
Alfie Solomons was not a stupid man, nor was he ignorant to a woman's tone. He knew exactly what she was implying with her words, and it did nothing to stop the anger that was bubbling in his stomach, creeping up his chest, and out of his mouth.
"For fuck's sake, woman," he shouted, his anger growing when she turned her back to him, beginning to leave the room. "I do fuckin' everythin' to provide for you and this family, and you sit there with your fuckin' feet up, tellin' me I do fuckin' nothing."
She spun back around at his words, "keep your fucking voice down, the kids are asleep."
"Yeah, I know," he offered an exaggerated smile, "I put them to bed while you sat down here drinking fucking tea."
He could see in her eyes that she wanted to slap him, and in his anger, he wanted her to.
Just give me a fucking reason.
But she didn't, she barely acknowledged him, leaving the room and walking up the stairs. When Benjamin had been born, they had both agreed arguments occurred downstairs when he was asleep. Neither of them were naive enough to think they would never have fights - both outspoken and stubborn by nature - and they had honoured that agreement for the past eight years.
But not tonight.
Alfie stormed out of the living room, taking the stairs two at a time to catch up with her. He pushed the door to their bedroom open, finding her stood there with her arms held out, a pillow and blanket in them, offering them to him wordlessly. He grabbed them out her hands, throwing them to floor without a word.
He couldn't count how many times she had rolled her eyes this evening.
"It's that fucking woman again, isn't it?" He spoke finally, and she breathed deeply at his words.
"Alfie, my mother has nothing to do with it."
"Really? Because every time she pops in you suddenly have a problem with me."
Alfie's feud with his mother-in-law predated his relationship with his wife. The woman had never liked him, her lips would purse whenever she saw him at a mutual friend's wedding, she would glare at him in the street when she was walking home from the market.
When she found out he had been fucking her only daughter, she had gone ballistic, and they had shared a mutual dislike for each other for decades now.
"Don't be ridiculous, Alfie. She hasn't even been around today."
"Oh, really?" He crossed his arms, a smirk playing on his lips, and the way she avoided his face confirmed she was lying. She didn't pop round, call me a bad father in front of my fucking son?"
His wife's brows furrowed at his words, her mouth opening and closing around words she couldn't speak.
"Let me tell ya, I don't give a shit what you and that woman talk about," he stalked towards her, every step forward matched with a step back from her. "But if she comes 'round, bad mouthin' me in front of my children again - poisoning their minds against me, me and you are goin' to have a big fucking problem."
"'Poisoning their minds?" she sneered. "You think they need my mother to do that?"
"The fuck is that supposed to mean?"
"You think she's the reason your son fucking hates you?" He took a step back at her words, Benjamin's words from earlier ringing in his ears.
I wish you weren't.
I wish you weren't.
"You're never fucking here, Alfie. Benjamin spends more time with Bessie than you do, he's the one who has to take her when I'm sick all morning, he's the one who sees how hard it is for me. Not you. You're always at work, even when you're home."
Alfie was floored by her words. He thought back to hours ago, when he was walking through his door with a smile on his face, ready to have dinner with his wife and go and kiss his children goodnight. How did the evening get away from him so much?
"Well he shouldn't have to do that," he spoke eventually, his voice softer.
"No, he shouldn't," she agreed, reaching to touch his shoulder gently. "But he feels like he has to-"
"Why are you making him do all that?"
Her hand dropped from his shoulder heavily, moving to place it on her chest in disbelief.
"Excuse me?"
"He's a boy. You're his mother, you shouldn't be makin' him pick up your slack because you're not feeling up to it," her eyes widened at his words, tears pooling in the corners. "I mean, what kind of mother are you?"
"I...I..." The words wouldn't come for her, as if they were getting caught in her throat. She stopped trying in the end, nodding at his words and sniffing quietly. "I'm going to sleep with Bessie tonight."
He didn't try to stop her from leaving.
It was nearing 9 o'clock when he knocked on Benjamin's door, stepping in before the boy had a chance to say anything. He knew he wouldn't be asleep, his son - like him - was a night owl by nature, staying up until the early hours of the morning.
He was sat up in bed when his father walked in, reading a book in the dim light of his bedroom. He reminded Alfie so much of his mother.
"I talked to mum," Alfie said, closing the door gently behind him, lingering in the room as if he were a stranger.
"I heard," Benjamin said, closing his book.
"I'm sorry," the words felt wrong on his tongue, he had never been one to apologise to anybody. "I know mum asks a lot of you, but you shouldn't feel like-"
"Mum doesn't as a lot of me," the young boy interrupted, shaking his head in protest.
"Benny, I know you think you have to defend her-"
"I don't. Mum never asks me to do anything. I like helping her, someone has to."
That feeling in Alfie's stomach returned, the twisting pain in his gut, it seemed his son was determined to kill him tonight.
"Today, Bessie wasn't feeling well and neither was mum, Bessie wouldn't stop crying and mum was being sick and then bubbe came over and kept telling mum the house was too messy and Bessie wasn't dressed properly and when she left mum kept crying."
"I get it's hard, but everyone has hard days, Benny."
"Not mum. She told bubbe she's scared to have the baby because she doesn't know if she can handle three alone. Mum's never been scared before."
"She said that?" Alfie asked, his voice breaking slightly and Benjamin nodded in confirmation.
"I lied before," Benjamin told his father, ducking his head in shame. "Mum didn't say anything bad about you. Only bubbe did. Mum said you were doing your best."
And just like that, the animosity Alfie held towards his wife disappeared, replaced by a shame he had never felt before . He had stolen, betrayed and killed, and yet, he had never felt worse than how he felt in this very moment.
"Thanks for tellin' me the truth," there wasn't much else he could say. "Now go to bed, it's late." He opened the door to leave when Benjamin called out to him.
"I lied too. I'm glad you're my dad."
"So am I, son."
Alfie leaned against the closed door, his eyes on the one opposite him. His hand reached for the doorknob but he pulled it back before he touched it, making his way to his empty bedroom.
The sunlight crept in from the cracks in the curtains, bleeding into the bedroom, casting the pink floral wallpaper in an orange hue. She reached over for the little girl that had slept by her side the whole night, finding the spot next to her empty, the sheets cold beneath her hands.
"Fuck," she muttered to herself, pulling herself out of bed with a struggle, the growing bump making it harder to move every day.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she kept muttering, rushing down the stairs. She had overslept and her two year old daughter was probably missing. It felt like she cried more often than not lately, tears spilled from her eyes as she glanced in the empty living room before rushing to the kitchen.
She released a breath she didn't know she was holding when she entered, seeing Bessie sat in her highchair, laughing in delight at a piece of toast.
"Mornin," she approached the kitchen table apprehensively, the sight of her husband and children sat there, already dressed and eating breakfast with smiles on their faces, not feeling real. "We made toast, know that's all you've been able to keep down lately," her husband told her, standing up to pull out a chair for her. She took it with a smile.
"Aren't you needed at work?" She asked, nodding a thanks as he poured her a cup of tea.
"I am," Alfie nodded, "but Ollie can deal with it, I've given him strict orders I am not to be disturbed today."
"Alfie," she shook her head in protest. She didn't want this, for him to feel obligated to be here, for him to take over her duties in the home.
"None of that," he stopped her spiralling. "They can manage without me for a few days until we figure out something."
She smiled gratefully at him. She knew he understood, she didn't need him there all the time, she just needed a break.
"I also spoke to your mum," her brows raised at his words. The only time Alfie had spoken to her mother voluntarily was when he rang her to call her a dozy cow before hanging up without another word. "She's going to come over more, take the kids out, pick Benny up from school and all that."
"Thank you." She reached out to take his hand on the table, linking their hands together, squeezing in appreciation.
"Just don't expect breakfast everyday, that toaster is a fuckin' nightmare."
thanks for reading. i enjoyed writing and am considering making a lil series of this family so lmk if that's something you'd like to see!
#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons imagine#alfie solomons x reader#peaky blinders imagine#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons x oc#alfie solomons
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"The only place I'm cummin' love is deep inside that pussy. That way, see, I can watch it slowly drip out. Makin' its way down to that tight ass of yers that way yer big man doesn't have to use any oils. And I am big aren't I? That little gasp every time I first enter, like you somehow forgot just how big, huh? The only lube I want comes from me or it comes from you, yeah, understand? Get hard again just thinkin' of that ass chokin' another load outta me while that seed I left in there makes its way down. Now don't squeeze, pet, I want to savor it. Time stands still seein' how I fill ya and mark ya as mine. Not everyone has to see the ways I claim ya. Teeth marks. Bruises. That's for them. But this, this is all for me."
spicy Alfie pt 6.1/2:
"See that money right there, love? That's a months worth of wages. An entire month my woman doesn't hafta work. An entire month of time for me to leave as many bruises on that creamy body of yers that I want. None of that 'below the neck shit' neither. As deep and dark as I want. Knowin' full well just the thought of me being left all over ya makes ya cream those knickers on the spot. Nah, won't hurt ya will I? Only makin' sure every single part of yer body recognizes my teeth, my lips, my fingers, my hands, my beard. My cock can only reach three parts of ya. Three holy parts indeed. Yeah, but the rest of me. That gets where my cock can't. We know how much you love me beard leavin' those thighs all red. That red, that deep red, will look so lovely on that neck. Clock stars now, pet."
@hecatemoon87 @buttercup32sstuff @inkededucatednnerdy @thedevilshardy @liliac-dreamer @zablife @darklydeliciousdesires @quarterpastmidnight @sciapod @aranoburns @khanbika @moon-shin-gun @tomhardysforeheadlines @alfiesolomons-treacle @ninja-potato-shelby-solomons @kittycatcait219 @inkwolvesandcoffee @mariadecapitated
Part 6 from yesterday link:
I forget who to tag :/
#tom hardy#facepuller#alfie solomons#peaky blinders#tom hardy fanfic#tom hardy fanfiction#alfie#alfie solomons fanfic#alfie solomons fanfiction#alfie solomons smut#spicy alfie
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