I Caught Fire

Pairing: (Alfie Solomons x baker!OC Annie Murphy)

Word count: 3,500

Summary: Alfie never expects things to go smoothly. He doesn’t expect his date with Annie to go so incredibly well, and he definitely doesn’t anticipate her wanting to go back to his place. But he’ll take it just the same.

Warnings:18+!Dirty talk, oral (f receiving), fingering, slight praise kink, piv (unprotected), cum marking

A/N: Um this took forever but I’m pretty dang happy with the end result! *self five* Title from the song of the same name by The Used. “We could take our heads off, stay in bed and just make love, that’s all … And I’m melting in your eyes, like my first time that I caught fire. Just stay with me, lay with me. Let’s sleep ‘till the sun burns out.”

—

Alfie always had a back-up plan. Usually, at least 3. To succeed in his line of work, you had to not only accept that things would go awry, you needed to know how to pivot seamlessly when they did.

The downside to this constant state of vigilance was that it bled over into his life outside of the criminal underworld, forever waiting for the other shoe to drop when things felt too quiet. Too good.

So, it was only natural that as he knocked on the door of Annie’s flat to pick her up for their date, bouncing the sunflowers he brought against his thigh, he was steeling himself for one of the following worst-case scenarios.

A) There’s no response at her door. Plan: Pick the lock, go in, and see if she’s with another man. If so, tell him that if he hurts her, the Wandering Jew will cut his balls off and have him watch as he feeds them to stray dogs. Exit immediately. Go shoot something or someone. If Annie isn’t home and there are signs of a struggle, burn Camden to the ground until he finds her.

B) She answers the door BUT says she changed her mind. Plan: Say he understands, leave, and go shoot something or someone. Drink copious amounts of the rum he “never” touches. Cry?

C) She answers the door and has not changed her mind. Plan: Try to not have a goddamn nervous breakdown in front of her because holy fuck, when was the last time he went on a date, and would Annie actually have a good time, and did the blue vest Edna told him to get actually look ok or did he look like a cunt, and -

And then she opens the door, and he stops worrying about his head going to shit, because his whole body promptly stops working. Was this what people meant by lovesick? Dizzy and feverish and incapable of rational thought, incapable of focusing on anything other than her luminescence. There she is, beaming at him in a sparkling black and gold short-sleeved dress with matching bracelets and heels. It’s the first time he’s seen her with her hair untied, and all he wants to do is run his hands through those dark, silky waves.

By some miracle, he manages to pull himself together, breathing out the first words that come to mind:

“You are fuckin’ radiant, love.” He presses the flowers into her hands, and she inhales happily.

“You’re sweet.” She steps closer until she’s practically against him, her green eyes scanning, drinking him in. She smiles, running a hand down his chest, and Alfie feels like his veins are tangled up with power wires.

“And you clean up very, very well yourself, Mr. Solomons.” She kisses him and Alfie kisses her back, the tiniest part of him nudging, pleading to, for once, trust that things can stay this good. To trust her.

She puts the flowers in a vase and as she takes his hand in hers and leads him out the door, he finally feels like he can exhale. And he tells his doubt to politely fuck right off, if only temporarily.

Remarkably, it works. At dinner, he just gets lost in her, in how easily their conversation flows, in their game of imagining backstories for other patrons.

“That couple at the bar there lookin’ like they’re ‘bout to fuckin’ poison each others’ drinks, yeah, you have got to ask yourself, An: did he sleep with her sister or her best friend?”

“Nah, their maid. His wife fired her when she found out, is now without a cook and won’t do it herself, so he brought her here in a feeble attempt at reconciliation — and so he wouldn’t starve.”

“…. You are a fuckin’ genius, An.”

“Cheers, love.”

She’s as effervescent as her champagne, bubbling and brimming with life and laughter that fills up the dark and hollow spaces in his chest. And that buoyancy sustains him, nourishes him even more so than their lavish dinner.

Buckwheat blinis just like his mom used to make, vessels for the salty, sinful caviar that Alfie justifies to a thoroughly amused Annie: “If ya squint in this light, yeah, it’s just like scales on a little fish. Proper kosher, then, innit?” Succulent lamb with crisp potatoes and a vinegary cucumber salad, delicate lemon sole alongside fresh asparagus with creamy hollandaise.

And, of course, the fabled toffee pudding Annie is dying to investigate. “There’s fuckin’ whiskey in it, no wonder my drunken Irish brethren all fancy it!”

Alfie can’t remember the last time he felt so at ease, this peaceful. When they finally get up to leave, a quick look at his watch reveals that three hours have flown by, and he smiles. The King of Camden and his beloved queen, together in their own little realm. And he’s desperate for it to continue, to stay in this paradise just for a second, a minute longer with her.

His wish is granted as she tugs his hand, guiding him through the warm August air to walk alongside the winding Thames, where the glow of the street lamps reflect like golden sparks. They fall into a comfortable silence, lulled by the current, by the magnetic pull that keeps their hands, their bodies, close together.

And it’s a good thing he’s got one arm slung around her shoulders, because her heel catches on a crack in the stony path. He steadies her as she yelps and tilts toward the dark waters, shaking his head.

“Easy there, love. It’d be my fuckin’ luck, wouldn’t it, takin’ you out and you catchin’ your death in the bloody Thames.“

“Dunno why you’re worried, I’m incredibly graceful.” Her lofty tone doesn’t mask the grin in her voice.

“Pet, I watched you walk right into a fuckin’ door last week.”

"Only because you distracted me!”

"And I am not the least bit sorry, yeah, because it was one of the funniest fuckin’ things I have ever seen in my miserable life.” He kisses the top of her head as she huffs. “Kinda cute too, seein’ ya lose focus over me.”

Annie rolls her eyes, lightly checking him with her hip. “Shut it.”

“Why dontcha make me,” he replies, brushing his lips against her ear.

And she does, stopping abruptly and pulling at the front of his vest as she kisses him, deep and warm and intoxicating. She is the taste of toffee and champagne and home, and Alfie clings to her, letting her flood his senses.

Annie breaks the kiss and her eyes are embers.

“I don’t want to stop.”

“So … don’t,” Alfie replies, his brow furrowing slightly with confusion.

She shakes her head, framing Alfie’s face with her hand. “Let me be more clear.” Her voice is quiet yet confident, every syllable dripping with honey and molten fire. “I want you. Allof you. Yeah?”

Alfie’s eyes widen slightly, and Annie smirks, sending his hair on end as she traces his jawline lightly with her nails. He catches her hand in his and squeezes firmly.

“First order of business, love. I am categorically fuckin’ keen on the idea, make no mistake.” He exhales deeply. “But the tiny part of my soul not yet utterly consumed by complete fuckin’ darkness feels compelled to emphasize that there is absolutely no expectation of you rushin’ into anythin’ with me. That said, I am properly thrilled to devote myself wholeheartedly to studyin’ the noble fuckin’ art and science of bringin’ you pleasure.” His tone softens, brushing her hair behind her ear. “But there is no pressure, yeah?”

“I know. But I’m sure. Just like I’m sure how I feel about you.” She tilts her head slightly. “But categorically fuckin’ keen, huh?” A sly grin spreads across her face, and she punctuates her next sentences with slow, searing kisses that cause Alfie’s head to spin.

“So, you can’t tell me you haven’t thought about it. About me. In bed. With you.”

“I could but I’d be a fuckin’ liar, then, wouldn’t I?,” he replies, his breath hitching slightly. He puts his hands on her shoulders. “Annie, you are absolutely sure-”

She cuts him off, rolling her eyes. “C’mon. Your place is closer.”

“Right.”

He grins and grabs her hand once more, but this time, instead of a slow stroll, they hustle across the busy cobblestone streets together.

–

Alfie unlocks his door and is immediately met by Cyril, who quickly pushes his owner aside to greet Annie.

“Cyril! I missed you, my sweet boy.” Annie’s laugh echoes throughout the house as the massive dog jumps on her, pinning her against the wall with a barrage of slobbery kisses.

With great effort, Alfie heaves Cyril off Annie, grumbling.

“Come off it, you daft dog.” He gets down at eye level with the bull mastiff, who is unmistakably pouting. “Sorry, mate, my woman, not yours.” Cyril continues to stare and Alfie sighs, reaching into a massive bin in the corner to pull out a well-chewed bone, and Cyril decides that all is forgiven. “There ya go, that’s a good lad, getcha treat and trot on.”

Once Cyril lumbers away, Alfie stands up and strides over to Annie. “C’mere, you.” He picks her up easily and she locks her arms and legs around him, dipping down for an off-kilter kiss.

He carries her down the hall to his bedroom, his heart thrumming in his ears as she untangles herself from him and slides onto his bed. He plops down right next to her, bracelets clinking as he cups her face with his hands.

“Fuck, you are beautiful,” he murmurs, placing his forehead on hers. He kisses her deeply and their bodies connect, his hands sliding down to hold her waist as her tongue meets his own. He’s so alive and so in love, so completely dumbfounded as to why God decided to offer a man like him a woman, a goddess, really, like her.

He starts tugging the bottom of Annie’s dress up and she shifts to her knees, helping him guide it off and over her head. Alfie’s breath catches at the sight of her, swathed in scraps of dark silk and lace. His eyes dance across her, transfixed.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he exhales. “You really are a vision, An.”

His rough hands trace across her arms, smattered with burn marks and taut from the labor of kneading and carrying, from transmuting stress and grief to the boxing bag in her basement. But the rest of her is so, so soft, and his hands linger on the curves of her breasts, her hips, her ass. Every part of her he’s privileged to caress sends blazing heat straight to his gut, his cock. He is reverent in this new religion he’s discovered, worshipping at the altar of her sacred form.

His awe-struck reverie is suddenly broken when, her eyes smoldering into his, Annie unfastens both clasps of her garter belt. It’s a simple, subtle motion, and Alfie can’t explain why it sets something off in him, but he doesn’t care. Because now he’s tackling her flat against the mattress, and she’s crashing back into him, and the fire tethering them to each other is the only thing in the world that matters.

It’s frantic and slow all at once as his brain tries to keep up with all the separate sensations. His tongue dancing with hers and her teeth sinking into his neck, his hands ripping the delicate lace off her chest, watching her nipples harden as he grabs at her breasts, sucks hungry kisses along their curves.

All the while, Annie’s fingers fly through undoing the buttons on his clothes, tearing them off him. And when she glides her hand across the tip of his cock, gathering his precum before she starts pumping him, he can’t stop the groan and obscenities that fall off his tongue, utterly powerless under her touch. Fuck, does this woman, his woman, know what she’s doing.

“I can’t wait to feel you in me,” she says beneath him, using her free hand to massage his balls. It takes all his concentration to just not cum right there on her pretty tits, knowing full well he’s nowhere near being finished with her.

“I want a taste of you first.“ He hooks his thumbs underneath the waistband of her panties, and she lifts her hips, letting him strip her bare.

"Fuck, look at you,” he murmurs, sliding his ring-laden fingers through Annie’s pooling arousal, relishing the elated gasps she gives when he draws circles on her clit, pushes two fingers into her and pulses.

"This all for me, love?”

“Uh huh.” She nods fervently, biting the corner of her lip.

He stares hungrily at her as he fucks her with his hand, adding a third finger and feeling his cock grow even harder at the way Annie’s walls clench around his digits. He’s entranced by how desire physically transforms her. The color rising to her cheeks, her half-parted lips, the little moans and mewls she gives as she grinds against him. Fluttering emerald irises that give way to a greater expanse of black as her pupils blossom with lust and pressing need. For him.

He suddenly stops and he chuckles at her groan of frustration. He sucks his fingers clean and trails a line of kisses down her inner thigh, wrapping his well-muscled arms around her legs to hold her in place as he begins devouring her. She whines with pleasure as his tongue deftly licks and swirls through her folds, and she grips his hair in her fist.

She isn’t shy and Alfie loves it, her hips bucking against his mouth: “Fuck, Alfie, yes, oh my God, right there.” It just turns him on more. He’s got her spread apart with his fingers, sucking directly on her clit, when she abruptly tugs his head up, her tone alight with wildfire.

“Get in me. Now.”

For once, Alfie doesn’t have a smart reply. He just works his lips back up her body, watching the goosebumps rise on her flesh.

"You want this, love?” he murmurs in her ear, drawing the head of his throbbing dick through the wetness between her thighs, lining himself up at her entrance.

“God, yes, I want you.”

Lust and love burn through him as he enters Annie slowly, eyes rolling back with a groan as he sinks deeper and deeper into her, her nails clawing into his biceps when he bottoms out. He stays still for a moment, giving her a second to adjust to his length and giving himself time to savor the unparalleled feeling of her enveloping every last inch of his hardness. It’s indescribable how good she feels and being able to be fully one with her.

He blinks open and there she is, her gaze burning right through him, and he pulls back and starts thrusting into her steadily. Their hips and moans and praise come together in a delicious rhythm, a sinful cacophony that Alfie wants on full-blast repeat until the end of his days.

“Alfie, fuck, you’re amazing.”

“You are perfect,” he pants, fucking Annie’s tight, soaked core with increasing ferocity. “Fuckin’ made for me.”

He stays on top, drilling her intro the mattress, until she murmurs beneath him, pleading.

“Let me be on top.”

He acquiesces immediately, shifting her into his lap, and they both moan in pleasure as she starts riding him.

“You feel so good. So good to me.“

“That’s right, love. Look how fuckin’ gorgeous you are, takin’ my cock like that.”

“Please keep talking.” She is unashamedly begging, and fuck, is it hot. He smirks, lowers his husky tone and starts playing with her nipples, absorbed in watching her come undone.

“You just love bein’ filled up with my big cock, don’t ya, An? Stretchin’ out that perfect, wet lil’ cunt of yours. Now, be a good girl and tell me who you belong to.”

“You, Alfie. ‘M yours.”

"Fuckin’ right you are,” he growls back, hands smacking against her ass, causing her to gasp with pleasure as she continues gliding up and down his cock. Her nails dig into his shoulders, back arching as he shifts one hand to her clit, and Alfie grunts as he feels her tight walls clench around him further.

“Oh my fuck, Alfie, you’re gonna make me cum,” she whimpers.

“That’s right, that’s my fuckin’ girl, show us how much you need us, An.” His fingers grip her hips as she rides him desperately. “Let me feel you cum all over my cock, love.”

“Oh, oh, Alfie, fuck, Alfie!” She cries out and she all but collapses into him as her orgasm rip through her entire body, spasming around his dick in release.

She slowly pulls back to face him with a lazy smirk, cheeks pink and her voice breathless with satisfaction, but still managing to purr.

“Your turn.”

He’s already lasted way longer than he thought would be possible, and now, all Alfie wants is to take his woman like a fucking animal. So, that’s what he does.

He shoves Annie down onto the mattress, pistoning in and out of her with an absolutely brutal pace. It’s a completely obscene soundtrack, his balls slapping against her, the sucking sound of her dripping cunt taking every last inch of his thick, rock-hard length, frenzied grunts and moans and profanities.

He hikes her legs around his waist and she instinctively locks her ankles on his lower back, letting him use the angle to drive down even deeper, harder, faster into her. His fingers seek out her own as he pounds into her core, and he knows this duality between carnal and tender, of being utterly consumed in every last hidden corner of each other, is going to send him over the edge.

That, and Annie’s crooning voice in his ear, her nails marking up the muscles of his broad back.

“Take what’s yours, Alfie. I love your cock inside me, you make me so fuckin’ wet, I love you so fuckin’ much-“

“FuckinhellchristfuckAn!”

Amid his stream of tangled curses and Annie’s name, Alfie pulls out just in time to finish on her stomach, chest heaving as he watches the warm, milky rivulets trail down her body.

Still catching his breath, he grabs Annie’s face with both hands and kisses her, pulling back with a grin.

“Fuckin’ hell, you are incredible, woman.”

“Likewise. I’m very, very much lookin’ forward to doing that again.”

“I do like the sound of that.”

He rolls off the bed with a slight groan, haphazardly pulling drawers open to find a clean handkerchief. He lays down next to Annie and gently cleans her off, tossing the soiled scrap of fabric to the side.

He brings her into his arms and as she nestles into his chest, he chuckles softly.

“What’s so funny?” she asks.

“Nothin’. Just properly fuckin’ delighted, ain’t I, by the fact that my sweet little Annie, Camden’s beloved baker, is also a filthy, dazzlin’ little minx.”

She grins, lifting herself up slightly to plant a kiss against his jaw before snuggling back into him. “What can I say? I’m versatile.”

He hums and kisses the top of her head, fingers tracing lightly across her back. He just lays there intertwined with her, the room in complete stillness save for the rise and fall of their breath. And it’s sweet and serene and safe, the complete opposite of what Alfie Solomons has come to expect out of the wicked world, out of himself.

“What’re you thinking? I can practically hear the gears turning ‘round in your head.”

He’s surprised that she doesn’t even need to look at him to sense something’s up, but decides it’s just part of the dual blessing and curse of being known so intimately.

He replies slowly, continuing to draw patterns against her skin.

“Honestly, An, I still cannot fuckin’ believe you are here with me, in my arms, in my bed, because you are a fuckin’ angel that I categorically do not deserve to be in the presence of. Let alone inside of.” His dry laugh morphs into a sigh, speaking more to himself than her. “Gotta be some kinda dream, innit?”

Suddenly, he feels a pinch on his arm, and he looks down to see Annie looking back at him expectantly.

“Anythin’ change?”

The corner of his mouth twitches and he shakes his head.

“Well, that’s settled., then. Not dreaming.” Her gaze is both soft and piercing, seeing straight through all of him, the light and dark. And yet, she stays.

Alfie feels himself melting, falling even further than he thought was possible. She taps the center of his hair-covered chest softly, then taps her fingers against her own. “Trust this, trust us, yeah?”

This time, his sigh is contented.

“I love you, Annie.”

“I love you too.”

They both fall back into the quiet, limbs tangling, and Alfie feels himself starting to drift into sleep, soothed by the warmth of Annie’s body against his. A warmth that transfers straight to his heart.

He shuts his eyes and finds his mind wandering back to just a few nights ago when he lay in this exact bed, unsure and alone, wondering what he’d feel like if Annie was next to him. Now, he has his answer.

He feels whole.

Reconcile

Pairing: Alfie Solomons x Annie Murphy (baker!OC)

Summary: Alfie and Annie get in their first big fight and work through the aftermath.

Word count: 5,900 (whoops)

A/N: Uh I didn’t plan on this being so long or switching between four different locations but that’s how things went and I hope you enjoy this behemoth!!

—

It was true that Alfie Solomons hadn’t been in many serious relationships. But he was still surprised by the lack of full-blown arguments he’d had with Annie in the three months they’d been together. Sure, they’d bicker occasionally, but usually over general annoyances and frustrations that were just part of the territory of spending so much time with one person.

“Pet, how can you possibly fuckin’ shed so much hair? You’re actually worse than Cyril.”

“How can you possibly fuckin’ snore like there is a military tank rolling across your esophagus? Oh, the unsolved mysteries of our lives!”

But generally, they were still both riding the buzz of the new relationship, and the days that flew by were filled with laughter and sex and contentment.

So, while he had a feeling that telling Annie he’d be going to appraise jewels from the Romanovs wasn’t something she’d be thrilled about, he didn’t think it’d be that big of a deal. He’d explain that yes, the Russians were still fucking insane, but it was too good of a deal to pass up, especially for one night of work. And then he’d watch Annie perk right up when she found out he’d be getting her something stunning out of it.

It was a simple, straightforward plan. Until it all went to shit.

All because Alfie, who could normally teach a master class in deliberation, didn’t take two crucial factors into account: how much Annie loved him, and how much she feared losing him.

He tells her casually in the kitchen after dinner, tapping her wrist lightly to stop her from instinctively washing dishes. It made him simultaneously chuckle and roll his eyes at how, after three months of her basically living at his place, she still forgot that Edna would take care of it.

“Let me get this straight. You’re gonna fuck about with the Russian aristocrats, the same people Tommy is working with who you said were ‘outta their frozen, vodka-soaked minds?’“ She frowns, crossing her arms and leaning back against the counter. "Why is that now a good idea?”

He brushes off the question with a wave of his hands.

"It’s not a long-term deal, love, I’m just helpin’ Tommy out with a singular transaction.” He grins. “Of which you stand to benefit greatly from, I might add, ‘cause you can absolutely fuckin’ guarantee I’ll be bringin back somethin properly dazzlin’ for my properly dazzlin’ woman.”

He brings his hands to her waist and kisses her forehead, fully expecting to pull back and see her smiling, feel her mouth on his, hear her joke that she’s totally expecting a full-fledged tiara. Instead, she nudges him off her.

“You said you can’t guarantee anythin’ with Russians, that they’re unpredictable as all hell.” She shakes her head, her voice firm. “I don’t think you should do it.”

Alfie’s eyebrows shoot up and he steps back from her, one hand roaming through his beard.

“The fuck is she acting like I’m some kind of naive fucking civilian? Like she understands this part of the world because I tell her one bloody thing about the Russians?”

He tilts his head, and despite his quiet tone, his words have an unmistakable bite at their edges.

“Well, it is a good thing I ain’t askin’ ya for your permission, An, am I?”

Unlike Alfie, Annie’s reply is not quiet.

“Well, then, have a nice time getting shot in your thick fucking skull after those maniacs turn on you!“ She storms past him and into the living room, only stopping to fire back over her shoulder:

"But nooooo, that would never happen to Alfie Solomons, you foresee everything, right?”

If it was anyone else talking to him the way she was, Alfie would’ve already had them spitting out teeth. Instead, seething, he strides right out and cuts off her path, forcing her to face him.

He’s so mad at her doubt that he doesn’t stop to consider that she’s blinking faster than normal, doesn’t pause and think about why she’s so upset. Instead, his anger obstructs his usual sense of deliberation, boiling over and spilling out his mouth before he can stop himself.

“Right, sweetie, you keep goin’ off ‘bout things of which you have no actual fuckin’ comprehension of, yeah. And I will do what I always do, right, and handle my business, same as any other fuckin’ day, so there’s really no need to be a cunt ‘bout this.”

It takes Alfie about two seconds to process what he just said, and his stomach drops.

“Oh, fuck.”

He sees distinct hurt flash across Annie’s face, looking very well like he just slapped her, before it quickly morphs into an expression he knows quite well, having worn it often.

Rage.

Now, for once, Alfie is the one backpedaling in a conversation.

“Fuck, An, I didn’t mean-”

“So now I’m a cunt, huh? Because I dared to tell you that I think you’re making a shit decision, one that could get you killed?” She hisses as her green eyes brim with angry tears, but she steadies herself, venom laced in every breath. “Well, if I’m such a cunt, maybe you’re better off finding someone else who isn’t one, someone who doesn’t give a fuck ‘bout what you do. Is that what you want?”

No, no, no, fucking no. Time screeches to a halt as Alfie’s whole world crashes down around him. Icy fear douses his anger — would she really end things with him over this? She wouldn’t … right? Or did his temper just blow up the best part of his life in a matter of seconds?

Now, he’s really panicking.

“No, Annie, fuck, c’mon. Let’s just talk ‘bout this. I am fuckin’ sorry, yeah? You know I didn’t mean-“

“Just fuck off, Alfie. I’m going for a walk.”

She dodges his attempt to grab her hand and he lets it fall to his side, numb with shock as he watches her take her jacket off its hook and leave with a slam of the front door.

The silence in her wake is deafening, leaving nothing to distract Alfie from the presence of his suffocating guilt and his fear.

“FUCK!” He roars and turns on his heel, pacing and running his hands through his hair. He kicks over an end table, the resulting crash prompting Cyril to let out a low rumble in the corner.

Alfie drops to the ground, hitting his head against the back of the couch. Why, why, fucking why couldn’t he have just stayed calm and asked her why she was so upset that he’d be working with the Russians? Why did he let his ego get the best of him and shoot his mouth off, telling her he wasn’t asking for permission? And a proper bastard he was, most definitely deserving of his place in hell, calling her a cunt.

It makes him feel sick thinking about it, and he runs his hands down his face. He has to fix this, he can’t lose Annie.

He sits there for about 10 minutes, gears whirring in his head. The only comfort he has comes from petting Cyril, who decided to rest his head on his owner’s knee.

Suddenly, the phone rings. He heaves himself up and heads into his study, praying it’s Annie calling from wherever the hell she ended up and telling him she doesn’t feel like walking home in the dark, that they can talk, that things will be ok between them. That she doesn’t hate him, that he didn’t just ruin his whole life.

“‘Yeah?”

“Alfie, you need to come down to the bakery.”

Alfie grits his teeth at Ollie’s voice on the line.

“Not a good fuckin’ time, mate, what happened?”

“Noah was out on a drop, and when he came back, someone.” Ollie pauses, seemingly steeling himself to press on. “Someone broke into your office. We dunno how they got in, or what they took.“

And that’s the last straw. Alfie slams the phone down on his desk, cursing at the top of his lungs as the culmination of everything going on sends him punching a hole straight through the drywall.

Chest heaving, he cracks his knuckles and storms back to the phone.

"Right, have the boys sweep the rest of the shop, ask the neighbors if they saw anythin’, pay 'em if you need to, I don’t fuckin’ care. Handle this shit, Ollie, otherwise the fuck good are ya?”

“They’re already looking, and yeah, of course. When will you be down?”

Alfie sighs, looking at his watch.

“Gimme a half hour, yeah?” He chooses his next words carefully, telling the truth but not all of it. “I’m waitin’ for Annie to come home.”

"Right. See you.”

Alfie hangs up and leans back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

“Fuck me,” he sighs, wrenching open the bottom desk drawer to pull out a three-quarters-full bottle of whiskey. Alfie rarely drank, but if there was ever a time to take the edge off, it’s definitely now.

The next 30 minutes crawl by as Alfie sits alone in the study with nothing but the burn of alcohol on his throat, each forward motion of the hand on his watch intensifying the ache in his chest. Was Annie even going to come back, or was she pissed off enough to spend the night alone in her apartment?

He shrugs his jacket and hat on and grabs a pen and paper, taking his sweet time writing out his note in case he hears the lock turn.

“Waited for you for nearly an hour, got a call from Ollie to come to the bakery. Shouldn’t be too long, but don’t wait up. Let’s talk tomorrow before you go to work, yeah? I love you more than anything, and I swear there are no words in any fucking language to convey how sorry I am for hurting you.”

He leaves the note on the entryway table, and as he leaves his house and drives over to the warehouse, he can’t stop himself searching for her in every passing face.

—

Six shots echo as Alfie unloads his revolver on two barrels of rum to stop himself from racking up a new tally on his body count.

It turned out that, in their brief neighborhood investigation, his best pair of idiots had discovered that the "dangerous thief” who’d broken into Alfie’s office was not a fellow gangster, not a law enforcement official, no. It was a sniveling pre-teen punk whose equally punk friends dared him to break into the business and steal some rum from Alfie’s office. And that’s exactly what he did, confessing to the Jewish duo with his ear pinched firmly between his irate mother’s fingers.

Ollie and Noah seemed to have been voted as the ones to have to give him this news, which they stammer out to him, everyone averting his rabid gaze. Their fear only intensifies when Alfie takes two steps closer to them, his voice quiet, deadly.

“So, what you are tellin’ me is that ya called me down from me house, right, all because you daft fuckin’ imbeciles got bested by some jumped-up lil’ twat whose balls have yet to even fuckin’ descend? That right?”

No one responds until Alfie pulls out his gun, with everyone except Ollie automatically stepping back.

“That’s right,” Ollie mutters, eyes flickering up to finally meet Alfie’s.

And Alfie grunts and turns in the same breath, shooting directly into the barrels.

“Clean this shit up or the next round will be goin’ into flesh, you fuckin’ hear me?” he shouts.

He leaves his men scrambling as he stomps down the hall, slamming the door behind him. He stops for half a second on the street, leaning against the brick wall with his eyes closed, his attention immediately swinging back to more pressing matters: Annie.

He pushes off the wall and gets into his car, his brain switching gears as he heads to the florist’s (yeah, it was 8:00 at night, but if the King of Camden needs something, especially post-argument flowers for his girlfriend, you can bet he’s getting them) and then home.

—

He unlocks the door and walks in, his heart sinking at the sight of the empty sitting room.

“An?”

But as he turns to set down the sunflowers he got her, he sees the note he left is gone.

Relief courses through him like a drug. Annie must have seen it. She came back. She came back to him.

Sending up a silent “thank you” to the heavens, Alfie continues down the hall, stopping in the doorframe of his bedroom.

There she is, his Annie, curled up with Cyril and fast asleep in bed. He knows it’s early, but he can tell she isn’t faking it by how deeply she’s breathing. All he wants to do is wake her up, climb in next to her, hold her, tell her he’s a fucking idiot and that he’ll drop the Russian deal in a second, do whatever it takes to make things right between them.

But, he also knows that, if Annie, with all of her endless energy, has crashed this early, she’s got to be as emotionally wiped out as he is. So, as much as it pains him, he just kisses her forehead and heads out to the couch. It’s like he’s missing a limb, not having her by his side. But like Annie, he’s exhausted, and sleep finds him quickly.

—

Alfie’s eyes blink open and he’s initially confused by his surroundings before his brain catches up, reminding him why he didn’t sleep in his own bed last night.

But he relaxes, because at least he has the chance to talk to Annie before she heads to work.

Or, does he?

Because he’s blinking in bright, clear sunlight, and he knows Annie is usually up well before the crack of dawn. He frantically searches through his rumpled clothes for his watch, squinting at the numbers blurred without the use of his glasses.

Fuck. It’s already 7:30. He flings himself up off the couch and when he gets to his bedroom, it’s indeed empty. He’s missed her, and his panic picks up right where it left off.

“What if she actually didn’t see the fuckin’ note? What if she thinks I was fuckin’ angry at her, and that’s why I was on the fuckin’ couch last night?”

His stomach drops, and he drags his hands down his face. He has to see her – there’s no way in hell he’ll make it through his own day of work with this looming over his head.

He doesn’t even bother to change, just grabs his gun and keys, kicks his feet into his boots, jams his hat on, and he’s out the door.

—

After the world’s worst paralell parking job, Alfie hurries into the bakery and down the familiar path to the kitchen door. He pushes it ajar gingerly and, when nothing is thrown at him, decides it’s safe to proceed.

The usual organized chaos of Annie’s world meets him, her handful of all-women employees chatting animatedly as they knead, roll, and decorate. The air is heavy with the scent of dough and sugar, mixing with the warmth of the ovens.

But what lacks its usual warmth is Annie’s gaze when she turns and sees him, something mirrored by her loyal employees who all stop what they’re doing to collectively hurl daggers at him with their eyes.

“So much for keepin’ this between the two of us,” he thinks darkly, but he also doesn’t really blame Annie. Her normal bubbliness seems so off that it’d only be natural for her team to ask what was wrong. And it probably didn’t help that Annie was a shit liar.

“Hey, pet.”

“Hi.” Her voice is flat, but Alfie takes it as a good sign that she’s at least acknowledging him. “Shouldn’t you be at work?”

He shakes his head, tries to swallows down his guilt.

“Nah, no way I could focus knowin’ how we left things last night. You were sleepin’ when I came home and I missed ya leavin’ this mornin’. He lowers his voice, a pleading note creeping in. “Love, we gotta talk.”

Seemingly with eyes on the back of her head, Annie lightly shoos the other bakers with her hands, prompting them to sheepishly direct their attention back to their work instead of at their boss and her boyfriend.

Annie sighs and starts forcibly working her dough.

“What else do you wanna talk about? You’re gonna work with the Russians.“ Slam. "You called me a cunt.”Slam. “That’s that, innit?”

Alfie gestures at the mishappen pile of dough.

“And I apologized, right, but do you honestly expect me to believe you’ve moved passed it when you’re attackin’ that thing like it owes ya money?” He tries his luck and places his hand gently along her waist. She doesn’t flinch at his touch like she did the night before, but she doesn’t look at him.

“Listen, I really am sorry, Annie. And if it means that much to ya, I’ll drop the deal. But I need to know why’re you so hung up on me workin’ with the Russians. All me work is dangerous, innit, you know that. Why is this different?”

Annie doesn’t answer him, just finishes kneading and moves onto the next unbaked pile. “I’m busy, Alfie,” she mutters.

“Never stopped you talkin’ to me before.”

Now, she does look at him, frustrated. “Can we please just talk later? I don’t want to do this here, yeah?”

But Alfie meant what he told her – there was no way he would be able to relax until things were right with them.

He steeples his hands and brings them to his lips, ring-clad fingers tapping together. “Ya don’t wanna talk here, eh?” Then, he pivots and strides out the kitchen door and out the bakery, leaving a confused Annie in his wake.

He gets back to his car and revs it with purpose, managing to extract it from where he jammed it against the curb and grazes the delivery truck behind him. Then, he whips the vehicle out into the middle of traffic … where he parks.

"This is mad, mate. But I guess that’s love, innit,” he murmurs to himself. He steps out, ignoring the beeps and honks from traffic around him, locks his gaze on the door of Annie’s shop, and holds down the horn.

It works as he intends, with Annie appearing at the door in about 10 seconds. She comes outside, jaw dropping slightly when she realizes his angle.

“Right, this is a much better place to chat!” he shouts across the street, giving a flouncy wave to a car that angrily streaks passed him.

“ALFRED ELIJAH SOLOMONS, have you COMPLETELY lost your fucking mind?!” she screams back. With the look on her face, Alfie wouldn’t be surprised if she stormed right up and decked him (which he deserves, if he’s honest), but he holds firm.

“Nah, I am thinkin’ crystal bloody clear, An. I fucked up and I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘till we work this out!“

Annie just glares back, her gaze flickering between him, the traffic, and the passerby who’ve now gathered to see what was going on.

“With God as my witness, I will stand here all fuckin’ day if that’s what it takes, love,” he adds.

Annie lets out an exasperated yell, throwing up her hands in resignation and striding toward the car, weaving between vehicles.

"You are an absolute bloody-” she stops as she nearly gets clipped by a taxi, and she and Alfie flip the driver off in unison as she lets out a littany of Irish curses before seamlessly switching back to English.

“An absolute bloody maniac, you hear me, waking up half of Camden and blocking traffic from here to High Street!” She slides into the car, slamming it shut, and Alfie follows suit, taking off down the street.

“Desperate times, desperate bloody measures, innit?” he replies.

Annie shakes her head and crosses one arm tightly against her chest, the other balling into a fist against her cheek.

It’s probably only a few seconds, but her silence stretches on for what feels like an eternity to Alfie. But then, Annie does something completely unexpected.

She laughs.

And she keeps laughing, loud and bright and infectious, and now Alfie’s chuckling with her. His chest can’t help but feel lighter in response to his favorite sound in the entire world.

“Oh my God, I cannot believe you did that just so I’d talk to you,” she says, wiping away tears of mirth with the back of her hand. “My ma always did say love made people do crazy things. I guess I just didn’t know that would mean being in a standoff in the middle of traffic.”

Alfie pulls over, completing another truly atrocious parking job, tires screeching. And when he turns to look at Annie, this time, her usual warmth is back in her face. He responds instinctively, grabbing her hand with his, and she squeezes it, and it’s like he can finally breathe again.

“We’re both ridiculous, aren’t we?”

“Lil’ bit,” he replies, and they both speak in unison:

“I’m sorry.”

Annie shakes her head. “No, no, you already apologized, and I know you meant it. This is. A lot of this is on me,” she sighs. “We should’ve just talked, I was being petty. Did it hurt that you called me a cunt? Yeah. Will I knock your head in if it happens again? Yeah. But is that what I was really the most upset over? No.“

She bites her lip and stares up at the roof of the car.

"You asked me why I didn’t want you working with the Russians, that all your work is dangerous. And I get that. But it’s usually work with the devil you know, innit? Or even if it’s the devil you don’t know, it’s not the devil who ran your ma and fuck knows how many other Jews and Gypsies just like me and you outta their country. People who slaughter us and hate us just for breathing the same air as them.”

She fiddles with the frayed edge of her apron, hesitating.

“And I got scared,” she says quietly. “Scared of what they might do to you. I don’t know if I’ve said this right out, but after Cal … it’s my worst fear, losing you. I’m not daft, I know that your line of work heightens that probability, but I also know people 'round here generally don’t fuck with you. But Russian oligarchs, that’s a whole different level. One that made it seem that much more likely that you wouldn’t come back.”

Her voice breaks, and all Alfie wants to do is scoop her up in his arms, but with the spatial restrictions of the car, he settles for gently rubbing her shoulder.

She leans back on the headrest and turns slightly, locking tear-filled eyes on his.

"Then it felt like you didn’t care what I thought, so, I lost it. I don’t want to tell you what to do or have you think I don’t trust you, because I do. But, what if you get seriously hurt or fucking killed, and I didn’t say anything that could’ve stopped it from happening. But I also hate fighting with you and I don’t ever want to see you with anyone else, I never should’ve said that. So, I’m really, really sorry.”

Fuck, he loves her so much. And on one hand, he’s ecstatic that they’re working things out, but on the other, his heart aches from the realization that he didn’t consider how his decision to only tell her the bare minimum, to cut her out of having a say in his work – his attempt to keep her as far away from it as possible – actually made things harder for her.

“Oh, An. You got nothin’ to apologize for, dove,” he replies softly. “Let’s get outta this bloody car so I can give you a proper hug, yeah?”

She nods and they get out, and he pulls her into a bear hug as soon as she’s in range, more appreciative than ever of the warmth and feel of her body against his.

As their embrace ends, he tilts her chin up.

“Right, you need to know somethin’, darlin’. Losin’ you is my worst fear, too. I was out of me head yesterday, thinkin’ I pushed you too far and you weren’t gonna come back. Thinkin’ to myself, 'Alfie, did you truly just fuckin’ destroy the most beautiful and best part of your entire existence over business with the bloody Russians?'”

He shakes his head and her hands find his.

“So, I got a taste of what that worry and waitin’ must be like for ya most days, didn’t I? And I’m sorry for causin’ it.“ He sighs. "I know I can’t promise what’s gonna happen in me work — like ya said, there’s always a chance that I’ll need those talented hands of yours to stitch me up.”

Clasping her fingers in his, he brings them to his lips, and she gives him a small smile as he continues.

“But what I can guarantee is this: no matter what I’m workin’ on, I will always, I repeat,always, have a multitude of plans and schemes in this ol’ head of mine for doin’ whatever the fuck needs to be done to get back home to you, An. That’s a promise I can keep. Non-fuckin’-negotiable. With that bein’ said, if you’re still more worried than usual about me doin’ somethin’ you think is mad, I’m perfectly happy to share those elaborate plans with you, and I promise to at least hear ya out, and we can talk ‘bout it like rational adults instead of me bein’ properly shitty with ya. How’s that?”

“That’s all I want. Thank you.” She kisses him and keeps her arms around his neck, her hands stroking through his hair. “So, what’s that brain of yours come up with this time?”

Alfie grins. “Well, me favorite scenario can’t be properly sorted, right, until I get there, because it will involve taking a careful inventory of which illicit substances are available that can be used to sudbue an unsavory foe in a pinch.” He nudges her, and she just runs her hand down her face, torn between relief and amusement. “Ya know what I mean?”

“No. But, strangely, I’m alright with that,” she replies. “You just be safe, yeah, and go on with those plans of yours, love. I trust you, just still don’t trust a bunch of Russian cunts.” Her tone gets mischievous. “Now that’s a proper use for that word, innit?”

Alfie chuckles darkly. “Yeah, I’d say so.”

Annie’s smile grows. “And speaking of promises, I didn’t forget that you promised me something properly dazzling out of this.”

“Right I did, my gorgeous girl.” He nuzzles into her and she giggles, smacking him lightly as his beard tickles against her skin.

“When you leaving?” she asks.

“Gotta make sure shit’s squared up at the bakery and then I’ll head out late afternoon. I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

She nods and grabs his shoulders, pulling him into a hard kiss that he responds to in kind, a tangible affirmation of his devotion, of being driven by his need to find his way back to her. Back to where he’s home.

He rests his head on her forehead.

“Mine,” she murmurs.

“Yours,” he replies. And he, the King of Camden Town, knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that the title of being hers is the greatest one he’ll ever hold.

—

Hampton Court

Everything really was going according to plan – Alfie hadn’t even considered his narcotic-fueled back-up option yet. He fully expected the Russians to bind him until Tommy’s arrival, and he knew he had free rein over the selection and Tommy wouldn’t argue. Because what kind of idiot wouldn’t listen to his trusted jeweler?

Had he not had Alfie and Cyril waiting for him at home, Alfie very well may have considered just staying in that cellar and choking to death on sapphires. The jewelry and gems are exquisite. He surveys them with genuine interest, haggles the value with Isabella, and tosses them on the table. He finds a rhythym as he works through piles of earrings and bracelets, opals and rubies, all gorgeous – but nothing that says “Annie.”

And then he sees it: A diamond necklace with an emerald pendant encircled in miniature ornate suns and flowers.

He gives a low whistle. “Fuckin’ hell. That’s perfect, that is,” he murmurs with a grin, holding up his prize to Tommy. “Whatcha think, Tommy, suits Annie well, yeah?”

Tommy’s cool gaze warms the slightest bit as he gives a tiny nod, which Alfie takes as a glowing endorsement.

Alfie gestures to Isabella. “Give ya 10.“

"12,” she counters.

Alfie rolls his eyes. “11, then.”

She looks like she’s about to argue, when Tommy’s cool voice cuts her off.

“Let’s say 11, shall we?”

She hesitates for a second but under Tommy’s steady gaze, nods curtly. Alfie places Annie’s present on the table, noticeably gentler than he’s been with the other jewelry.

“Who is Annie?” Tatiana asks.

“A breathtaking feminine creature descended from the most high and most beautiful goddesses themselves, whose radiance would put these here gems to right fuckin’ shame,” Alfie replies, not looking up from the pearl necklace he’s now examining with his eyeglass.

Tommy translates. “His woman.”

“Ah,” Tatiana responds, a slight smirk playing at her red lips. She turns to Isabella, the pair speaking openly in Russian.

“That must be one dumb goddess, fucking a rum-soaked Jew.”

Alfie’s fist clenches around the necklace, and he looks up at Tatiana.

“Nah, sweetheart, my Annie has more intelligence in one beautiful brain cell of hers than the fuckin’ lot of you combined.” He smirks as she and Isabella exchange startled looks.

“But you are correct in that I am a rum-soaked Jew, but there is a good reason for that. Because my shop, right, is just above a rum house.”

“You speak Russian?” Tatiana asks, bewildered.

“Yeah, I do, 'cause of me mum. And you people,” he pauses, glaring individually at each aristocrat. “Right, you hunted my mum with dogs. Through the snow.” The two women shift uncomfortably, and Leon averts his gaze.

Alfie takes a breath and rests his palms flat against the table.

“But back to the point at hand. If you, or you, or you, say anythin’ about Annie, the love of my wretched life, yeah, in Russian, or English, or any other fuckin’ language, we will have to cut this lovely ol’ time we are havin’ together short, because I quite simply will not tolerate it.”

Silence fills the dark room, expansive and pressing. Just as Tommy finally starts to open his mouth to break the tension, Alfie speaks, abruptly switching to a breezy tone.

“But who wants that, eh? Today is about forgiveness, innit? Now.” He sits down and claps his hands together. “Do you have any eggs?”

—

Even with the throbbing pain in his hip from the long drive back to Camden, Alfie has a spring in his step as he opens his front door, excited to see Annie.

He lumbers down the hall, softening at the familiar sound of Annie strumming on her guitar. He can already see it: her bare feet draped over the edge of the couch, reclining slightly and humming to herself as she plays.

The music stops as his footsteps get nearer.

"Ah, is that your da, sweet boy? Go get him!”

And as he rounds the corner, he’s met with the full force of Cyril, nearly taking him out at the knees.

“Christ, mate, lemme at least sit down first before you try to kill me,” he says sternly, but he scratches Cyril’s ear with as much affection as ever.

And again, Alfie is nearly taken down by the force of an object barreling into him – but this time, it’s Annie.

“It’s good to see you too, love,” he wheezes out, and Annie slackens her vice grip of a hug.

“Sorry!” She beams up at him and gives him the kind of fervent kiss that leaves him struggling to string his thoughts together. “As you can tell, you were missed. Everything go ok?”

He’s busy running his eyes and hands over her, but he snaps back to attention. “Hm. Right. Yeah, just peachy, truly, love. No illicit substances used on my end. You were right though, they sure did hate my oppressed, 'rum-soaked’ guts.”

Annie lets out a strangled noise like a growl, but it makes Alfie smile.

“Appreciate it, my ferocious girl, but it’s all done and over with.” He cups her face in his ring-adorned hands, tucks an escaped strand from her messy braid back behind her ear. “No more worryin’ in that pretty little head of yours tonight, yeah?”

“Fair enough.”

“Good. Now, I am a man who keeps his promises. And I believe I promised ya somethin’ properly dazzlin’. That sound right?”

Annie grins and plops herself back down on the couch, and Alfie follows suit. “That does check out on my end.”

Alfie pivots, feigning confusion. “Hm, or maybe I’m misrememberin’. That does happen, see, to old bastards like me as Father Time unleashes his steady and unyielding wrath upon us poor souls.”

“No, no, no, I know your head has not gone to complete mush just yet.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, An,” he grumbles, and she just giggles. “Close your eyes, yeah?”

She obliges as he reaches into his jacket pocket, carefully extracting out the delicate necklace and tucking it into her hand.

“Holy shit!“ she exclaims, her green eyes open and widening with delight. "They really let you, my beloved rum-soaked Jew, walk out alive with this?”

“Ya like it?”

“I love it. It’s absolutely beautiful. Thank you.”

She beckons and he clambers over to her, taking the necklace from her to fix the clasp behind her neck, which he brushes with his lips.

“Course. God knows you deserve it, dove, puttin’ up with all my nonsense.”

“Hey, anytime you decide you want to further an apology with diamonds, you’re not gonna hear a complaint outta me.” She traces the necklace with her fingers, dipping down just above her breasts, and she tilts her head.

“I do think it’d look even better, though, without these clothes in the way. But I defer to your judgment, you being the expert jeweler and all.”

Alfie immediately pulls her into his lap, eager hands guiding her sweater up and over her shoulders. Now, it’s his turn to trace the necklace, arousal pulsing through his veins as he brings his lips to her breastbone, works his way up her neck.

“I think you have a very, very discerning eye, love,“ he murmurs, hands running down her thighs. "And I’m a very, very lucky man.”

She grabs his jaw and tilts his head up, his blue eyes burning through hers. “And don’t you forget it, Alfie Solomons.”

And after everything that’s happened, Alfie knows he won’t.