Summary: With the weight of unspoken truth dragging him down and after gaining some encouragement from an unlikely source, Alfie finally tells Annie he’s in love with her.
Loosely inspired by: “What’s worse, telling you my feelings or to die without revealing that you crawled inside my head and set a fire there instead? Letting all my insecurity devour me with certainty.” - Halsey, Ya'aburnee
Word count: 5,000
A/N: My first in a series of misc. pieces about these QTs! Basically a 3-chapter one shot but I haven’t written on here in literally years so it’s how we rollin’.
–
Alfie Solomons was not a man who held his tongue, and each syllable he spoke was accented with deliberate cause. He liked that his rivals expected more out of him from just violence, that any battle with him would inevitably be a battle of wits. He relished the way his words shifted the very air in the room, wielding just as much, if not, more, power than his threat of his bullets and fists.
Bearing this in mind, it surprised him greatly, then, when he found he couldn’t manage to choke out three specific, simple words to Annie. Any time he came close to it, fear clawed at his guts, and he held back, cursing at himself in frustration every time.
“A spineless fuckin’ cunt you are, mate. How many men have you cut, killed, murdered, tortured, fuckin’ butchered, yeah? And yet, here you are, afraid that the shriveled remains of your blackened heart will break if you tell this woman the truth. Because how the fuck could she ever love someone like you, back, hm?”
The war inside him raged on for months and months, and now, with Callum gone, he found he was yelling at himself more and more to tell Annie every day—but still didn’t do it. But the longer he kept his mouth shut, the worse he felt, an increasingly unbearable weight pressing against his rib cage.
So, Alfie Solomons did what any lovesick Jewish boy at the end of his rope would do: he decided to talk to his mother.
Alfie sighed and settled himself in the cozy armchair in the corner of his study, lighting his pipe. He inhaled and turned his attention to the side table, looking out at a small black and white portrait nestled right beside his Tanakh.
“Привет, мама. Desperately need some help, I do.”
Alfie fiddled with his pipe as he leaned his head back on the chair, blue eyes still intently fixed on the picture of his deceased mom. “I bet you and your angel friends have been havin’ a right fuckin’ laugh, watchin’ me agonize over this Irish Gypsy woman. Man plans and God laughs, innit?”
In the flickering light of his pipe, he swears the portrait of his mother smiles at him. The corner of his mouth turned and he sat for a moment, lost in his thoughts and the smoke. When he spoke again, he was quieter, more subdued – but his sincerity was just as pronounced.
“But I know it’s real and that’s what matters, yeah. And I know that’s what you’d be telling me, to listen to this thing in my chest here.”
Alfie paused, rubbing his temple with his free hand.
“That bein’ said, I am still properly conflicted on if tellin’ her is the right thing. If I do and she doesn’t feel the same, which is most likely, on account of me bein’ me, yeah it’ll all go to shit. I won’t ever see her or that beautiful fuckin’ face anymore, hear that laugh. Get to make her laugh.“
His voice went even quieter, speaking more to himself in earnest. "But there’re times I see her and she just gives me thislook, and I can’t fuckin’ read it but I can feel it, something there between me and her. And I keep comin’ back for it. If there’s even a chance …”
His brow furrowed, ring-clad fingers roaming through his beard.
“Look, I know I am destined to glide right to the front of the queue for the fiery pit of the damned, but I’m sure you’ve got some powerful holy mates up there. Ones who would let ya send some kind of sign down to your kid, tellin’ me what I should do about Annie.”
He gestured vaguely, and the sound of his bracelets clinking together echoed around the vast room.
“Things of love and goodness and all that are more your domain than mine, yeah, so I am asking you to take the reins here.”
He sat in silence for a few moments, a slight smile on his face as he nodded toward the picture.
“I think you and her would’ve got on well, yeah. Right. Спасибо, мама.”
Alfie extinguished the pipe, groaning slightly as he stretched up and walked down the hall to his bedroom. It’s quiet except for Cyril’s snores in the corner. He laid down with his hands under his head and stared at the ceiling, trying not to think about how he’d feel if Annie was next to him.
–
After a night of uneasy sleep, Alfie was in no mood for anyone’s shit at work. Ollie immediately sensed it and gave him a wide berth, placing a solid five feet of distance between them as he gently dropped some papers on Alfie’s desk–something to do with the latest of Tommy’s schemes.
Alfie grunted and went to wave him away, but stopped when Ollie stammered out:
"And there’s a woman here to see you, Mr. Solomons. It’s not Annie.”
Alfie dragged his hands down his face, resisting the urge to smack the younger man.
“I fuckin’ knew that, didn’t I, ya silly boy, since you would’ve otherwise just told me An was here.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t need to fuckin’ apologize, mate, just try to use even a fraction of the brain ya got for a change.”
Ollie stood frozen until Alfie finally lost patience and smacked his hands on the desk, causing Ollie to jump.
“Well, go on then, send the mysterious lady in!”
Ollie nodded and scurried out the door as Alfie sighed, muttering under his breath as he took a sip of the Earl Grey on his desk.
“Fuckin too much to ask for a shred of intelligence these days, innit.”
He heard the sounds of heels clicking down the hall and his attention shifted, curiosity stirring inside him. And then he saw Annie’s older sister come through the door, and his curiosity was quickly replaced with dread.
“Fuckin’ hell, what does this ghastly woman want?”
Mutual dislike read plainly on both their faces, but Alfie adopted a cheerful tone anyways, raising his tea cup in a mock salute.
"Mags! You must be lost, sweetheart, payin’ us savages on this side of town a visit, eh?”
Mags shook her head, her cherry-red lips in a thin line as she surveyed the cluttered room with distaste.
“I’m not lost, Alfie.”
Alfie leaned back in his chair, bouncing slightly as he kicked his feet up on the desk.
“Hm. Well good, that’s good. Then I don’t feel bad tellin’ ya that I am, despite your many comments around the subject, a businessman, Mags. And a fuckin’ busy one at that. With very important things to do.”
To drive home his point, he grabbed the stack of papers off his desk and dropped them back down. He grinned as Mags clenched her jaw, clearly doing her best to hold back some smart remark.
“So tell us why you’re here or kindly get out of me office, yeah?”
Mags turned her gaze on him and when she spoke, she took the normally unflappable King of Camden Town by surprise:
"I need to talk to you about Annie.”
Alfie dropped his feet off the desk as his stomach dropped. His cocky demeanor was gone, immediately replaced with anxiety.
“What’s wrong, is she alright?”
Something in Mags’ cold glare lessened, and she sat down as Alfie stared back, unnerved.
“She’s fine,” she replied calmly. She fished around her purse and pulled out a cigarette container and match, offering the case toward Alfie, who shook his head. If Annie was alright, then what in the whole wide world of fuck was Mags here to talk about?
“Suit yourself.” Mags lit up, taking a grateful drag between her manicured nails. She sighed, pointing the cigarette toward him.
“I’m here because someone apparently needs to talk some sense into you. So,” she paused, exhaling a deliberate stream of smoke toward his face and grinning as his fist closed on reflex.
“Play nice, mate. She’s holdin’ the cards right now.”
Alfie grabbed his tea, doing his best to appear disinterested, even though he was dying to know what she wanted to say about Annie.
“I would like to know when you are planning to tell my sister that you’re in love with her.”
Alfie choked, his careful composure gone in an instant.
"Fuckin. Hell. The sign. MUM SENT A FUCKIN’ SIGN.”
He continued to cough as he reached for his handkerchief, very aware of Mags’ eyes trained on him. He took a deep breath, rearranging his features into one of (mostly) polite confusion.
“You what?”
Mags rolled her eyes.
“My sister. Annie.” She held up her hand. “About yay high, lovely green eyes, runs a little cafe across town.” She stared at Alfie and repeated, “When are you going to tell her you are in love with her?”
Alfie leaned back and interlaced his ringed fingers, his brain whirring. Had he really been that obvious?
“You are always hangin’ round Annie like a lost dog, mate, someone was bound to notice.”
Still, Mags loathed him. Had made that perfectly clear on any occasion they’d run into each other at Annie’s cafe. And while he could normally decipher anyone’s motives, he couldn’t piece together why the hell she’d be asking. So, he took his best guess.
“You tryin’ to prevent that from happenin,’ Mags?“
“On the contrary, Alfie.”
For the second time that day, Alfie was dumbfounded. It must’ve read clearly on his face, too, because Mags laughed.
"Surprised? That makes two of us.” She took another puff of her cigarette before ashing it in the tray on his desk.
“Look, I may not like you, Alfie, but I love my sister.” She leaned forward slightly, and Alfie was further shocked to see the ghost of a smile on her normally serious countenance.
“I’ve seen the way you look at Annie, how you just melt around her. Like she’s your own little piece of heaven.” She paused, seemingly waiting for an objection, and continuing when Alfie didn’t raise one, reeling internally from this unforeseen turn of events.
“I know you’d do anything to take care of her and make her happy. And she didn’t deserve to bury her husband, what she deserves is to be with a man who loves her just as much as Cal did. And as much at it physically pains me to say this, Alfie, I know that’s you.”
Her smile grew more pronounced as Alfie just sat there, rendered speechless for one of the few times in his life.
“My guess is that you didn’t want to tell her while she was married, and I have to give it to you, that was surprisingly honorable.”
Mag’s tone turns more businesslike, more like the Mags he’s come to expect.
“But Cal’s been gone for nearly 4 months now, and all the Irish mothers have started sending in their young, handsome sons now that she took her ring off. If you want to be with her, it’s now or never.”
She shook her finger toward him. “And don’t even try denying it, her entire kitchen has a betting pool going on about when you’ll finally ask her out.”
Well, she had him. Alfie drummed his fingers on the desk, weighing over his options. And he decided his best one was honesty.
“You don’t hear me contradicting you, do ya?” Alfie ran his hands through his hair. “But Mags, it is fuckin’ fanciful that she’d want to be with a bastard like me, innit. You and I both know that An is so far out of my realm, she should be,” he waved his hands toward the door, “in fuckin’ Wales, right.”
“True.”
Alfie threw his hands up.
“So what the fuck are you doin’ here tellin’ me to go after her?”
Mags shook her head, looking at him with something akin to pity.
“You really are daft. Do you think I’d be here in this shithole if she didn’t feel the same way about you that you feel about her?”
“Fuckkkkkkkkkin hell.”
If Alfie’s pulse wasn’t racing before, it sure was now. He wouldn’t put it past Mags to lie about this, but the way she spoke before … Alfie was good at reading people, and he knew she was sincere. But he needed more.
"Well, every man, he craves certainty, Mags, yeah,” he said slowly, hoping she’d give him enough to stop the doubts that had assailed him for months.
"Well, I am certain that my sister is in love with you.” Her tone softened again. “Tell her how you feel, and she’s yours.”
It would have to do. Alfie nodded, a grin breaking out across his face.
"You are actually not tryin to completely fuck me on this? Genuinely.”
Mags sighed.
“No, Alfie, I am not trying to fuck you on this. I’m looking out for my sister and her happiness.” She shrugged. “Even if it doesn’t make sense to me.”
“Huh. Well then, I will end this little chat of ours to pick up the pieces of brain that just blew out the back of me skull.” Alfie mimed his head exploding as Mags rolled her eyes.
"Always a pleasure.” She stood up, snapping her bag shut and shifting it onto her shoulder. “Now, you go on over there today so I can stop seeing you two dancing around your emotions like bloody teenagers. And don’t breathe a WORD of this interaction to her. She doesn’t need to know I had to intervene to get you to grow some balls.”
She turned to leave and was almost out the door when Alfie called her.
“Mags.”
She turned around and he raised his cup to her again, this time with sincerity.
“Thank you.”
She smiled back.
“Good luck, Alfie.”
He waited until he heard the echo of her heels fade before he stood up, pacing. He clapped the heels of his hands together, his bracelets jingling.
“Now or fuckin’ never, innit?”
He took a long exhale, chuckling to himself as he looked up at the ceiling.
"Always were direct, weren’t ya, mum?”
He grabbed his coat and hat from the corner and tipped it on before roaring out the door:
“OLLIE!”
He heard a door slam open and hurried footsteps along the corridor, Ollie peeking his head into the office like he was expecting a grenade to be tossed back at him.
“What do you need?”
“Relax, son,” Alfie clapped him on the shoulder, smiling at Ollie’s look of bemusement. “We’re just goin’ to Annie’s.”
And with that, he took another deep breath and the pair of them exited his office.
–
Alfie knew Annie would be closing up soon, which he was counting on to get some uninterrupted time to talk to her. It could be difficult to get her full concentration sometimes — she was always moving, always chatting, always daydreaming about something. And while he normally loved watching her whirl around, today, he couldn’t risk her missing a word he said.
Fortunately, the place was empty when he came in, except for Lily cleaning off tables.
She looked up as the doorbell jingled and smiled, continuing to wipe the tables down.
“She’s in the back.”
“Thanks, Lil.”
Heart pounding in his chest, he walked the familiar path back to the kitchen, letting his fingers hover for a moment on the swinging wooden door before he walked through.
And there she was. Her back was to him but he could picture the look of concentration on her face, biting the corner of her lip just slightly as she piped neat lines of frosting on a tray of pastries in front of her. As usual, her sleeves were rolled up, her dark hair twisted in a French braid over one shoulder. She hummed to herself, absorbed in her work, pausing only briefly as she turned at the sound of Alfie’s footsteps.
And there it was, that smile and that glow in her eyes that had Alfie hopelessly, relentlessly smitten.
“Hey, you.” She turned back to the tray, placing the last finishing touches. She set the piping bag down and wiped her hands on the front of her apron, motioning for Alfie to follow her.
And he would. Anywhere at all, to the ends of the earth to hell and back.
“This is perfect timing, I was gonna call tomorrow and tell you I needed my favorite authenticity judge to come down here.”
His heart swelled at the word favorite. She said he was her favorite. Fuck, he really was a goner.
“That so?” Alfie grinned, watching her cut off a piece of what looked like a freshly baked blintze, the inside teeming with bright berries “You playin’ round with more Jewish recipes?”
“Mhm.”
“Honestly, love, you might as well convert. I can just imagine the look of horror on the bubbes’ faces of being outbaked by a former Gentile.”
Annie laughed and Alfie melted, exactly as Mags described.
“How ‘bout I don’t ruin their lives, hm?” She placed the dessert on a plate and as she reached past Alfie for a fork, she brushed against him, the light contact setting his nerve endings on fire.
“Now shush and taste.” He nodded and took a bite, eyes closing as his taste buds took in the tart berries, the sweet cream, the familiar doughy but not too doughy roll.
“It’s good, yeah?,” Annie asked happily.
“Really fuckin’ good.” He pointed his fork at her. “A culinary magician you are, Annie Murphy.”
She beamed and took a mock bow.
“Thank you, thank you. So, what’s up?”
Alfie paused and took another bite of the blintze before he replied, doing his best to appear casual, even though he swore Annie could probably hear how loud his heart was beating.
“Just wanted to see if you had a minute to chat.” He shoved his hands in his pockets, clenching and unclenching his fists. “Just me and you.”
“Yeah, ‘course. Is everything ok?”
Alfie could’ve died at the concern in her voice, her desire to make sure he, this mad lone shepherd who had led 35 lambs to slaughter, was safe.
“Yeah, ‘m fine, love.”
Annie nodded, her look of concern turning to one of slight confusion. She hoisted herself onto the counter, legs swinging slightly.
“What’s goin’ on?”
“Don’t you fuckin’ dare back out now, mate.”
Alfie took a deep breath and started to speak, his tone much gentler than usual.
“Right. You probably don’t remember much ‘bout the day we met, ‘sides my storming’ in here wantin to kno-
“Know,” Annie cut him off and cleared her throat dramatically before giving a spot-on impression of him, “why the fuck a Jewish woman was working at an Irish fuckin bakery on this side of Camden?!” She grinned. “And then when you realized it was an Irish-Gypsy woman, how an Irish-Gypsy woman learned to make such proper 'fuckin’ challah.’ Hard to forget that, yeah?”
He chuckled, his nervous hands roaming to the chain on his vest as his tone softened.
“Right. But you know what stayed in my head the most? How you didn’t even flinch, ya just stood there and gave me that, that, smile right there, yeah. Too beautiful for words. Said if someone could braid hair, they could braid bread. You made this grumpy ol’ bastard laugh, and you kept doin’ it. So I came back. Kept comin’ back.”
He stopped and drank her in for a moment, this woman that stole his heart when he didn’t think it could be done. The way the stray, dark wisps of hair that escaped from her braid framed her face. How her apron hung tight against her hips. The exposed skin near her collarbones where her soft shirt tugged to the side. The lone streak of flour on her cheek. And of course, those stunning, jade-green eyes that were currently locked onto his, making him forget how to breathe.
“Fuck, she is a dream.”
Alfie’s tore his gaze away from Annie’s and started to pace, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.
“And then I said to myself, “Alfie, what is this peculiar sensation you are now experiencing?” Like there was some type of drumming goin’ on,” he tapped his temple and chest, “right here and here. And I just thought, ‘Well, we all know you’re touched in the head, so it’s probably just another symptom of our inescapable and utter madness.’ Left it at that.”
“But then I discovered something most interesting over the next few months: that this thing, this feeling, right here, yeah, only happened whenever I saw you. A type of madness reserved solely for the inimitable Annie Murphy. So what could possibly be a diagnosis for something like that, eh?”
“Alfie.” Her voice was quiet, but he pressed on over the interjection. Now that his thoughts were finally tumbling out in earnest, he couldn’t stop them.
“I’m almost finished, love. Right, yeah, so once I realized that it only happened ‘round you, Miss Annie, I knew I was fuckin’ done for.” He laughed, his hand going to the back of his neck. Said, “Alfie, mate, you realize this feelin’ you are carryin’ for this exquisite creature, who is very happily married, mind you, is not going anywhere, it is now an eternal fixture permeating your entire being.
This was it. He paused, feeling his heart reverberating through his bones, and when he dared to look up, Annie was staring right back with a lookthattold him to keep going.
He stopped pacing and looked at her head on.
“What I am tryin’ to fuckin’ say is that whatever remains of this thing in my chest, yeah, it belongs to you. Because I have been in love with you for a very long time, An. Now, you do whatever you fancy with that bit of knowledge, right, but I just needed to finally say it. Out loud. To you.”
One second, two seconds, three seconds, pass and feel like an eternity of silence that Alfie physically can’t take, so he rambled on.
“The alternative of continuing to keep me mouth shut would mean I would have to shoot my balls off because I wouldn’t deserve to keep them. Especially if I ended up seein’ you with one of those fuckin’ handsome little Irish lads who’ve sprung up here like daisies since you took your ring off. So, yeah.” He rocked back and forth on his heels, desperate for some way to shake out how exposed, how vulnerable he felt. “That is that.”
Dread, brutal and blinding, was now coursing through him. Fuck, did she try to cut him off before to stop him from looking like a complete idiot? Her silence spoke volumes to him, this was clearly a colossal fucking misjudgment on his end. What the fuck had he expected, what did he deserve?
“Yeah, time to go, you daft fuckin’ cunt.”
“Right, I will take your silence as you bein’ too sweet to tell me to fuck off, so, I’ll get out of your hair then.”
Annie immediately jolted out of her reverie.
“No, no, no! Don’t go.” She slid herself off the counter, and Alfie was convinced he was going to have a heart attack from this continuing vacillation between fear and hope.
She smiled. “Sorry, I was just … processing. And I still have a hard time knowin’ when you’re done monologuing.”
Then, she was there by him in an instant, close enough for her to wind her hands in his. His eyes met hers with an unspoken plea, practically begging for validation, and he didn’t even care. Because he needed to hear her say it, would burn the world to ashes if it meant he could hear it.
And he did.
“Alfie, I love you too.” His fear finally fell away and he had to remember that he wasn’t dead and this was real — nothing would ever feel this good, this pure, in the afterlife he was destined for.
She was so, so close to him, and he just breathed her in like a drug, warm bread and sugar and something like wildflowers, unmistakably Annie. HisAnnie.
She loved him.
She smiled, a playful note at the edge of her murmur, echoing his own words back to him:
“Do whatever you’d like with that bit of knowledge.”
Pulse alight for all the best reasons, Alfie dropped her hands so he could cradle her face.
“Right, then.”
They crashed into each other, the months of tension palatable in every frantic and tender touch. His lips against hers and the feel of her grin from the soft moan he made when her hands knotted in his hair, tongue sliding past his teeth. He grabbed her hips and it was his turn to smirk at the pretty little gasp she made against him before kissing him even harder. Fuck, this was it, he was in a categorically underserved heaven on Earth.
Until Lily walked through the door.
“Annie, that nut Mrs. McGinnity is out front wantin’ to change her son’s cake again, do you want me to- oh shit, I am SO sorry!”
Annie reluctantly pulled away at the interruption and as Alfie rested his forehead on hers, he was pleased to see her breathing was as labored as his.
“It’s fine, Lil, I’ll be out in a few, yeah?”
“Course!” The door of the kitchen smacked shut, and the two of them dissolved into laughter at getting caught making out like a couple of kids.
“Fuckin’ hell, love.” Alfie traced Annie’s jaw with his thumb and she caught his hand, her eyes trained on his as she brushed her lips over his tattoo, sending goosebumps across his flesh. “You have no idea how long I’ve been wantin’ to do that.”
“Well, it’s a relief on my end too.” She pressed her lips back to his again, more gently this time. “I’ve been going fuckin’ mad over here, keepin’ this from you.”
Alfie nodded, still floating in the surreal, dizzy state that seemed suspiciously like happiness.
“Yeah, I know what that’s like, don’t I.”
But then, he noticed Annie’s gaze shift and his heart sank, because those startlingly green eyes were now brimming with tears.
“Hey, hey, An, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, really nothing,” she laughed and simultaneously made a noise of frustration, placing the heels of her hand against her eyes and bringing them down again. “I just. I know I’ve been all over the place since Cal died. And uh, it felt like things would never get better, but they have been. And you had a lot to do with that.”
The corner of her mouth lifted at the same time a solitary tear rolled down her cheek, which Alfie stroked away.
“I’m just really happy you wandered into my life, yellin’ your head off about bread.”
“Fuck, Annie, c’mere.”
He pulled her into his arms and she immediately burrowed into his chest, and they stayed like that for a few moments, tangled in each other’s warmth. He pressed his lips to her hair and felt her sigh in contentment, drawing a smile out of him.
“Well I’m glad you’re happy because you’re stuck with me now, ain’t ya?”
“I’m not complainin,” she replied, her voice muffled slightly against his shirt. He pulled back and gently lifted her onto the counter, relieved to see her smiling again.
“There she is.” His tone resumed its normal confidence and he grabbed Annie’s hands in his. “Right, now that we have settled this whole exchange of mutual feelings, yeah. I am takin’ you on a proper fuckin’ date. Wherever you want.”
“Oooh.” Annie drummed her fingers against her lips, thinking. “Let’s do Wilton’s. But fair warning, I’m planning to nick their toffee pudding recipe. Do you know how many people come in here askin’ if I make it like them?” Her eyes widened and she shook her head with a giggle, simply the most adorable thing Alfie had ever set his eyes on. “I’ve just been sayin “yeah,” but I haven’t the foggiest. It’s gonna ruin my street cred.”
“Nah, can’t have that, can we.” He swung her hands lightly. “You want to investigate tonight, then?”
“I can’t. I’m babysittin’ Mags’ kids.” Alfie grimaced and Annie smacked his shoulder lightly. “Come off it, you saw them on one bad day. But I’m free tomorrow.”
“Right, I’ll come get ya ‘round 7.”
“Sounds good,” Annie replied. She wrapped her hands around his neck as she pulled him in for another kiss, only stopping when the sound of rising female voices drifted in from the front of the cafe.
Annie sighed. “I gotta go take care of that.”
Alfie pulled out his watch, matching Annie’s reluctance.
“Yeah, I gotta head off and meet Tommy.” It was the last thing he wanted to do, to step away from the thrill of her touch, her adoration, this temporary respite from the jagged edges of his life. He hadn’t even left, and yet he couldn’t wait to get back to her again.
He grabbed her hand and kissed it, savoring the way her eyes lit up in response.
“See you tomorrow, then, yeah?”
“Mhm.”
Like any addict desperate for one last fix, he kissed her hungrily, letting her hands trace over his beard and the scarred flesh before he forced himself back, hands clasped against her shoulders.
“Fuck, I cannot get enough of you.” He moved toward the door. “Right, I’m leaving, actually leaving.”
He had one hand on the wooden fixture when Annie called out:
“Alfie.”
And he whipped around so fast he nearly fell over, catching himself on the edge of the wall as Annie tried and failed to hide a massive grin behind her hand.
“Yeah, pet?”
“I love you.”
And he knew in a thousand years or a thousand lifetimes, he would never get tired of hearing her say that, or saying it to her.
“Love you too, An.”
He walked through the doorway and practically skipped his way through the rest of the cafe, still humming as he breezed past an agitated Lily and the even more agitated Mrs. McGinnity.
He strode out into the sunlit street, smirking slightly as he saw Ollie immediately stand up straighter from where he was half-slumped against the car. And before Ollie could even open his mouth, Alfie walked straight up to him and kissed him on the head without a word.
He got into the driver’s seat and rested his head against the steering wheel, a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration coursing through his veins as snippets of his conversation with Annie bounced around his head.
He had done it. He had finally told her.
“I love you too, Alfie.”
He heard the passenger door open gingerly and Ollie slid in, and he could practically feel the apprehension radiating off him.
“Are you feeling ok, Mr. Solomons?”
Alfie sat straight up and Ollie started as he clapped him on the shoulder, putting the car in drive.
“Course I am, dear boy. Just a beautiful fuckin’ day, innit? Just lovely, simply lovely.”
Alfie grinned, one hand on the wheel and the other clutching the star pendant that dangled from his neck. Knowing Ollie wouldn’t hear him over the roar of the engine coming to life, he took a second to whisper two much-needed words of gratitude.
Summary: Eddie and Kasey go to a Society of Professional Journalists holiday party together, and their insecurities threaten to tear them apart. Featuring an appearance from the one and only James Buchanan Barnes!
Summary: With the weight of unspoken truth dragging him down and after gaining some encouragement from an unlikely source, Alfie finally tells Annie he’s in love with her.
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.
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.
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.
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.
SUMMARY — Alfie and his wife. Slice of life and domestic fluff.
AUTHOR’S NOTE — Written for the 100 Followers Celebration for @zablife - congratulations on your milestone darling! This is a Reader fic since it somehow fit the idea better, but I suppose my intention was that the Reader is Edna… if that makes any sense? I hope you like it!
“And what does my beautiful bride want for her tea this fine bloody evenin’?” Alfie asked you when he entered the sunroom where you were resting; Cyril’s head on your lap and a book in hand.
It was in fact a perfectly nice evening, if a little chilly. You knew, however, how his sciatica acted up whenever the temperature dropped, so you decided not to comment. You just smiled at your husband’s word choice, though couldn’t exactly tear yourself away from your reading.
“Should you still be calling me your bride if it’s been a year already?” you asked casually.
Alfie scoffed at that and barked something you couldn’t understand, though somehow knew it was a swear word. You lifted the book higher to hide your utter delight at the reaction. Teasing him never got old.
You grew up with the Shelby family after your father’s death. He worked for the Shelby’s and when he was murdered by an enemy, Polly took you under her wing.
Through your teenage years, you were especially close to Ada and you two confided in each other about every little thing. This doesn’t change as you get older.
You and Ada are best friends and she is the first one who clocks onto you and John hiding feelings for one another.
“Just tell him, Y/N!”
“I can’t, Ada, there’s no way he feels the same!”
“That’s the biggest load of shit I’ve ever heard. He looks at you like you hung the bloody stars!”
You spent a lot of time with John as a teen, getting into trouble, drinking and smoking, running rings around Polly and running wild around Small Heath.
Polly bollocked John about it to no end and expressed her disappointment in you too, but you two just couldn’t stay away from each other. There was nobody else in the world that made you feel like the weight of the world had been lifted from your shoulders the way he could - he made you feel genuinely happy.
On your 18th birthday in the summer, John steals a bottle of whiskey and you both get drunk out in the fields watching the stars and talking about anything and everything.
You rode out there on horseback but since you were too drunk to ride back, you end up falling asleep under the stars curled up next to John.
When you wake early the next morning, the sheer magnitude of your feelings for him hits you like a freight train.
He wakes up shortly after you and when he sees you propped up on one arm staring at him with a particular twinkle in your eye, he wastes no time in kissing you. You both laugh about how hungover you feel and how it was probably the worst first kiss ever, and then you both panic about the beating you’re both going to receive from Polly when you get home.
It doesn’t take long for John to propose after that, and you don’t hesitate in saying yes.
Polly acts like she’s annoyed about it but deep down she couldn’t be happier for the two of you; part of her hopes that you’ll be able to reign him in a little bit.
Of course this doesn’t happen since the two of you are just as fiery as each other.
Your wedding night is a wild one, that’s for sure. It’s surprising that anyone even remembers it the next morning.
You, Arthur, John and Michael are the worst, it’s actually quite funny to watch.
You literally go off the rails.
Consecrating the marriage is amazing, to say the very fucking least. John treats you like royalty up until you tell him not to…
“I won’t break, you know. You can be a little rougher than that.”
He doesn’t need you to say anymore than that.
Even after being married for some time, you and John are still loved up.
You’re always holding hands at family meetings.
You sit in his lap whenever you get the chance.
Anyone would think you were still teenagers.
You literally cannot keep your hands off each other.
Sometimes you steal his hat and wear it which he thinks is the cutest damn thing ever.
And the sex… well.
You ‘christen’ every room in your house. Hell, you ‘christen’ every surface.
He’s always murmuring crude comments in your ear at inappropriate times because he loves watching you squirm.
When you eventually have children, they are just as wild as their mum and dad. Polly never misses the opportunity to let you know that you only have yourselves to blame for producing such raucous children.
He loves watching you be a mother to his children.
You like to argue about who the fun parent is, but it’s definitely John.
You’re always knocking Tommy down a peg or two, which he actually really respects. He thinks you’re just what his brother needs, and he’s right.
You and Arthur are cut from the same cloth, and when you get together it’s a given that there’s going to be trouble. Nights at the Garrison with him almost always end in a wicked hangover because you’re constantly trying to out-drink one another.
You understand the nature of John’s work but it does get lonely sometimes when he’s always away or coming home late.
But he never fails to make it up to you.
He spoils you incessantly - jewellery, books, fancy dinners, expensive champagne… anything you want. Name it and it’s yours.
Being married to John is literally a dream.
There’s never a dull moment.
There’s never any room for doubt where his love for you is concerned because he tells you whenever he gets the chance.
: You learn that John was actually the one behind one of the best birthday presents you’ve ever received, which leads to a sudden revelation…
:1708
:Swearing
It might have been the booze, or maybe you were simply drunk on life, but you could honestly say that you were happier in this moment than you had been in a long time. Longer than you could even remember, in fact. You told Ada so as you downed what could have been your fourth or fifth Scotch whiskey, beaming underneath the warm lights of the Garrison.
“It’s been a weird couple of years,” You said. “But it finally feels like things are returning to some semblance of normal.” Ada snorted. “Normal? When is anything ever normal around here? We’ll see how long it lasts.” You rolled your eyes. “You’re always so bloody pessimistic. Honestly Ada, why are you always looking gift horses in the mouth?” “Maybe because I know my brothers, and I know that nothing good ever stays that way where they’re concerned.” “You can say that again.” A very drunk Polly retorted, sidling up next to the two of you at the bar. You glanced at her, taking in her dishevelled appearance and the way she was swaying on her feet. “How much have you had to drink, Polls?” She held her head high, nose in the air. “None of your concern.” You spotted Tommy across the pub and he gestured you over. “Ada, make sure Polly stays on her feet.” “You know I will, Y/N.”
You couldn’t remember life before the Shelby family, and you likely wouldn’t remember a life after them because you knew there wouldn’t be one. The Shelby’s were your life - your kin - and you wouldn’t have it any other way. You had never known another mother aside from Polly since your own had died in childbirth, and your father - who had worked for the Shelby’s towards the end of his life - had been killed in an entanglement with an ‘enemy,’ as Polly had explained. Since the age of thirteen you had grown up in close quarters with Tommy, Arthur, John and Ada under Polly’s diligent care and while it had been an unusual childhood, you wouldn’t be who you were without it. Now, at the age of twenty nine, you lived in your own house (a birthday gift from Tommy) and spent most of your days helping Polly with the books when you weren’t writing your own. Words flowed steadily through your blood to your heart and kept you alive; you were in the process of publishing your first novel.
Tommy and John were sitting together in a booth by the front doors watching the grand reopening and taking it all in. They usually kept to a private room while at the Garrison, but right now they wanted to see their success materialising right in front of them. Drink in hand, you took the seat next to Tommy and followed his line of sight.
“Brilliant turnout,” You remarked. “But it’s very…” “Gold?” Tommy inquired, the ghost of a smirk on his face. “That’s one word for it…” John burst out laughing. “Fuckin’ awful, ain’t it?” You downed your whiskey. “I might’ve gone with a different colour scheme,” You snickered. “But it looks great.”
Tommy pulled his packet of cigarettes and a box of matches out of his inside pocket and offered you one. You gladly accepted and let him light it for you before he did the same. John was smoking a large cigar, regal as ever as he leaned back in his chair like he didn’t give a fuck - because he didn’t. Your stomach lurched when he caught you staring and responded with a wink. Ever since you were teenagers, you’d had a soft spot for John Shelby; if it wasn’t for the fact that Polly had forbidden any of her nephews from pursuing you romantically and your embarrassing lack of guts, you would have pounced on the opportunity to be with a man like John. There had never been anyone else for you and you highly doubted there ever would be, but it didn’t matter because it didn’t seem as though he reciprocated your feelings. Besides, Polly would never go for it. She’d have John’s head on a spike before she let him anywhere near you - in that way, at least.
“How’s the writing coming along?” Tommy asked. “Don’t even talk to me about that,” You huffed. “Writer’s block is going to be the death of me.” John frowned. “Thought you’d finished writing your book?” “The first one, yes,” You explained. “Need to chase up the publishers, actually.” Tommy raised a brow. “Need me to have a word?” You appreciated the Shelby’s help - all of it, no matter what it was in regard to - but this was something that you wanted to do on your own. “No, it’s okay. Thank you though.” “So if you’ve finished the book, what’s the problem?” John pressed. “Well, I want to write another one, but I’m stuck for ideas.” “You could write about us,” John grinned, wiggling his eyebrows. “Bet you’d sell thousands of copies. Millions, even. You can put my picture on the cover.” You took a long drag of your cigarette. “Why would anyone want your ugly mug on their bookshelves?” “Oh, Y/N,” John exclaimed dramatically. “You wound me!” “It’s a good idea though,” You said. “Writing about you lot, I mean.” “Really?” “Don’t sound so surprised,” You laughed. “You do occasionally come up with some decent ideas, John.” Tommy stared at you. “That’s gotta be a joke.” “Piss off, Tom.” You smiled at John. “Maybe I’ll do it. Maybe I’ll write a book about growing up with the Peaky Blinders.” Tommy finished his drink before standing up. “As long as you split the royalties.” And with that, he was gone, off to talk to some guests. John took Tommy’s seat next to you. “You wouldn’t ‘ave to, really. He’s just taking the mick.” “I know,” You grinned. “But he did buy me a house, so maybe I’d give him some of the credit.”
You and John were quiet for a long time, just enjoying each other’s company while people watching. Polly was dancing with a fellow that looked to be at least fifteen years younger than her, so Ada clearly hadn’t done a very good job watching her. You understood why she was off the rails tonight and you felt sympathetic for the woman who had practically raised you; finding out your son was alive and well but not being allowed to see him must have been a particularly agonising kind of torture, but you understood why Tommy was keeping the address from her. There were so many ways it could all go wrong. Your thoughts were with Polly while you nursed your next drink, and when John finally broke the comfortable silence, you had to ask him to repeat himself since your mind had been elsewhere.
“I said, Tommy never bought you that house.” “What?” “You really need me to say it again?” You had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean, Tommy didn’t buy me the house?” “Well, he sorted out all the paperwork and all that, but I picked it. And it was my idea.” You recoiled. “Why didn’t you tell me?” He shrugged. “Dunno. Just seemed right that it should come from Tommy.” “But it wasn’t,” You felt strangely emotional upon hearing all of this. “It was from you. Thomas shouldn’t get the credit for everything, you know.”
John smiled sadly and you had to swallow the large lump that had formed in the base of your throat. When he looked at you like that with his wide, blue eyes it took everything in you not to lean over and kiss the man senseless. As much as you hated it, you understood where he was coming from; Tommy was the face of the company and the Shelby family overall. It had always been that way and it didn’t look like it would ever change.
But he didn’t deserve to get the credit for this.
“I love my house,” You muttered. “It’s perfect for me. Down to the bloody door frames.” “I knew you would. That’s why I picked it. Who do you think got the bookshelves stocked? And put the typewriter on the desk?”
That did it. You stubbed out your cigarette and grabbed John’s hand, dragging him outside rather forcefully. The noise from the pub faded to a dull murmur as the door closed behind you both, and you realised suddenly that you were still holding John’s hand.
“Y/N, what-” “Thank you,” You said sincerely. “John, thank you.” “It’s only a house. But you’re welcome.”
He didn’t understand what it meant to you. You never thought that you would have a place to call your own, especially not after the deaths of your parents. And he certainly didn’t understand that it meant even more now that you knew it had come from him, so you told him all of this as best you could.
You were rather flustered by the time you finished explaining, and embarrassed to say the least. “Jesus, I’m supposed to be a writer but I can’t even get my fucking words out.” “Y/N, just shut up, will you?”
With a defeated sigh, you dropped his hand and turned to go back inside the pub, but he reached out and grabbed your wrist to pull you closer to him. Your heart dropped into your stomach when you realised just how close the two of you actually were, and when he leant in you could have sworn that you’d stopped breathing.
“Stop thanking me, Y/N. I did it because you deserve it,” He swallowed. “Because I love you.” “What?” “You ‘eard me,“ He smirked. “I love you.” He pressed his lips to yours and after the initial shock had subsided, you relaxed into the kiss, looping your arms around his neck. “I love you too,” You murmured against his lips. “So much.”
He was looking at you like you were the only person left in Small Heath, like you were the only thing that mattered. But of course he had to go and make a ridiculous comment.
“Since the cat’s out of the bag, can I move into my house now?”
It’s Bloody Three O'clock In The Mornin’ - (Alfie Solomons x Reader)
Word count: 1218
Warnings: Swearing. Angst for both Alfie and the reader. Stalking.
A/N: 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 had been a very long and tiring week. Alfie wanted nothing more than to get home and collapse into his bed, but there was something that needed to be done back at the office before he could allow himself the luxury. And thank God he made his way back there.
At first, as he made his way into the building, he thought someone had broken in, hearing the sound of rummaging papers coming from his dimly lit office. But as he silently crept down the passage, the sound of your familiar sigh travelled up to greet him. And instantly he felt himself relax… Nevertheless, why were you still at work, when everyone had left hours ago?
Stopping in the doorway, Alfie spoke with surprise, “Y/N? What are you still doin’ ‘ere? It’s bloody three o’clock in the mornin’? Instantly, regret washed over him when the sound of his voice had you jumping ten feet in the air, your hands releasing a stack of papers in a shower across the floor. Now normally, he would have teased your flightiness, but something in your manner seemed on edge and anxious… and rather uncharacteristically, it had the hair on the back of his neck standing on end. Because if you willingly chose to spend the loneliest hours of the night, alone, in the dark shadowy office of a notorious gangster, something must be very wrong.
Spinning on your toes, your eyes washed with relief at the sight of his familiar face, and Alfie couldn’t deny the spark of joy it brought to his heart; you were happy to see him. But the fleeting moment of fear he saw before your relief arrived, twisted like a knife in a wound. And he needed to know… what, or more importantly, who, was responsible for bringing such a look of fear to your lovely E/C eyes?
Moving to your side, he wrapped a hand around your elbow, stopping you from kneeling down to gather the papers. You were trembling, and it made him anxious in the most instinctive way. Guiding you upright, he tried to catch your gaze, but your eyes flittered around the floor as your lips formed an incoherent apology. Alfie usually restrained himself from physically touching you, not that he didn’t want to, truth be told, it was something he had wanted for quite some time. But what he really needed right now, was to see your eyes. With a soft touch he caught your chin between his fingertips and moved your gaze to his, asking again, “Y/N, what are you still doin’ ‘ere at this hour?”
He felt pressure on his hand as you tried to lower your head, but his fingertips gently declined you the opportunity to avert your eyes as he waited patiently for your answer. Breathing deeply, you nibbled nervously on your bottom lip, the same look of fear creeping back like a shadow across your face… and he knew then, you were in serious danger. Moving his own head to follow your reluctant gaze, he prompted again, “What’s wrong, Y/N?”
Shaking your head gently, you blinked long and heavy trying to avoid the intense look in his eyes, and it was clear to him that you were about to lie, “Nothing, Mr. Solomons… there’s just a bit of work I need to catch up with.”
Letting go of your chin, his hands went to his hips. “Mr. Solomons…? It’s been a fuckin’ long time since you ‘ave called me that… and we both know you never fall behind… So why don’t ya stop with the shit and just tell me what’s going on.”
A moment of defeat crept upon your voice, and yet, you persisted, “It’s nothing, Alfie… I, I don’t want to bother you… You have enough going on.”
If Alfie wasn’t so concerned, he would have laughed, nothing you could ever want or need would ever be a bother to him. Making a tsking sound, he spoke, “The only thing botherin’ me is not knowin’ what has you so fuckin’ terrified, yeah?” Alfie’s fingers twitched at his hip, resisting the urge to brush a stray lock of hair back to where it had escaped from behind your ear, “Now tell me… Why are you still here at three o’clock in the mornin? You should be tucked up in bed.”
Another deep breath passed through your chest, your expression now completely resigned in defeat, your words filling his veins with a burning pulsing rage, “There’s a man… he, he’s always there… at my house.” Alfie’s whole body grew rigid, but he silently gestured for you to continue. “At first, I thought I was imagining it, he would always stand in the shadows in the lane across the street. But… every night he moves a little closer.”
Almost growling through clenched teeth, Alfie asked, “Who is this bastard?”
You shook your head, your sweet voice beginning to shake, “I, I don’t know him… every night he’s there. I see him from my window… I lay awake, list… listening for every noise, waiting for him to kick down my door.” Through his building rage he noticed the darkness tarnishing the valleys beneath your beautiful eyes, stark evidence of your sleepless nights; how had he not noticed it sooner.
For a moment you were silent, your hesitance to continue was evident as you nibbled at your bottom lip, yet, you took another deep breath to steady yourself and continued. Reaching into your pocket, you pulled out a slip of paper and handed it to him, “I was so relieved when I got home last night… I couldn’t see him anywhere, but I… I found this pushed under my door.”
Unfolding the paper, he read the message scribbled across it, his fingers holding it taught in his grip, almost tearing it at the edges.
I have been watching for a long time Much longer than you know Even when you can’t see me, I am here, watching and waiting
Crushing the message in his fist, he threw it to the ground, barely aware of the guttural sound escaping his throat, his head too heavy with rage to notice. Was this man an imbecile? Too stupid to realise who you worked for, and too unfortunate to know how much you meant to him? Well, soon this misunderstanding would be rectified. And not only this monster of a man, but everyone… would understand the risk they took if they decided they wanted to mess with you.
Moving his hand up along your arm, he slipped it to the nape of your neck, pulling you into his arms. And even in his anger, the feeling of your hair within his palm and the beat of your heart against his chest satisfied a long-awaited yearning. Biting down his rage… just for you, he relaxed his rigid form, desperately wanting to comfort your trembling body… to make you feel safe… to feel protected.
Then resting his temple to the side of your head, he spoke, his words harsh and threatening, but his voice, somehow gentle and comforting against your ear. “Nobody is ever gonna hurt you while I’m fuckin’ breathin’… Now tell me how to get into your place without being seen…? Cause you’re gonna show me exactly who this fucker is, yeah?”
again! hello! i want to do a drabble for the characters that i intend on writing super lengthy stories for, so here is another little one shot / potential second parter so i can find my way back to Alfie
warnings: swearing!
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“Mr. Solomons.” It was difficult for you not to roll your painted eyelids. The shimmering powder that had been applied earlier that morning was visible even in the dimly lit establishment. “Let’s pretend for a moment that we’re both grown ups, can you handle that?” His obvious flirting was beginning to get on your last nerve and you hadn’t even been here for more than twenty minutes. The lengthy lashes attached to your lined eyelid almost tickled your shaped brow with each and every slow blink.
Alfie’s brows were hidden beneath the long brim of his thick, black hat. Beneath that accessory though, you were positive his bushy brows were arched by your mocking comment seeing as his eyes were glazed over with the most challenging and disbelieving tint you’d seen in a man’s eyes since your last business meeting.
His blue eyes fell away from your pointed stare in order to rake down the length of your curved neck and down to your exposed breasts. He could practically feel the way your eyes narrowed as he ogled your bosom. “Forgive me, yeah, but they were staring at me first.” The quiet squeak of his hand tightening around his thick-wooded cane caught your attention. You lowered your heavy gaze away from his features and inspected the way his knuckles whitened under his overbearing grip.
The eyeroll you sent in his direction made the small boy at the bloke’s side shuffle. Ollie, was it? The brunette was shifting his weight from side to side in the oak chair, fingers trembling around his grip on the clipboard. Not too long ago, Sabini had been sat in the chair you filled, exchanging words with his boss as Ollie hurried to scribble down each and every deal and agreement.
Temptation was strong. It was so strong, like the burning ache of desire you felt that stung the back of your throat when you stared at a glass of whiskey or rum. It was strong like lust, the swirling impatience that formed and suffocated your insides, curling in your lower belly with so much need. It was very similar to how you felt now - only instead of being tempted to have a shag or a drink, you were tempted to throttle the man across from you and hold the barrel of your polished revolver against the side of his temple. But you were far too mature, and far too admired to do something so risky without thinking twice.
“Mr. Solomons.” The man rubbed his lips together slowly at the formal approach once more. “Must I take my business elsewhere? I won’t be known for making deals with a child, and you,” You ogled him pointedly, as if waiting for him to drag his beady eyes away from your breasts and make eye contact once more. He did, but it certainly took a few moments. “wouldn’t surprise me if you started crying because you’re teething.” The challenging squint you passed in his direction made him straighten. He wasn’t fond of the way that you were speaking to him in front of his men, and he also wasn’t fond of the way he was beginning to enjoy it. Riling you up was proving to be fun. He liked the annoyance that swam in your gaze and the tension that built in your shoulders as you hunched forward to make yourself perfectly clear with every venomous word you spoke.
“Right, I’m sorry, aint I.” Alfie adjusted his cane slowly. Rotating the wood, he laid the length of it across his lap slowly before planting his hands down flat against the scratched table. His rings tinked quietly against the surface, dragging along the oak each time he’d swipe his hand in one direction or the other, scraping his jewelry in the process as he spoke. “We got off on the wrong foot, didn’t we, Miss. Go on then, right, let’s hear you little plan again. Promise you, this time, good old Alfie’s fucking listening.”
The saliva in your mouth was sucked through the gaps in your teeth. Swallowing, in order to moisten your drying throat, you shook your head in disbelief before absently beginning to rotate your ankle beneath the table. Unbeknownst to you, every rotate of your slender foot caused the tip of your heeled boot to lazily graze the calf of the well known man across from you, grazing his trousers in a way that made the man think you were flirting with him.
“I won’t repeat myself again.” You insisted. This was the last time he’d hear your offer. “I know you may think you’ve got some sort of manly power over me, since you’re no doubt intimated by a woman coming in here and making demands. But I want just as serious of a deal as any other hardworking person that comes through those doors. Now,” Alfie clenched his jaw as you swiftly continued on, unallowing him to cut in and state that he, in fact, treated women no differently than men. He just ogled them for far longer because they were much more enticing to stare at. After a few moments, he realized he was probably glad you hadn’t let him open his mouth, he probably would’ve said something unknowingly, and borderline, sexist. “Iwantyou to do my heavy lifting. I can offer you men, several more hands to help you with all that you need done in your little distillery. I have clientele, angry one’s, that need to be disposed of. Unfortunately for me, that is a headache of a job to take care of and I’d much rather have a trusty bloke, such as yourself, handle that for me. Now, in return, I will help transport some of your bread.” You squinted in his direction, attempting to read him. “The white only. The brown is of no interest to me. I deal with bosses, men and women alike. I don’t make deals with low-down workers. Shelby, Sabini, Changretta, I know the lot of people you’ve been dealing with Solomons and not a single one of them would grasp my attention for even half of a second. But you, Mr. ‘I make a deal or death’..” There was a playful smirk playing on your pink lips now and a very long pause. “Are you going to shoot me, Solomons?” Lazily lifting your arm, you peered down at your red nails, painted perfectly before you slowly extended your arm and wiggled your nimble fingers.
The questioning look in his eye was enough to make you want to giggle. He was pondering every word you’d said. Even if the deal hadn’t sounded too entirely tempting, the fact that you’d said you only deal with the big boys and girls was enough to make Alfie swirl his tongue around in contemplation. “Being that you’re talking about me fucking over a few not-so-friendly men, what kind of protection does that leave me with, yeah? I think, right, actually, I fucking know, the second I breathe out the word ‘deal’ to you, the three of them’ll just barge in here, right, and have my fucking head.” His hands lifted to his chest before opening in a widespread motion, palms pointed toward the ceiling and bracelets shaking under the movement. “Now, why don’t you make your deal just a little more flattering?”
You rubbed your teeth together absently before fixating your orbs on the ceiling. “Didn’t expect you, of all people, to seek protection.” You supposed you were asking him to screw over several of his previous business negations though. But 200 barrels of white bread was far more money than 300 barrels of brown. Oh, he was going to work for you, in fact, he’d probably beg if you’d have let him. “Alright, Mr. Solomons. I can offer you a new relationship with the police. And not one like Tommy Shelby was offering.”
“The police round here, yeah, can’t fucking stand me. I don’t think that’ll be enough protection.” Alfie ground his teeth together. He was a big boy. He’d gladly kill Sabini, Changretta, and Shelby if it came down to it. But he’d like to avoid a bloodbath if at all possible. But not having to watch his back every second of every day would be nice.
You hummed lowly, absently pulling your attention from the ceiling so that you could look back toward Alfie. “I’ll double the men then. Send some to be lookouts. My men are highly professional and far more capable than the lousy gits you’ve got standing guard.” You pressed your palms against the table and slowly began to lift yourself up and out of the chair. Rising above the seated men in front of you, you passed him a slow smile. “I’m a woman that a lot of people want dead.” Trustworthy as you may be, the very deal you’d made Alfie had been offered up to several other’s too. Fuck over so and so, work for me instead, and I’ll give you things you’ve never dreamed of — that was the big, tempting headline nobody had said no to thus far. That being said, those at the shit end of the stick always tended to be on the hunt for you. “And I’ve been in business for probably as long as you have. I have good people watching my back and I can promise to ensure you the very same.” There was a long silence. Ollie’s pen scratching the length of the paper was the only sound in the room before you reached in Alfie’s direction. “Do we have a deal?”
Alfie stood slowly. Adjusting the hat that sat on his head, he slowly lifted the cap up and off of him before placing it on the table. He smoothed out his previously flattened strands of hair and rubbed down the length of his beard, from the tops of it, down and along the length of it. He was fucking around now, you could see that. His thumb nail scratched at a rough patch of hair and his bent pinky grazed his lips as he put on a lengthy display of consideration.
“Five..” You exhaled breathily.
Alfie quirked a brow.
“Four..” You continued, a look of distaste forming in your dark pools.
Alfie was almost smirking by this point, hand falling away from his fast to collide with the table.
“Three..” Your word dripped with impatience, but your tone was neutral, as if you had all the time in the world. “Two..” You said, rolling your neck to the side. Extending it, you let your eyes flutter for a moment before shoving them back open and giving a final warning. “One.”
Alfie’s hand slid nicely into your own. His was much larger and veiny. The cold jewelry tickled your digits as he firmly gripped your small palm in his own and gave it a gentle shake. “Deal.” He said quietly, holding his blue eyes steadily on your own unwavering one’s.
With a firm, final squeeze, you made motion to pull your hand away, but he lugged you back forward so that he could lean against the table. You gasped in surprise, almost losing your balance as he hauled you forward just enough so his pink lips could lay against your ear. You held your free hand up quickly to cease the rushing sound of men’s feet. You never went anywhere without at least six of your guards. Two in the room, two outside the room, and two outside the building. “It’s fine.” You dismissed them breathily, Alfie’s manage to catch you off guard was evident in your tone.
“If you, yeah, fuck me, I promise I’ll fucking do the same to you.” Alfie ground out. There was a warning in his words that you picked up on rather clearly. His threat was serious, but he’d purposefully worded that sentence to pull a particularly strong eye roll from you.
“It isn’t wise to threaten me so soon, Mr. Solomons. And I promise you, if I were to fuck you, you’d be dead.” Your dainty hand lifted to press against his strong shoulder. Tapping the muscular surface triumphantly, you turned your head so that you could stare him in the eye. Every breath he let free wafted over your own lips and his nose was practically touching your own. “Good evening, Alfie. It was a pleasure.” Hardly, you thought to yourself. This man was going to be a headache.
And with that, you pulled away and turned on your heel. Your strong stride was the last thing Alfie Solomons saw before you pushed the heavy doors open and left without another word. He could hear the clicking of your heels, fading with every footstep as the noise signaled your departure. You were gone now, but the room still faintly smelled of vanilla and his hand was still burning from the warmth of your small one. Ollie inspected the smirk Alfie wore, watching as the man straightened.
“I like her.” Alfie noted.
Ollie shuffled in his seat. “Want me to write that down?”
Alfie almost scoffed. “No.” The burly man grunted, sending the lad a look as if he had two heads. “No, but I do want you to go ahead and schedule me another meeting with that one.” He was already looking forward to seeing that annoyed curve of your lip and the challenging squint you seemed so keen on giving him. He was positively curious to know more about you, and that was never a good thing for Mr. Solomons. He was too curious for his own good. “Right, lads, back to fucking work.” He clapped, shooing everyone from the room as he grabbed his hat and his cane. He, too, piled out of the room. His footsteps were much quieter, much slower, and unlike your powerful aura and pleasant success, he traipsed up the stairs feeling a sense of longing. He hoped he’d see you again, very, very soon.
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Is this awful!? It feels awful. ),: Mr. Solomons and I have been apart for so long, we’re gonna find our way back to our mesh. But I hope you guys enjoy this for now. I’m half asleep and felt like drabbling lol <3
Because of my long break and because I’m not sure who’s still active / still wants to be tagged in future works, I’m updating my list! ❤️ please comment below if you’d like to be tagged in all future uploads! If you just have a specific character you’d like to be tagged in, just comment their name!
Thanks so much! i hope you’re all as excited to read my next uploads as I am to finish them <333
A/N:I’m not back, but on account of me being angry at SK in advance, the possibility of war hanging over my smol Polish head, and wanting to let it all out… Here’s a thing. And SK better not make that last meeting between Alfie and Tommy an opium fever dream, I swear to fuck, or I will go up there and shove my keyboard right into his writer’s block.
Summary:Tommy did go to Margate that one time, right before the final countdown with Moseley. But what we didn’t get to witness was the second time he paid Alfie a visit.
Every single time Tommy Shelby even thought of stepping one foot in Margate, Margate awaited him with cold weather and strong winds. For a popular summer destination, it sure was vindictive. He also wouldn’t necessarily put it past Alfie to have orchestrated the winds to be just so entirely on purpose. Come to think of it, he was now in a perfect condition to don an eyepatch and become a pirate. The way Tommy saw it, Alfie should honestly be thanking him for the option.
“Who goes there?” Alfie grumbled as soon as Tommy entered the living room.
Alfie’s maid had let him in, with a scoff and a suspicious look, mind you. It wasn’t late, exactly, but he supposed it was late enough to raise suspicion. Then again… This was Alfie’s house. The only staff Tommy imagined him hiring would be the sceptical kind that refused to bend to anyone’s will, including their employer’s.
“So? Who the fuck’s there?!”
“Tommy—” the click of a gun hammer interrupted him, “—Shelby.”
Alfie huffed and in the dim light of the room Tommy could swear he almost saw him smile.
“Right, the fuck yer doin’, Tommy, botherin’ regular, God-fearin’ folk on the eve of yer grand performance?”
The corner of Tommy’s mouth twitched, dangerously close to a smile, too.
“There was that other matter,” Tommy sighed and sat down in the chair he had sat mere hours ago.
“The other matter?”
“Yes.”
“Right, what—”
“Put the gun down, Alfie.”
“In my own fuckin’ house he came to order me around, right… Nah, mate, no more bloody smoke comin’ from you tonight, right, I’m sick an’ tired…”
“I changed my mind.”
“Oh, did ya now?”
“Let’s have that tea.”
Alfie put the gun down and rose from his chair so fast that for a second Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if he was going to hit him.
“Tea,” Alfie grumbled and went to the kitchen, still muttering under his breath. “Tea!” he shouted. “Right! We got cherry, we got Earl Grey, we got Assam!”
This time Tommy smiled, but nobody could see him now besides Alfie’s numerous books and random trinkets.
After a short while, Alfie came back with two cups and all of a sudden gone was the limp and the hunched back. He walked as swiftly as Tommy had remembered him to and that unexpected reveal was far greater than any declaration of trust in a wedding vow.
“Right, mate,” Alfie stood there and watched as Tommy took the first sip from the offered cup. “Fuck me, right, ‘cause you takin’ that… Fuck me, ya really want to die, Tommy?”
Tommy looked up at him and audibly swallowed. With how dark the room was, illuminated only by the fireplace and a dimly lit lamp in the corner, he could almost interpret Alfie’s expression as concern.
Almost.
“‘Cause ya either want to get poisoned or suddenly trust me, mate, yeah, an’ out of the two I don’t know which one is worse.”
Alfie was still standing there, holding his own cup that looked almost comical in his large hands, watching Tommy take another sip.
“Which one is it?” Tommy asked, looking straight ahead into the fireplace and frowning as if he wasn’t entirely expecting it to be there.
Alfie stayed silent and only looked where Tommy was still staring to check if there wasn’t really something to get concerned about. Tommy’s ghosts he could handle, an assassin might be harder at this point.
“I think ya trust me.”
“Whichtea, Alfie.”
Alfie stayed silent, then he smiled and finally sat down.
“Which tea, fuckin’ hell, yeah, the black one.”
“So you lied.”
“Yeah, so I did, don’t be such a fuckin’ prince, sweetie.”
This time it was Tommy who smiled, but he still looked at that corner of the room and Alfie was honestly tired of it now.
“So. Ya wanna die, Tommy? That it? Ya came back for goodbyes?”
Tommy shook his head and took out his cigarettes. This time Alfie gave his silent permission.
“Which is it?” Alfie drilled him. “Right, ‘cause I honestly can’t say, mate, an’ I’d never in my life call ya stupid. So…”
Tommy finally looked at him and Alfie wished that he hadn’t. There was nothing behind those eyes now.
“Yeah, alright…” Alfie grumbled and put down his cup. It was still full.
Tommy finished his tea, he finished his cigarette and then out of all the things Alfie expected him to do, he took off his jacket.
Now, Alfie wasn’t opposed to a little striptease, never in his life had he remembered a moment when another willing person getting naked in front of him wouldn’t be a welcome surprise.
But this… Nothing could have prepared him for a Tommy Shelby taking his clothes off, slowly and methodically like he would at the doctor’s.
“Mate, the fuck…”
Tommy’s shirt was unbuttoned and he only had his trousers on. But the way he looked at Alfie now was so impatient and so demanding that Alfie didn’t know what to do with himself.
“If you wanted me dead—”
“Naaaah, don’t be so dramatic now, Tommy.”
“Let me finish.”
The way Tommy stressed that last word only made Alfie excited. Tommy must have realised, he must have, but either way he didn’t show it. Alfie smirked and leaned back in his seat. If Tommy pulled out a gun on him now, he honestly wouldn’t even blink. Only then Tommy took off his trousers, too, and there obviously wasn’t any place left where he could have any weapons stored…
Well, perhaps Alfie could think of exactly one.
“Right, Tommy, so ya left your poor wife’s side in bed an’ ya came here to have tea, then ya saw this ugly fuckin’ mug right here an’ thought—”
“You talk too much.”
Tommy’s last piece of clothing was off and for the first time in a long time Alfie was at a loss for words. His eyes darted down from Tommy’s face, then back up, but the damage was already done. Tommy was smiling and there was actually something,some spark there in those big eyes of blue that was previously missing.
“Yeah, I ain’t talkin’ now…” Alfie lifted an eyebrow and Tommy moved closer. “So how ya wanna do this?”
“You’re asking me?” Tommy scoffed and if Alfie didn’t know any better, he’d say he was offended.
“Your bright idea, innit?”
Tommy rolled his eyes, which Alfie personally loved seeing him do, and then did the one thing that Alfie always imagined him doing in all his numerous fantasies. Tommy straddled his lap and kissed him. It was a hard, wet kiss, followed by hair tugging and tongue and a lot of wanting.
Alfie pulled Tommy closer and unbuttoned his own trousers, still not entirely sure there wouldn’t be a gun pressed to his head after the kiss was over.
“I’ll be dead tomorrow,” Tommy murmured into Alfie’s lips and Alfie’s hand hovered for a second before grabbing the other man by the hips and throwing him on the sofa, then covering entirely with his full weight.
Alfie looked at him then, expecting a rebuttal or retaliation, but Tommy accepted Alfie’s hand on his throat and looked him in the eye like he dared him to finally snap and put him out of his opium-hazed misery.
“Like fuck you are,” Alfie finally decided and kissed Tommy again, then moved his mouth lower and bit his neck just because he could.
It took a bit of fumbling with the clothes and then Tommy suddenly decided not to work with him at all. He just let it all happen as if it was happening to him and not with his express consent. That, Alfie decided, was no way to fulfil the one fantasy he still dared to have and so he held Tommy close and licked his palm and edged Tommy’s cock so nice and so slow and so mercilessly that by the time Alfie was close enough to burst, Tommy finally recovered the rest of his bruised, exhausted mind and keened, and:
“Alfie, fuck!”
By the time Alfie was in him and Tommy buckled his hips to give him better access, Alfie realised Tommy’s eyes were on him the entire time, watching Alfie’s every expression, memorising the moment like taking a photograph with your eyes.
Alfie decided to give him something to remember and fucked him long and hard, coaxing the throaty moans and not letting Tommy touch himself even for a second. Alfie hit that bundle of nerves inside him just right, time and again, until finally Tommy’s head went quiet, he let out a stifled scream and squeezed around Alfie like a vice, causing him to spill inside with an equally surprised groan.
They stayed like that for a good while, neither willing to get up and face the music. Finally, Tommy patted Alfie’s arm in a silent ask to let him out of the bear hug.
Alfie got up with a groan and sat down, but unlike Tommy he refused to put his pants back on. He watched Tommy pick up his clothes around the room. The angry expression Tommy had was almost reassuring. That’s exactly how Alfie had always imagined this to end, anyway. Though, admittedly, watching Tommy get dressed was almost as fun as having watched him stripped.
“You can stay the night, you know.”
“I really can’t,” Tommy huffed and then he finished tying his shoes and went out the door without any other explanation.
Alfie finally got up when he heard the car engine roaring. It felt unreal and Alfie was almost disappointed that it most likely wouldn’t happen again—but then he noticed a shiny object wedged between the archmchair’s seat and armrest.
It was Tommy Shelby’s shiny lighter. Right next to the armchair, he had left his cigarettes. Alfie scoffed and went back upstairs in a better mood than ever.
