A/N I have had this in my google docs for damn near a YEAR and i never finished it and dont really know where i was gonna go with it and i feel bad for CONSTANTLY and CONSISTENTLY letting yall down by promising i will write something and then disappearing for an undisclosed amount of time. Anyways, its hardly anything but it will be enough to stop the nagging guilt ive been feeling re. this blog for a while so hopefully it aight with you guys!!!! pce n lov!!! -kat daddy
The irony of the situation was palpable. Everything in your room was in complete order yet your life was falling apart at the seams. You couldn’t remember when it began. The late nights. The not coming home. The expressionless smiles. It must have been gradual. It must have happened so slowly that you couldn’t even feel it. Arthur once told you that weird story about frogs— how they don’t realize they are being boiled alive if you just gradually increase the temperature of the water while they’re in it—you thought it was ridiculous when you first heard it. Arthur said that the frogs won’t jump out, they won’t do anything to stop it from happening, to stop being boiled alive. They just sit there complacent in their own demise.
But as you stood in front of him from across the room you could understand. You were the frog who didn’t even notice the end was coming despite all signs suggesting otherwise.
He couldn’t even look at you when he said it. Couldn’t bother to look into your eyes as he tore your life apart in front of you. Never have you ever thought him to be a coward, but now that’s all changed. Along with everything else.
“I’m sorry–”
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare tell me you’re sorry Thomas. Not if you don’t know what you’re apologizing for.” Despite the broken feeling in every bone in your body, your voice held its strength. So at least there was that.
“Y/N. Please, just–just let me explain.”
“Explain what Thomas?” you bit back, your tone stinging like venom, making him wince. “You fell in love with her, I don’t think I need that explained to me. Or do you want to explain to me how you could throw away 6 years, 6 frickin years for what? A fling? A barmaid you’ve known for a few months? Are you going to be able to explain to me what she can give you that I already haven’t? Can you explain that to me Thomas? Because if not then I just don’t care.”
“It’s Tommy,” he mumbled out, avoiding your gaze once more as he looked to the floor in shame.
“No it’s not. Not anymore it isn’t. My Tommy couldn’t do this to me, he wouldn’t be able to. Not after everything we’ve been through. Now I don’t even know who the fuck you are at this moment, but you’re not Tommy.”
“I didn’t mean for this to happen Y/N. I would never hurt you, I–”
“But you are hurting me Thomas! Right now, right this minute you are hurting me!” even with his eyes on the floor, you could see him wince again as your voice finally cracked, the tears desperate to spill any minute now. “You had it good you know, and you’ve shat on it. I hope it’s all worth it Thomas. I really do. There’s no coming back from this.”
Requested: yes Published: December 30th, 2021 Pairing: Established Tommy Shelby x Reader Prompt(s):none Warning(s): none Word count: 1.5k Author’s note: I am sorry for this late update. I didn’t think it has actually been that long since I posted this. I was listening to “Let’s Hurt Tonight” by OneRepublic as I was writing this, and perhaps it’s why this took such a dark turn (the song itself matches this fic very well). I tried to keep it as “light” as I could, but given how I wrote the first part, such demands were impossible to fulfill. This talks of post-trauma, because there is no way in hell that Reader is okay after what I put her through in the first chapter. The ending is open for interpretation, for trauma doesn’t go after two days have passed. I’m really proud of my writing in this one, and I hope you will like it.
Sometimes, fate was so cruel it made one cry. You had, honest to God, never believed in fate until the moment the liberty of a choice was taken away from you. There was darkness around your heart and mind, urging you to believe that maybe, just maybe, this torture was fate deemed your eligible punishment.
Barely any fight left in you to disagree with the universe.
There is suffering in silence. Menace in the waters. Fear in every fiber of your body.
And for what?
Your skin was slick with sweat that had formed over days work. There was little air in the derelict stockroom, only the cold that seeped through whatever cracks had been made over the years of neglect. Rarely did you visit such places, where one didn’t have working water.
Your lips turned dry, tongue like sandpaper. Thirst.
You were thirsty.
Yet all it took to send you vomiting was one look at the water. One thought at the liquid.
They hadn’t been gone long; you took note. The sun blinked in between clouds as it did when they were there, and so you still saw it through the gap in the wall. It was little after the first few hours of dawn; one might guess if they had the courage.
A hum of a song left your lips, the only sound in the warehouse. It had once been accompanied by the rustling of cloth against the chair or the scraping of a boot against the floor. By the time your wrists began bleeding and your feet froze solid, you had given up entirely. But you had to drone the melody if only to let yourself know you were still alive.
It was fate’s game to play now.
And you were no longer a player.
Eyelids became too heavy to hold yet again, the itchiness in your eyes a malice on its own. They began closing at a snail’s pace, but you held them in place knowing what kind of irritation the water gathered in the corners of your eyes would give. That dance was so overdone. It was more challenging to dance it the more it happened.
And so, you let them flap shut, your neck a loose rope that could no longer stay upright. Your chin met your chest, and you could hear the shallowness of your breathing accompany the song. The fire turned ember in your lungs but still it hurt to inhale freely more than it hurt to just gather enough air to live.
The waters would be a mercy.
Indeed they would. They would leave no room to fight them, perhaps not in the beginning. But it was a swifter death than the one that was draining you. Slowly, you would close your eyes and fall asleep, and mercy would be as sharp as a knife in ending you in your sleep.
And then just as you were about to succumb to the darkness, fate played wrong.
And Tommy Shelby made the right move.
The game was over.
But you didn’t know.
Bella.
Changretta’s voice was a force in your mind. The warehouse was once again filled with sound. They were so, so loud.
Bella.Bella. Bella.
Your body began shaking on its own accord, and you pulled at the restrains, fearing what’s to come.
Not the water again.
Please not the water.
Your creased riding boots kicked against the ground that you mistook for bottomless water only a second before. But it was solid. The floor was as solid as it could be beneath you.
Grounded. You were on the ground.
But then hands – rough, calloused hands – were grasping your shoulders and you were afraid of being pulled under as you were hours ago. Your face downright denied to look at the shadow casted over your lap even when its hand took your chin in a firm yet gentle grip and pulled your face to its own. The water burned behind your closed eyelids, and you refused to begin the dance despite knowing the relief that awaited once it was done.
Bella.
“Y/N.”
Name. Your name.
“Y/N look at me.”
You pried your eyes slowly, and then waited for relief to wash over you upon seeing his face. “You’re okay,” Tommy said to you, his words a declaration. Final.
You gathered your strength and wept.
***
“Here love,” it was Polly who gave you the tea. The saucer rattled as your shaky hands grasped it, pulling it to your mantle covered lap. Your eyes took in the crammed living room - one you had known for years – with blank disinterest. You hadn’t even casted a glance at the liquid tea, and your food lay cold and forgotten beside you.
Polly scooted closer to you on the chaise. You let her. You let her lean over and kiss your hair, now clean and flowery scented after it took Tommy hours to clean it. No water, you remember screaming at him in the tub. Begging. You remember clawing at his shirt like a relentless animal that had escaped years of imprisonment. He took every blow, every curse with steel in his eyes. There was raging ice in them, wrath that waited to be unleashed. Not upon you. But upon the Italian’s that took you from him.
He left just over a quarter-hour ago, taking the anger with him, leaving his warmth with you. “Take care of her,” you remember him telling Polly, who still shook in the aftermath of seeing you so…
Tortured.
Polly disappeared to give you space. Space and time to adjust.
Warmth washed over the room from where the lit hearth was placed, the crackling and popping of burning wood a sound that complemented it. You hadn’t needed to hum, for there was already music drifting through the house from a radio. The scene was all but serene for yourself.
You touched your neck softly, with just the tips of your fingers, remembering what agony took place inside it. Your wrists, once soft and scarless were now marred with burns from the rope you had pulled on tightly one too many times. The clothes. The clothes you had picked out only a day before were discarded, and you sat dressed in the finest silk pajamas with wide pants and buttoned top. The color of the porcelain teacup, appliquéd with not flowers but circles of all shapes and sizes. It was what you had chosen for yourself, deeming it adorable and comfortable enough to wear as sleepwear. Now you felt bare, despite its cap sleeves and ankle long length.
Like the skin wasn’t yours.
All it took to crumble was one look at the tea in hand, one look at the reflection.
You threw the teacup at the wall and screamed.
***
“Is he dead?”
The mattress dipped, a new weight on it. You didn’t move, didn’t nest into the warmth like you loved to do. Only laid with your hands beneath your cheek, looking out of the ceiling high window where the moonlit sky was embracing the world. You dared not to breathe, dared not to make a sound that would disturb the calm night.
For hours, you had tossed and turned. On and on until you decided sleep was a nothing more than a wistful wish you couldn’t have. “Tommy?”
He stayed silent, as if he too knew the delicacy of the night. The sheets rustled but did not pull away from you. You stayed covered, not a speck of your body introduced to the cold.
Then he spoke, “Can I hold you?”
You bit your lip to keep the tears at bay, realizing you had kept him at arm’s length since he came for you.
Late. He had been late.
But he still came.
“He-he said,” you began slowly, speaking into the night itself, trying to not sound as disconnected as you felt. “He said I deserved to die.”
Tommy stilled.
“And he told me to give you a message,” you continued. “He said he will take everything from you. Then put a bullet through your head. So I’m asking you Tommy…is he dead?”
A moment of silence, then like death herself whispered, “Yes.”
Dead. He was dead.
Gone.
You had failed to realize you were crying until your muted cries turned into sobs. Sneaking along your body, shaking you until a body wrapped itself against you. A calm force to keep you grounded.
Tommy kissed the back of your head, “Forgive me. Please.”
He took your hand from beneath your head in his own, pressing it against your chest. Just between your breasts, a place where your frantic heart beat the hardest. You covered your joint hands with your other one, sealing them together. Sealing him to you.
“I’m sorry.”
You grinded your teeth to keep the tears at bay. Tommy kissed your shoulder, your neck. Silent, butterfly light kisses that kept you together.
“Okay,” you croaked, barely audible. Pulling his hand to your mouth, you kissed his callousness with tear-soaked mouth and placed it back against your chest. “Okay.”
Legs tangled, you molded yourself to his body as if he were the only thing standing between you and the demons that loomed over your back.
That night, you dreamt of soundless water. Of floating against it and being pulled under. Of being helpless underneath the surface.
You awoke each time, and Tommy lulled you to sleep with kisses and whispers of reassurance. It was a dance newly started, but you weren’t alone to dance it.
Note: If you enjoyed reading this fic do check out my other work by clicking on one of my masterlist links. If it’s not a bother leave a like, comment and/or reblog. It gives me motivation and lets me know that you liked what I wrote. <3
If you would perhaps want to read some of my work earlier, you can check out my AO3profile, I’ll always make sure to tell you guys when a fic is posted on there in advance!
Lastly, if you wish to be tagged under any of my future fics go to mytag list ! I no longer take requests through ask, dm, comments anymore. Once on my tag list post you’ll find a link to a Google Form that you have to fill out in order for your request to be valid! x
Requested:yes(x) Published:November 23rd, 2021 Pairing:Tommy Shelby x Daughter!Reader Prompt(s):none[my prompt list] Warning(s):none Word count:900ish Author’s note: Trying out a different approach (one I really like). Writing Tommy x Anything will be in 3rd POV from now on. Only romantic stories will be written with the reader as YOU!
A word of response hadn’t needed to come to give the maid a move, only a shadow of a dark clothed man breezing past the tall corridors of the mansion. She hurried out of the way with a nod, returning to her ever the same duties at hand. Tending to the kitchen, laundry, taking the snow-white dog out for a loo all awaited her. First comes the canine, she decided, because Mr. Shelby’s daughter loved it more than herself, and it felt humanely right to dot over a living thing before laundry.
Just as she would round the corridor did her masters voice reason, “Where is Y/N?”
His darling daughter. The maid fought the ghost of a smile that threatened to appear as she turned head and with a polite nod said, “In her room, sir.”
Tommy’s head bobbed once to show he heard, and then he was fully out of view. First his shoulders disappeared and then the ends of his charcoal coat.
Somehow, a man as dark as himself on a mission to see his little girl did not alarm her. Did not make her feel as though she should be around to act as a shield to the child.
Only burnt toast and talking to the coppers could get her fired.
Along with thinking that he could ever lay a hand on the joy of his world.
His daughter.
The dog barked once. Twice.
Then she too was wholly out of view, her skirts a billowing force behind her.
***
“Y/N?”
The light was a dim feature in the room, barely enough to help one get around, but enough to help read the room.
Tommy’s heart quickened in a way it didn’t all day. A way not possible unless linked to his little girl. He swallowed, then asked the air again, hoping for a childish answer. “Y/N?”
For one, the room was in utter chaos. Sheets all over the floor, stuffed toys out of the box and near the unlit hearth. The mental catalog ran true in his brain as he searched for the one living thing, he cared about but came out empty.
He clamped one hand roughly against the sheets on the bed and pulled, revealing only silky emptiness. He grabbed a stuffed teddy bear almost the size of his three-year-old and threw is across the room. He walked over to the toy box lit by the moonlight and roughly opened it, hoping to see his sleeping angel inside but came out empty-handed. Tommy slammed the box closed and when wood met wood a sound so loud and heavy reasoned through the room until it was only his shallow breaths that were left.
Alongside a soft gasp of a child.
Tommy spun around, clear, blue eyes as wild as the wind howling outside, and felt a weight of a chest so heavy it pulled him down lift above him until there was only clarity of the moment.
There she was.
Underneath the fortress of stuffed teddies and tangled sheets, small eyed and tired. She rubbed at her eyes groggily, but when her eyes met with those of her father’s, she beamed and stretched out her arms like wings. “Papa.” She said, and Tommy’s heart melted in the purest way.
It took him two steps to have her in his arms, “Come here, love.”
But she shook her head and pushed at his chest, refusing to nestle into his warmth. She pointed one small finger toward her mass of forts in the shelves and on the floor. “Here, here.”
Tommy heaved a chuckle, but settled her nevertheless. “Yeah?”
His daughter grabbed his finger in her hand and pulled, “With me.”
“I don’t think there’s enough room.”
In answer, she grabbed her stuffed bunny by the ears and threw it as far as she could with her small arms and so little true strength. There was even less space than it was before she did so, but Tommy could only smile as he settled down with her, removing his coat and shoes before gracing the floor and grabbing a big pillow off her bed. He settled it behind her back until she lied comfortably atop it. Then watched her drift to sleep peacefully, at peace because he knew he was there beside her and no one could take her from him.
Then the door creaked open, and he switched his weight until he could see who loomed through the crack. The corridor was heavy with cold, but it was soon that a small ball of fur as white as snow barreled through the gap and settled beside Tommy’s side.
The maid that brought the pup peaked inside, her face warm and impassive. If she was surprised to see him, then she didn’t show it. “Anything I can do for you, Mr. Shelby?”
Tommy grabbed the puppy with one rough hand and settled him beside his daughter, watching as it snuggled beside her and went dead to sleep, too. Then he turned to the maid and shook his head as a no, but under the influence of so much warmth and love, his words accompanied his gesture for once. “No, thank you. You go get some sleep, Millie.”
Millie nodded solemnly, and closed the door behind her, grateful to be acknowledged by her boss, even if it were for the shortest of seconds. Even if it were because the darkness in him subdued because the light his daughter provided was too strong to be fought against.
She was his castle of safe harbor.
An anchor that kept his wounded soul together.
Note: If you enjoyed reading this fic do check out my other work by clicking on one of my masterlist links. If it’s not a bother leave a like, comment and/or reblog. It gives me motivation and lets me know that you liked what I wrote. <3
If you would perhaps want to read some of my work earlier, you can check out my AO3profile, I’ll always make sure to tell you guys when a fic is posted on there in advance!
Lastly, if you wish to be tagged under any of my future fics go to my tag list ! I no longer take requests through ask, dm, comments anymore. Once on my tag list post you’ll find a link to a Google Form that you have to fill out in order for your request to be valid! x
Requested:no Published:November 5th, 2021 Pairing:Tommy Shelby x Female!Reader Prompt(s):none[my prompt list] Warning(s):none Word count:2.4k Author’s note:Someone commented on Ao3 that there “could have got a flash back to that night of them being together and her leaving “ and I competely agree, so there is one thing you must know before reading: I was waaay more into writing about horses and racing and training and all that fun jazz and making y/n a professional and sophisticated baddie (it’s what prompted me to write this in the first place lol) than her and Tommy WHOOPS! That idea would’ve been so spicy though! Maybe next time!<3
“Isn’t he absolutely wonderful?” You beamed, the question not even needing an answer as your words drowned in the myriad of applauding voices. The presenter’s voice could be vaguely made out, but one thing was clear to all:
It was your horse that brought it home.
“Fat Joe came through alright?”
You laughed a jolly laugh but gave your close friend a push in the shoulder, looking at him for a fraction of a second before turning to the muddy racetrack. “He is not fat Philip. He is perfect. Bravo Joe! Bra-vo!”
Your friend chuckled, matching the quick pace of your claps to his. Another victory this is for Joe, another mark in his journey. A medal of honor, and flowers to match.
It wasn’t about the money for you. Horses were your whole life. For some they passed as the most leisure of activities, but you made a name for yourself in it. Quite a quick start you had, as a duke’s daughter. Money flowed, allowing things one can’t even imagine. All in favor of the horses you had in your possession. A winning streak at only three and twenty of age.
You smoothed out your skirt and smiled at the cameras that flashed beneath.
Philip Clark was your racing manager and a close friend, and it was with him that you took your horse back to the estate where the magic had first happened. Clapping awaited Joe, people who gave as much as you did to make sure he is in his best form stood at the front gate after he came back from his win.
“How old is he now? Four?” Asked Philip even though he knew the answer.
You smiled as your hands patted his silky, black coat. He was calm, Joe, now that he was in the safety of his stall. Able to breathe in his winnings. “He’s not there yet, but yes he’s very close to four.”
“You ought to retire him now Y/N.”
“Retire him?” You furrowed your brows, “But he’s in his prime.”
“That’s exactly why I think you should do it,” Philip encouraged, walking around the stallion to meet you. His gloved hand matched the rhythm of your own and he began to gently stroke the gallant warrior. “Life as a stud would do him good with the track record he has. And you too. Think of all the money.”
You scoffed, “Believe me, money doesn’t tempt me.”
“It should,” stated Philip. “Joe’s the best middle-distance horse in Europe. Owned and trained by you. He has a column in the newspaper every week. He’ll bring in thousands of pounds as a stud.”
“That is quite true,” you rocked on your heels and eventually gave in. “But we need good candidates. Calm, gentle mares. Joe’s skittish sometimes.”
“Or maybe he needs a strong-wielded mare,” your friend said instead, his voice laced in unspoken truths. He peeled himself away from both you and Joe, making a dash for the exit. “Like any man in his right mind.”
Your laughter followed him out, “He’s a horse Philip, not a man!”
“Men are horses too sometimes! It’s hardly a different thing.”
And that was that.
***
“He has a reputation, my lady.”
“I find that I have no problem with that,” you replied to the employee, and turned to Philip for advice. “Is Mr. Shelby’s mare any good? Her color is wonderful. I see great temperament in her too.”
“Yes, yes she is.”
You nodded and turned to observe the mare again, but your eyes followed her owners. Across the dirty path stood a group of men, clothed as darkly as Joe’s midnight coat, looking all but excited to be here. At the front of the group a man rested with his gloved hands clasped at his front. The hat on his head shielded most of what looked to be a strong jaw and hidden blue gems for eyes. Quite handsome if one looked better under his hat. But demeanor wholly different from the filly that was prancing around, enjoying the attention. She had the strangest pallet of colors, but they all complemented each other well. A fine mare, and you wondered if she would be a match for your winner.
You would not let the aloof behavior put you off. These men should be grateful for your agreement.
“And her trainer?”
“May Carleton.”
You wolf whistled, sold on the arrangement. “Wonderful,” you said with a nod. “I’m sure she’ll make a fine candidate. But I should like to speak to her owner first. Make sure we are on the same grounds. I heard there was a fiasco at the Derby last year. It makes me wonder how the mare fares.”
“Yes,” agreed Philip. “She did make a solid placement.”
“What is her name?” It felt foolish to ask it now when the horse had already gone. When one meets the other, names are the first thing exchanged.
“Grace’s Secret.”
You casted your eyes on the front man, wondering if there is a meaning behind her name.
As if he knew, he lifted his chin from the ground and glanced at you. Indeed, his eyes were a shade of blue you have yet to see but so beautiful all the same. His eyes went over your styled hair and the shawl that covered it from the wind then over the fitted dark green vest, down to the tips of your knee-high, polished to perfection riding boots.
Yes. There is definitely a secret there.
And the mystery made you place one foot in front of the other and ask him to take a walk with you.
***
“Townsend Joe?”
“Yes,” you replied as a matter of fact, willing your bones to calm. “It is what I get after letting my nephew name him. But I think I quite like it. Makes for a fine brand.”
The two of you were two willowy dots by the fence looking over the field that became somewhat of a playground for horses. Townsend Joe relaxed idly and nipped at the grass here and there. The sugar cubes wrapped in a handkerchief waited in your front pocket. You dug your hands into the pockets of your trousers and dared not to look at the man beside you.
His warmth seeped through your clothes, travelling and warming you up. Thomas paid no mind to the way it made you feel, man’s proximity, and if he did then he was great at not showing it.
“I don’t doubt it.” Was all he said, drawing out a cigarette. His gloved hand offered you one, and you shook your head.
“My father’s a smoker,” you said. “Wouldn’t dream of catching his cough.”
Tommy chuckled beside you but drew a breath nevertheless. It’s his own demise. Smoking.
Your chipper voice mixed with wind as you continued to talk names, “And you? What secret lies behind Grace’s?”
“One not worth telling.”
Men and their simple answers. It came as no surprise that you enjoyed Philip’s company so much. He spoke his mind and littered words all over the person he spoke with. Yet your heart raced with men of few words. It always did. And it always will.
He has a reputation.
That was supposed to be a warning.
It did quite the opposite.
“You will find it Mr. Shelby,” you began after taking in a deep breath of the damp air, “that we tell our stories in the names of our horses.” You turned to look at him, catching those ocean eyes in your own. They were curious. Tempted to know more. “Alas, not in the case of Joe but perhaps in other. He is, after all, not my only horse.”
“You train them all, Mrs. Y/LN?”
“Miss,” you corrected him with a polite smile, and turned to the field so he wouldn’t see your rose-stained cheeks. “I don’t make a habit out of training. I own quite a number of them. Joe was a gift from my father-”
“The duke.”
You chuckled, albeit warily. He said the title with a bitter undertone. “Yes, the duke. I highly doubt that frightens you.”
Then you looked him over, your eyes like lasers into his, pinning him in place to prove a point. “I don’t think there are many things that scare a man like yourself.”
His gaze made you breathless and had you feeling like you were the only woman in the world. Above you, the sky turned into a gray hue, though not gray enough to showcase rain, but enough to enhance the black in his clothes and paleness of his features. “Your father gave you the horse?”
You swallowed and spoke with the weight of his eyes still on you. “Gifted yes, and I raised him so it felt right to train him too. Philip helped me of course, but it’s hardly an effort to deal with numbers don’t you think?”
“You trust him?”
The question took you aback, “Of course I do. He’s my closest friend.”
“Is he?”
“Mr. Shelby such cryptic words will get you nowhere,” you told him and tug your tongue in your cheek, shaking your head. “Especially not in this business.”
“I’ve been faring quite well.” He said and took a casual drag.
“As arrogant as your horse,” you noted. “I wonder how fun it must be for May to work beside you. She is after all your horse’s trainer. I, on the other hand, am here to allow your dam a quick roll in the hay with my sire. You plan to race the yearling?”
“Don’t know yet.”
“Well, I hope you do,” you said, suddenly irritated by the man. “Joe’s had a fine career. So has your Grace.”
Your words had meaning. Your Grace. That was a plan wrapped in silk to get out a reaction. How well you executed it told you his knowing eyes and the smirk that tugged at his lips. “You think something will come out of it?”
Your calm air broke at that, “Why are you here Mr. Shelby?”
“Tommy.” Was all he said in return.
You shook your head like he was crazy, “I will not call you that.”
“Thomas then.” He seemed to settle on that.
“Mr. Shelby-” You wholly turned to face him, the lapels of your west almost brushing against his. It took you by surprise, the proximity, because he was not so close before. You swallowed, dared not to look at the lips he drew sinful smoke with, “Thomas…whyareyou here? I’d trust a man who came all this way to breed his filly would know what to do with the horse that will come out. Is there perhaps a secret agenda you’re following? Whyever-”
“Do you remember me?”
You took a step back. Remember?
Do you remember me?
Why would-
“You.”
Suddenly anger flared in your veins, overcoming your senses like a fog. You turned on your heel, ready to leave him be. Facts came rushing back, accompanied by foul memories and wicked flashbacks. That one night in the great city of London.
You repeated yourself.
He knew about Joe. Knew about him being a gift.
He knew and stayed silent.
Why? To see how you act out of sheets? To see how you look adorned in work clothes?
You didn’t get far before feeling pressure on your swinging writs. One hard pull and you were against a chest you scratched with your nails senseless.
“Look at me.”
Your eyes were closed, and you didn’t even realize.
He repeated himself again after you shook your head. Then you felt his voice against your ear, his warm breath tickling your neck. The way his hand curled around your waist while the other one stayed shackled around your wrist. Your breathing turned shallow, goosebumps erupting on your silky skin. “Do you think of me as a fool?”
“No,” Tommy said.
You yanked your arm; he didn’t let go. “Then why are you doing this? Humiliating me? You think this is a joke? Is this your twisted trick at getting me into your bed again?”
“I don’t need tricks to get you in my bed Y/N,” he replied, voice laced with truth. “Why?”
You heard the unspoken extension of his question.
Why did you leave?
Why did you leave him alone in the bed and sneaked out like a shadow with only your clothes in hand? After a night spent in the sheets, where he took you over and over again, why did you leave? Why not stay?
“I don’t do meaningless sex Tommy.” It felt weird to say it out loud. “That night…I wasn’t myself. I needed…”
Silence.
“I needed to let it go.”
“Did you?”
“No,” you admitted. “Far from it. I had a taste of something I cannot have. Besides, I didn’t even tell you, my name. How did you find me?”
“When I want something, I find it.”
“And why do you want me?”
You move backward until your back is pressing hard against the fence. Tommy stops only when his face is just a few inches away from yours. This up close, he looks even more handsome. His pale skin. Sharp jaw and slight, almost invisible stubble. Dark eyelashes framing blue eyes, the color of ice.
The air sizzles between you. There is no mistaking the look of pure possession in his eyes. Only the sounds of your breathing and distant galloping of Joe’s legs are heard in the air. He’s like a shadow, eating you up until there is nothing but him. “Because you want me too.”
Then his lips took yours. Rough and commanding, knocking out air from your lungs. You’re taken back to that dark London night, the club and the blinging chandeliers. To the dark hotel room where you came with ecstasy over the course of an entire night.
You forgot how alive his hands made you feel. How blinded with lust his lips made you feel.
When you pulled apart, you buried your hands into his coat and asked, keeping your voice light and even, “You are still planning to go through with the arrangement? Joe’s quite taken with her.”
Tommy’s chuckle followed a question, “Philip?”
You looked at him, “What about Philip?”
“He’s loves you.” He said the information as if he was talking about the weather.
“But I’m not in love with him.”
It seemed to settle the storm in him. You kissed him once more, loving the way his lips felt against your own and grabbed the ends of his coat, urging him to follow. “Come. I promise you that I won’t run this time.”
Note: If you enjoyed reading this fic do check out my other work by clicking on one of my masterlist links. If it’s not a bother leave a like, comment and/or reblog. It gives me motivation and lets me know that you liked what I wrote. <3
If you would perhaps want to read some of my work earlier, you can check out myAO3profile, I’ll always make sure to tell you guys when a fic is posted on there in advance!
Lastly, if you wish to be tagged under any of my future fics go to my tag list ! I no longer take requests through ask, dm, comments anymore. Once on my tag list post you’ll find a link to a Google Form that you have to fill out in order for your request to be valid! x
Note: you can read this ahead on Ao3!! I plan on posting it when I figure out how I want my blog to look. Should it be reborn? Upgraded? :-) ☛ click here
If you’re uncomfy or too shy to comment under this post my ASKis open at all hours and the anonymous option is there too! Even if you don’t follow me or read fan fiction at all, I’d really reaaaallyappreciate if you just shared your opinion on this very important matter. #1 is the white, more minimalistic looking with a lot more information about the fic option and #2 is the old, purple/pink, straight to the point option. WHO IS PRETTIER?
I know this is random (believe me it is) but I’ve written a Tommy one shot completely out of the blue today. I really enjoyed it idk I hope you will too! SUMMARY: Working with horses is what you deemed yourself good enough at to be able to make a living out of. But your all-star champion needs to retire while he’s at his best because it’s a smart move on the business side of things. He’ll do you good in other departments, and with a small twist of fate bring back someone who you’ve long since forgotten about.
I have posted this already on Ao3 (this is only a snippet from Word) and you can go check it out N-O-W. ☛ click here
author’s note: martha doesn’t exist here, so katie is the reader’s daughter. thought I’d let you know :)
“Promise me you will stay calm.”, John said to you while he walked inside your house, stopping right in front of you, his hands held up in a way of defence.
“What did you do this time?”, you questioned, your eyes wide open while you looked him up and down, trying to find out if there was anything wrong with him, hoping that he wasn’t hurt.
John noticed the way you were watching him hence he put his arms down and took your hands in his, pulling you even closer to him.
“Don’t worry, there’s nothing wrong with me. Katie has just -”
“Katie has just what, John? What has she done? What happened?”, you asked, getting more nervous by the second as you held his hands even tighter. Your husband quickly pulled his hands away, shaking away the pain before he put them on your shoulders, trying to calm you down.
“It’s nothing serious. She just had a little fight at school. That’s all.”
Your eyes were wide open, even wider than before as you looked into his blue eyes, a shocked expression gracing your face.
“A little fight? Are you serious? A little fight or a big fight, it doesn’t matter. She shouldn’t be fighting at all!”, you stated loudly, already stepping away from John to search for your purse.
“What are you doing?”
“Well, what does it look like? I will go to her school now and ask her teacher what happened.”
As soon as you found your purse, you turned around and started walking towards the front door however you didn’t get far. John pulled you back, not wanting you to leave right now.
“I already talked to her teacher and don’t worry, I talked to our daughter as well.”, he stated, already knowing what you were about to say.
“She knows that what she did was wrong and she won’t be doing it again … hopefully. But, love, who can blame her? She has your temper and my will to fight.”
You instantly punched his arm before playfully pushing him away from you and although you wanted to be mad at him, you couldn’t. You knew that he was right.
“Next time, I will talk to the teacher. And I hope Katie doesn’t think she already got away with it. Once she walks through that door, I will give her a piece of my mind.”, you stated, pressing a quick kiss on your husband’s lips before you turned around and started walking towards the kitchen.
John couldn’t help but chuckle as he lightly caressed the spot where you punched him. He already knew that Katie will be exactly like you in the future, maybe she already was.
(A/N: It’s been so long omg!! This is just a short lil imagine to get me back into writing, but it’s still rlly cute. If you enjoy, like and reblog pls! requests r always open. ily, ty <3)
——–
It was nearly Christmas. Two days until. Snow laid thick on the streets and still, more fell. As soon as she’d gotten home from the factory, she’d slipped out of her blouse and skirt and into one of Thomas’ night shirts. They provided her with the warmth that he hadn’t been for the past few weeks. Always off on business, coming home late and drunk, sleeping on the sofa downstairs and leaving her alone.
She’d crawled into bed, pulled the sheets over her body and lit the end of a cigarette. It was only four o'clock, but it was dark outside and so she used the match to light the lantern next to the bed. She lit the one on Tommy’s side too, she always did, hopeful that he’d come to bed when he got home.
She heard the door open and close, and wondered if maybe Ada or Polly had stopped by for a chat, or to drop in Christmas presents, surely Tommy couldn’t have been home so soon. But no one called out, both Ada and Polly would’ve called out.
Footsteps climbing the stairs, heavy footsteps, she knew Tommy’s footsteps. He was home early, he’d forgotten something, his hat, cigarettes, he wasn’t going to stay for long, he’d be gone in ten minutes and back for midnight with a bottle of white rum.
The door to the bedroom opened and she turned her body away from it, blowing the last of the smoke from the corner of her lips and then stubbing out the cigarette in the crystal ashtray on the sideboard.
Tommy took off his jacket and let it fall to the floor, undid his tie, the top button of his shirt, took off his shoes and tossed his hat onto the coat stand. He didn’t bother getting changed, he figured he’d do that later.
“You’re here to stay, I take it?” Y/N spoke up. She still hadn’t even looked in his general direction, was refusing to, he understood why. “First time in a long time.”
“Thought I’d come home early.” The passive tone to his voice only made her angrier, the fact that he clearly had no idea that she was upset, the fact that he didn’t even think that she would be upset, after he’d ignored her for weeks-
“To make up for the weeks you haven’t?” She spat. Thomas closed his eyes and sighed, he knew that she wouldn’t be willing to let it go easily, but he hadn’t the energy to argue with her, and he knew that she probably didn’t have it either.
“I figured, yes.” She didn’t say anything as she watched him light a cigarette, shake out the match, and then get into bed beside her. She instinctively moved closer, the warmth of his body feeling familiar and homely, but she caught herself and moved back towards her side.
The room was quiet for a few minutes, the only sounds coming from the crackling of the lamps and Tommy’s inhales and exhales of smoke. He stubbed out his cigarette and, before Y/N could protest, was reaching out for her and pulling her close to his body.
“Don’t touch me, Thomas. Don’t act like-” She was squirming to get away from his grasp like a child, she had to keep up the idea that she was angry even if she really wanted nothing more than for him to hold her close and kiss her because she had missed him.
“I’m not acting like anything, Y/N.” Thomas sighed into her shoulder and she had to close her eyes because she knew that she would give in to him. The man really could make her do whatever he wanted her to. “It’s fucking freezing, you’re fucking freezing. Let me do this, you can be mad in the morning.”
And she couldn’t resist. And so she did let him. She huffed and acted like she was angry, but when his arms found their place around her waist, hands settled on her stomach, when he buried his face in her neck and peppered kisses there, she couldn’t pretend.
So she settled back into him, he was warm and she was willing to forgive him because he was warm and because she needed that warmth to be able to get through the next day and the day after.
“I really am sorry, love. I’m so sorry. I just-” But she hushed him because she was content and didn’t want to remember that she was supposed to be annoyed with him.
“Don’t.” She smiled and turned around in his arms, reaching out to touch his face, let her fingers graze over new scratches and familiarise themselves with them, and then she kissed him. She kissed him slowly, letting the angst and the hurt melt away until all she could feel was Tommy. Not Thomas Shelby, not even Thomas, Tommy. Her Tommy.
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: 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.
Warnings - Utter porn throughout. Under 18? This isn’t for you!
“Yeah, like that don’t you, treacle? Like it when I fuck this pretty little cunt hard, eh?” He growls in your ear, his thick fingers plunging in and out of your soaking core, his other hand grasping your neck, holding you firm as you pant, wailing for him. His thick, gold rings pound against your delicate flesh, his teeth nipping at your earlobe, his voice gone to gravel completely. “Fuck, you’re so fuckin’ wet, darlin’. Literally gushing all over my hand, just the way I like ya.”
Pleasure skitters through you wildly as he assails your walls with each dagger of those two relentless digits, the evocator of your ruin, your big, hairy beast of a man making you feel good, like you’re gilding all over, sat on the hallway table. He couldn’t even wait to get you up the stairs, he was craving you so badly. “Look at me, sweetheart, open those pretty eyes. Yeah, that’s it. You’re my good girl, ain’t ya? Always take it so bloody well.”
He hits you deep, thumb moving to your clit and stroking softly, groaning against your neck as he scatters a constellation of kisses there at your throat, your wails making his cock stiffen, your tight little hole widening more as you tingle for him, glossing his hand further. He literally has you open, dripping and ready for him.
“Alfie, please fuck me. I need you so badly,” you pant, your mouth breaking on a cry as he thumbs your bundle more thoroughly.
“You need my cock, eh, darlin’? That what you’re craving, for me to split you in half and fuck your brains out, yeah?”
“Yes!” you gasp, just the thought causing little pricks of pleasure to melt down your spine. He pulls himself from his trousers, tongue gliding your cheek as he removes the fingers within you, urgently plunging in something considerably bigger and thicker, parting your walls perfectly, evoking a carnal whine of desire.
“Yeah, that’s what you wanted, ain’t it, petal? A nice fat, hot cock. Fuck, you’re so tight.” He grunts, hand holding your neck a little tighter, kissing you with feral longing. Pleasure skirrs through you, immediate, biting, overwhelming, his rigidity filling you entirely, your body lifted from the table with every long, greedy thrust. His hips snap against you sharply, his free hand grasping your thigh, nails digging in, rings cold against your hot flesh as he fucks you, so deep, so damned hard.
Your body is at the mercy of his completely, his bulk encompassing you, hand clutching at your throat a little tighter. “My pretty princess, yeah, you take me well, really love it when I give you a damned good seeing to, eh?”
“Ahhh, fuck yes!”
“Mmmm, I love it when you swear for me.”
“What, when I tell you how I love every inch of you and your perfect, big cock? How it feels when you destroy my cunt with it?” His groan is saturated in lust, your dirty talk making him shudder as you share filthy, open-mouthed kisses, tongues battling, breaths ragged, the swell of euphoria upon you both as it blooms, beautiful and brutal, taking you both, lightning striking home.
Sex like that is always too ferocious to last for a long time, but with Alfie, you’re always guaranteed of a good time.
There are 24 new Peaky fics, and you can read them here! We’ve got all sorts–slash, femslash, het, gen–hell, we even have a Downton Abbey crossover! LOVE. There’s something in the collection for everyone!
Some additional information about treating under the cut:
I’m aiming for everyone to get, in addition to their Official Gift, a little something extra, even if it’s just a drabble, so I’m gonna post a list of the people who haven’t got an extra treat yet and update it until everyone’s got a treat!
Treats aren’t mandatory tho so if people are a bit exhausted w/ fic writing already, no worries. I’ve got a couple drabble ideas myself already and I can turn out drabbles like no one’s business!
treatless list (AO3 names):
Vamillepudding
turquoisetumult
shoshe_anders
queuebird
museme87
Impala_Chick
Emjen_Enla
darkandstormyslash
convenience
Ashling
You can see the list of requests alphabetically here.
The Peaky Blinders Fic Exchange is a fun, Secret Santa kind of thing where every participant gets one gift of Peaky Blinders fanfiction. Every participant also has to write one fic gift for someone else. Fics must be complete and a minimum of 500 words long.
Signups open: October 12
Signups close: October 20
Assignments go out: October 21
Posting deadline: November 22
Story reveal: November 29
Author reveal: December 6
To sign up, you need an Archive Of Our Own (AO3) account. If you have one, GO HERE TO SIGN UP. If you have an AO3 account but you have never signed up for an exchange before and want some detailed guidance, go here for an example signup. If you don’t have an account, go here for info on how to get one.
Signups close ad midnight EST on October 20. The countdown to signups closing is here.
if you have any questions, drop an ask in the inbox or email mods at [email protected].
And even if you don’t sign up, please reblog & let your writer friends know about it! And if you signed up, feel free reblog this post and tell your followers why you’re participating! We’re looking to beat our record of 34 fics from the last round of the exchange.
the Peaky Blinders Fic Exchange signups are well underway & I’m so excited! It’s a fic exchange, so every participant will get about a month to write one gift fic for someone else. And then at the end, they’ll receive one gift (minimum 500 words). Some people have told me they want to sign up but they’re not really sure how. No problem! This post will show you how.
You’ll need an archiveofourown account. If you don’t have one, no problem; you can either get one through the queue or skip the queue with an invitation from me (more info here).
Once you’re logged into your account, THIS LINK should take you to a signup page.
Requests.
These are the relationships that you’re interested in receiving fic about. You’ll need at least 3 of these, at most 10. Here, I’ll do an Alfie/Tommy example.
In the Fandom spot, select either Crossover Fandom or Peaky Blinders (TV). Alfie/Tommy isn’t a crossover pair, so I select Peaky Blinders (TV).
In the Relationship spot, start typing in the name of one of your characters. A bunch of relationship options should pop up (this sometimes takes a second, lmk if it gives you grief).
Scroll down, find the pairing you want, click on it…
And bam! Done.
Now, you can just do this for all your requests and offers and call it a day. Or you can add a little detail to help the writer that is making your gift figure out what kind of a fic you’d like to receive. You’d type this out in the Description box.
Here’s an example of what some helpful details might look like:
Here’s another example of what some helpful details might look like:
Hi, thanks for writing for me! For Jessie/Ada, I’d like something a little spicy. I loved their chemistry in the bar scene. They’re so different, but they can understand each other and communicate with each other so well. Ada gets where Jessie’s coming from because she used to fight for the cause, and Jessie gets where Ada is coming from because they’re both women getting leadership roles in male-dominated circles. And plus they’re both gorgeous and I’m GAY!
Do Not Want: any content involving rape/sexual harrassment/violent misogyny, Tommy/Jessie, pregnancy fics
If I were writing for this person, I’d be happy to get these details because they help me understand what you like about the pairing and what I can focus on. Also, it’ll help me to know what things you absolutely never want to read about, the Do Not Wants as we call em in exchange lingo, which is great.
Here’s another example.
For Tommy/Reader, I’m not gonna lie, I. Am. Horny. I’m talking office sex, desk sex, sex against a wall. Any gender you want for the reader, I just want it to be messy and wild.
If you’re not into writing smut, what about something dramatic and confrontational near the end of Tommy and the Reader’s relationship? Just let them have a knock-down drag-out fight about something they both hold dear–politics, family–and I’ll grab my popcorn.
Or really anything about Tommy being a dad and how Reader fits into the family dynamic. We rarely get to see Charlie and I feel cheated.
Likes: drama, rough sex, aftercare, family conflict, domesticity
Do not want: gratuitous or graphic violence
Sometimes it’s nice to receive prompts or story ideas, which gives the writer places to go. If the writer only got the first prompt and nothing else, and if they didn’t really like writing smut, they might get a little discouraged. But this reader has helpfully given more than one option, which makes it way easier on the writer.
Offers
Offers are relationships you’d be willing to write about. Keep in mind that “&” indicates a platonic relationship (so Aberama Gold & Polly Gray would be about their friendship) and “/” indicates a romantic or sexual relationship (so Aberama Gold/Polly Gray would be something shippy or smutty).
The “type in a character and see available relationships in the dropdown” trick should work here too.
Just pick some ships for your offers, and that’s it!
If you think of a prompt you forgot, no worries. You can edit your signups until signups close on October 20, 2019. The countdown to signups closing is here.
If you don’t like writing out all your stuff separately, you can put all your prompts, likes, Do Not Wants, and other random info into one place, a Dear Author letter, and then copy the URL in, like so:
Some common places to store a Dear Author Letter are Tumblr, Google Docs, Livejournal, and Dreamwidth.
I hope this was helpful! Let me know if I missed anything. You can contact me with questions at ashling#7490 on Discord, [email protected], or of course this Tumblr. I’m happy to help.
The first stage of the Peaky Blinders Exchange: Season 5 edition has begun! And it’s not a coincidence that today, October 4, is also the day that Peaky releases onto Netflix.
If there are Peaky relationships you would like to receive fic for or Peaky relationships you would like to write about, then nominate them by going to the tagset and clicking the Nominate button in the top right. Here’s some examples:
Jessie Eden/Ada Shelby (a romantic and/or sexual relationship, as indicated by the slash)
John Shelby & Polly Shelby (a platonic relationship, as indicated by the ampersand)
Lizzie Stark & None (a request for a one-character study, as indicated by the & none)
May Carleton/Mary Crawley (Downton Abbey) (a crossover relationship, with the crossover character’s fandom in parentheses)
Eddie Brock (Venom 2018)/Tommy Shelby/Venom (poly relationships can be nominated as well)
Please nominate all relationships under the fandom Peaky Blinders (TV) unless they’re crossovers, in which case nominate them under Crossover Fandom.
Relationship nominations will close on October 11, right before midnight. EST. Here is a countdown.
To nominate relationships, you’ll need an archiveofourown.org account. AO3 is the biggest nonprofit archive of fanfiction out there. If you have trouble getting an account, or if you have any questions, email mods at [email protected].
After the glory of the @peakyemergencyresponsefic writing challenge, which was run by the magnificent @darkandstormyslash and produced 25 fics on archiveofourown alone, here’s another fun fandom event!
This is a fandom event where everyone writes one fanfic for someone else and receives one fanfic from someone else, with gifts being fanfics that are at least 500 words long and about a requested relationship. Sometimes people write extra gifts, which is great, but optional.
The last exchange was super fun, with 26 people participating and 34 fics written. We saw everything from steamy Alfie/Tommy to fierce Ada/Jessie to romances of all kinds with original characters and Reader characters. But romance and sex wasn’t all; we also had fic about Tommy and Finn as brothers, fic about Michael and Reader as friends, and more! And we’re looking forward to another exchange jam-packed with a variety of Peaky goodness.
This exchange has one new feature, which is the inclusion of crossover pairings. Maybe the new Downton Abbey movie has you all excited about the 1920s, and you want May Carleton/Mary Crawley. You can ask for that! Or maybe you’re a Christopher Nolan aficionado and you want some Eames from Inception with Tommy Shelby. You can ask for that too!
This exchange is timed to begin with the Netflix release of Peaky Blinders Season 5 on October 4. If you’re interested, but you’re not sure, and you want more information, email your questions to [email protected], send in an ask, or continue reading. And please spread the word about this exchange to your friends! We’re hoping to have even more fics than last time.
Just like last time, this exchange is being run through archiveofourown.org, the nonprofit fan fiction archive used by all kinds of fanfic authors, including writers. like @whentommymetalfie and @twistedrunes and @blinder-secrets. If you already have an ao3 account, great! If not, we can get you one, just email us at [email protected]. Or you can get yourself one here.
The first stage of the exchange, nominations, is purely optional. Basically, in order to match you with someone you can write for, they have to ask for a relationship, e.g. Tommy Shelby/Reader, and you have to offer to write for it. Nominating a relationship adds that relationship to a list of relationships that people can ask for. This helps us, because if we didn’t have that official list of relationships, we might have someone ask for “Thomas Shelby/Reader” and someone else offer “Tommy Shelby/Reader”, and the computer algorithm that matches up people would miss that because those are two different relationship tags.
If you already have an archiveofourown account, you can start nominating relationships to the tags here on October 4.
We will post more information about sign-ups, et cetera, when they start happening.
After the glory of the @peakyemergencyresponsefic writing challenge, which was run by the magnificent @darkandstormyslash and produced 25 fics on archiveofourown alone, here’s another fun fandom event!
This is a fandom event where everyone writes one fanfic for someone else and receives one fanfic from someone else, with gifts being fanfics that are at least 500 words long and about a requested relationship. Sometimes people write extra gifts, which is great, but optional.
The last exchange was super fun, with 26 people participating and 34 fics written. We saw everything from steamy Alfie/Tommy to fierce Ada/Jessie to romances of all kinds with original characters and Reader characters. But romance and sex wasn’t all; we also had fic about Tommy and Finn as brothers, fic about Michael and Reader as friends, and more! And we’re looking forward to another exchange jam-packed with a variety of Peaky goodness.
This exchange has one new feature, which is the inclusion of crossover pairings. Maybe the new Downton Abbey movie has you all excited about the 1920s, and you want May Carleton/Mary Crawley. You can ask for that! Or maybe you’re a Christopher Nolan aficionado and you want some Eames from Inception with Tommy Shelby. You can ask for that too!
This exchange is timed to begin with the Netflix release of Peaky Blinders Season 5 on October 4. If you’re interested, but you’re not sure, and you want more information, email your questions to [email protected], send in an ask, or continue reading. And please spread the word about this exchange to your friends! We’re hoping to have even more fics than last time.
Just like last time, this exchange is being run through archiveofourown.org, the nonprofit fan fiction archive used by all kinds of fanfic authors. If you already have an ao3 account, great! If not, we can get you one, just email us at [email protected]. Or you can get yourself one here.
The first stage of the exchange, nominations, is purely optional. Basically, in order to match you with someone you can write for, they have to ask for a relationship, e.g. Tommy Shelby/Reader, and you have to offer to write for it. Nominating a relationship adds that relationship to a list of relationships that people can ask for. This helps us, because if we didn’t have that official list of relationships, we might have someone ask for “Thomas Shelby/Reader” and someone else offer “Tommy Shelby/Reader”, and the computer algorithm that matches up people would miss that because those are two different relationship tags.
If you already have an archiveofourown account, you can start nominating relationships to the tags here on October 4.
We will post more information about sign-ups, et cetera, when they start happening.
Do you ever watch an episode of Peaky Blinders and just IMMEDIATELY feel the need to read some fanfic? Well, this is the place to find it! The Season 5 Writing Challenge is for writers who write fic in response to the latest Peaky episode before the next episode airs.
WRITERS:
Watch the latest Peaky Blinders episode. on the BBC when it comes out (or…sail the high seas, if you don’t like in the UK, like me)
Write a fic before the next episode. Doesn’t matter how long, it can be 10k or a drabble, as long as it has something to do with the latest episode.
Publish your fic on Tumblr or Archive Of Our Own and @peakyemergencyresponsefic or drop an ask about it.
This Tumblr will reblog it and add it to the episode masterlist so hungry readers can find it more easily! (Masterlist here)
if you write a reaction for every episode, there will be a special thingy!
like, reblog, comment & support on the fics you enjoy! show some love to the fanwriters who keep Peaky fandom alive!
There’s also gonna be a Peaky Blinders writing exchange, but that doesn’t start till after the entire season has aired on Netflix for everyone. For more info on that, follow @peakyblindersexchange. And feel free to send asks, mail [email protected], or message me at ashling#7490 on discord.
Request: could do as are the kisses of luca changretta
The first one, as carefully executed as the entire evening preceding it had been. Luca was capable of controlling his emotions, of ignoring insults to procure long-term results, but he found himself entirely unable to resist your allure, hanging on your every word and gazing at you so blatantly it could be characterized as longing. He’d asked you to dinner and barely contained his delight when you said yes. He’d taken you deep into the heart of London, had pulled your chair out for you and held your hand across the dinner table, rubbing your thumb when you spoke, eyes never straying from yours. It was you, in turn, who reached for his hand when he drove you home, wholly aware of how he relaxed at your touch. Walking you to your doorstep, he bid you an entirely polite goodbye, but his body moved almost subconsciously, leaning in and letting you close the distance to kiss him. His hands enclosed your waist like he’d dreamed of doing it a thousand times, and he couldn’t stop himself from shivering when you ran your thumb along the cross tattooed on his neck.
The kiss that became the most frequent as your relationship progressed and you became wholly comfortable around each other. It was gentle and quick, more of a peck than anything else as you laid a single hand between Luca’s ribs and let him bend down to embrace you. It served its purpose well as a hello, a goodbye, and a fleeting reminder of permanent affection.
The kiss that served as a half awake gesture, ensconced in the early morning sun. Bleary-eyed, not fully aware of his surroundings, Luca’s first conscious gesture each morning was to reach for you, then to push himself onto his elbows and wait for you to caress the back of his neck and pull him down into a sweet, slow kiss, the first affection of many.
The first kiss as man and wife, accompanied by deafening cheers and the clanging of church bells. Luca couldn’t resist adding a small flair for the church packed to the rafters, dipping you suddenly and kissing you around your laughter as you clung onto his shoulders.
The most delayed kiss, one of total gratitude. Luca could barely take his eyes off your newborn son, the most perfect creature borne of the most beautiful woman he had ever known. He gently settled himself on the side of the bed, sliding one arm around your shoulders and bringing his other to carefully trace the baby’s sleeping feature. “He’s…absolutely perfect. Thank you, mia anima.” Luca placed a short kiss to your shoulder before turning to kiss you fully, smiling at the tired affection evident in your eyes.
The kiss of total relief, an expression of pent up anxieties finally released. Luca rarely let you stray from him at official functions, hyper-aware of the seedy individuals lurking around every corner. He’d mastered the art of the gala, standing besides you at a slight angle to act as a shield, one arm around your waist and the other lightly resting over the overcoat which concealed his pistol. In spite of all that preparation, it was still you who fell when the first shots rang out, a consequence of the erratic rage of an estranged crony, firing at will into the crowd in the hopes of accruing some victims. Luca had let out a tortured scream at the sight of blood pooling near your abdomen, and refused to leave your side even while you were being lifted into an ambulance. It took three days for you to wake up, and Luca sat by your hospital bed, both hands holding one of yours and eyes trained onto your face for the slightest sign of life. When you finally stirred and squeezed his hand in greeting, Luca began to cry nearly immediately, tears dripping onto your face as he moved his forehead to touch yours, running his thumbs over your cheeks and kissing you hard, trying to re-memorize you, to convince himself you hadn’t left him forever.
The kiss of a new beginning, when Luca finally got to take you home. You stood on the deck of the ship, gazing at the disappearing London skyline, filled with excitement of the promises of New York, of meeting the Changretta family. You held your son, now an energetic toddler, on your hip, and Luca rested a protective hand over the slight swell of your stomach, the promise of arrival of new life in only half a year. Luca kissed the top of your head absentmindedly, watching the view of land be swallowed up by ocean in all four directions, glancing down at you when you hooked your finger in his collar and pulled him down to meet his lips, and Luca turned to fully embrace you, to run a gentle hand through his son’s tuft of hair, holding his world in his arms.
Request: Hey could you please do headcanons for if tommy was with a guy? Thank you!!
I think that pretty much all LGBT people in the 1920s would have suffered from internalized homophobia just as a result of the oppressive society they were living in, and I don’t think Tommy would have been any exception from that.
So with that being established, while an integral part of Tommy’s personality is definitely the pride he takes in the life he’s created for himself and his refusal to bow to outside pressure, I do think that the overwhelming homophobia of the 1920s would have meant he struggled with his own homosexuality a lot.
I think that he would for sure have been in denial for a long, long time about his sexuality…I don’t see him really coming to terms with it until a few years after the war ended. His flings with Greta and other girls were certainly attempts to force himself into heterosexuality and a hope against hope that the voices in his head might be wrong and he might be happy in a relationship with a woman.
Greta was certainly a lovely girl; she made Tommy laugh, and she was always warm to the touch, so he found legitimate comfort in holding her hand during the winter. In another life, he thinks, they would have made very compatible friends. In this life, though, he had to force himself to smile after kisses, and when he woke up the morning after the first night they had sex, he had to run to the bathroom to rid himself of the bile that had immediately forced itself up into his throat.
During the war, it was a lot easier to hide; almost every man had a sweetheart back home, and it was almost laughably easy for Tommy to invent one too, to join in the crass conversations about sex and lipstick and the scent of a woman. So far removed from Birmingham, so far removed from any potential of intimate contact with an actual woman, he almost believed his lies.
And if once or twice, in the heat of a moment tinged with exhaustion and fear, he had allowed himself to be shoved up against the side of a deserted barracks and desperately kissed by a corporal from the highlands of Scotland, well, Arthur and John didn’t need to know about it.
After the war, though, comfortably seated on top of a burgeoning family business, an inherent respect from other members of society due to him being a veteran, and a lot more time alone with his thoughts, Tommy allowed himself to consider that he might be gay.
Shamefully, mortified by his own actions, on the nights that the shovels against the wall were loud as fireworks and sleep seemed a distant fantasy, Tommy would wrap his arms around his pillow as if it were another person and bury his head into the chest of his imaginary bedfellow. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost smell the stench of sweat and dirt that always seemed to follow the corporal from Scotland.
While he was in the long, tormented process of admitting his attraction to men to himself, he was nowhere near allowing himself to consider the possibility of a relationship with one. He knew gay men lived near him, had met Ada’s roommate and had to swallow his tongue so he didn’t accidentally spit out an invitation to dinner, but he was so petrified by the backlash from his family that he kept his urges to himself, held his pillow close at night, and swore to himself in quietly terrified moments to never actually act on his homosexuality.
As militaristic as Tommy usually was in his self-control, it was during a moment of considerable weakness that he broke his promise to himself and unwittingly fell in love with another man. He’d tasked Isaiah with hiring a few more men for grunt work, and had asked him to just pick the most reasonable among his friends and give them decent guns.
The new men had been sent to Tommy one by one for approval, and when the third one walked into his office for a brief interview, Tommy nearly choked on his tongue. He was tall, muscular to the point of being stocky, and his face was accentuated by a rash of red hair on the top of his head and a dusting of freckles across his nose and cheeks.
Tommy, as observant as he was, didn’t miss the brief up and down the younger man gave him, and from then on he was hopelessly hooked. He took the young man under his wing through the guise of some messy pretense of training him for a better position, and coped with his attraction by spoiling him with gifts: nicer guns, well tailored designer suits, Cuban cigars.
In the end, Tommy’s hints had become painfully obvious to the younger man, so it was he who bent over Tommy’s desk one dusky January afternoon and kissed him squarely on the mouth.
From that point on, he wasn’t just hooked, he was addicted. There was no point to putting a label on their relationship, no such thing as a “boyfriend” for an adult man in charge of a criminal organization, but Tommy would be damned if he let a hair on his lover’s head come in harm’s way.
He insisted quickly that the younger man move in with him, insisted it was “more convenient that we be close to one another,” but Tommy’s lover saw straight through him, and shot him a loving grin that hit Tommy like a bolt to the heart.
They slept in the same bed.
The first night they spent together, Tommy was the first to get under the covers, and glanced up at his lover with legitimate anxiety, breathing in a sigh of relief borne of decades of internal torment when the younger man simply crawled in next to him and pulled Tommy’s head into his chest.
Tommy burrowed himself into the expensive linen shirt he had bought his lover and slept more soundly than he had in years.
It was Arthur who eventually found out that the relationship between Tommy and his protegee was far more than platonic. He’d barged into Tommy’s office one evening and caught the two of them in a rare moment of recklessness, with their tongues down each other’s throats and intertwined in a close embrace.
Arthur had, in his rash nature, immediately run to tell the rest of the family. Polly and Ada had suspected it for years, but the men of the family were thrown for a loop, once which they quickly recovered from under threat of being shot by Tommy.
Once their relationship was established to the Shelby family, Tommy became slightly less guarded with his displays of affection, softly brushing his hand over his lover’s shoulders in passing or squeezing his thigh under the table at a family meeting.
Still as violently protective of his secret as he had been since the beginning of his life, Tommy allowed himself to be legitimately happy with his lover, and to feel more at peace with himself than he’d ever been. Maybe he should write to that Scottish corporal, he thought. The man was owed a thank-you.
request: hey can you do arthur who’s secretly dating a foreigner (I’m Icelandic so maybe that?:) ) and shes really insecure about her accent and her not so perfect vocabulary so she’s VERY quiet and often just nods etc and when she meets the family they’re all very suspicious and push her away till she leaves and arthur tells them then?
so I originally was going to write this as an imagine and then my thoughts got ahead of me so I wrote it as headcanons. hope you like :)
There were times during the First World War when soldiers from different companies would fight together in the same battalion or regiment. So let’s say that during his time in France, Arthur ended up stationed with a soldier from Iceland. He was totally fascinated by the place, the idea of Arctic wildlife and the stunning landscape, and he and the soldier got on very comfortably, quickly becoming friends.
They had a lot of downtime in the trenches, and so the soldier began teaching Arthur the rudimentals of Icelandic. To both of their surprise, he was a quick learner, and soon the two were trading English and Icelandic books and talking in mixed languages about their futures, and what they wanted to do when they got home.
Tommy and John both found it hilarious, of course, that their brother had become fluent in such an unusual language.
Arthur kept a few of the Icelandic soldier’s books, and took them back to Birmingham with him, reading them over and over so he didn’t lose his grasp on the language. He’d resigned himself to never again having an opportunity to speak the language, so imagine his surprise when he was sat, waiting to catch a train to London, and heard a soft voice cursing quickly in Icelandic while glaring at a schedule.
While shocked to the core at hearing the language of his past spoken so casually in his new life, he didn’t want to waste whatever opportunity fate was handing him on that otherwise mundane day, and quickly walked over to the girl, introducing himself in her language and offering to help her figure out which train she needed to catch.
She jerked her head up to meet his eyes, stunned that he spoke her language, but finding herself warming to him as he cracked jokes and walked her to her platform. Arthur handed her a business card before she boarded and bid her goodbye, hoping that the spirited girl with intelligent eyes had liked him enough to give him a call.
In fact, she liked him enough to hunt him down in person, returning to Birmingham after securing a visa in London and walking directly through the doors of the Garrison without a hint of apprehension.
Arthur’s head shot up at the sound of the front doors creaking open and a pair of high heels clacking on the hardwood all the way to the bar, but he relaxed into a wide smile at the sight of the Icelandic girl, and decided to grasp this second chance by the throat.
They quickly fell into a natural rhythm facilitated by their shared language, and Arthur quickly became attached to this unusual girl, so confident in the way she spoke to him even though she couldn’t understand the words of anyone else around her.
She found a job which required very little English but was determined to learn the language nonetheless, tugging on Arthur’s sleeve and glaring while she told him “You will teach me,” the sweetness poking through the thickness of her accent and her unprovoked aggression towards him combining in a way that made it impossible to say no.
The transition from inseparable friends to lovers was so natural it felt like breathing. Each day, Arthur would walk her home from work, playfully refusing to kiss her until she gave him a rudimentary description of her day in English. In private, though, they only spoke Icelandic, and Arthur marveled at the impossibility of this intimacy, of the world they had created which was not only closed to outsiders, but barricaded shut by a language barrier only the two of them had crossed.
She was a fast learner, partially due to her diligence towards learning English. She’d swat Arthur’s hand away when he traced the dark lines under her eyes, telling him “I need to know now, I can sleep later.”
Arthur’s brothers didn’t miss the way so much of his time had been stolen by this mysterious girl, and they certainly didn’t miss the affection so palpable in their brother’s eyes every time he looked at her. In the end, it was Tommy who insisted the Shelbys meet this girl, and it was Arthur who conceded with a grimace, remembering the time she’d told him he couldn’t let his brothers control him.
The dinner was painfully uncomfortable, with the girl relegating herself to single word answers to nearly all of Tommy’s questions, determined to hide her accent no matter how gently Tommy spoke to her. When Arthur placed a cautiously supportive hand on her upper back she wheeled around on him, switching back to her native language accusing him of making her look like a “fífl” in front of his family. She turned back to face her lover’s family, cheeks red but eyes refusing to show shame, and a recognition flashed in John’s eyes. “So that Icelandic fucker in France was finally good for something, eh? Cheers, mate.” He reached forward to shake the girl’s hand and she carefully smiled in return, allowing herself to speak more freely for the rest of the night.
content warning: none, just gina being an annoying cunt as usual
a/n:first michael fic in a long time :) it was originally supposed to take a veeeery different direction, super angsty, with the reader being angry at Michael and extra sassy, but oh well. I think Michael deserves some love after what they did to him in s6. || wc: 0,7
(gif not mine: ?)
“Are you sure this is what you want, Michael?”
The room had been plunged into a heavy, awkward silence before you interrupted it, the sharp sound of the slap Michael had received from his mother just moments before still ringing in your ear.
“Turning your back on your family and risking everything by becoming their enemy? Is that what you want?” you continued, pushing yourself away from the counter you were leaning against to take a step forward. You heard a scoff coming from behind you, but you knew better than to give Gina the attention she so desperately wanted. Instead, you kept your gaze on Michael and crossed your arms over your chest as you got no answer, his jaw clenching being the closest you got to a reaction.
“Don’t worry about him.” Gina eventually chimed in, seeing Michael wouldn’t answer. Her signature sardonic smile was glued to her red tinted lips as she pushed herself up from her chair, approaching you. “We know what we’re doing and I’m sure Michael can make his own decisions.”
“What’s your plan?” you questioned Michael, ignoring the american woman. But within a second, Gina was opening her mouth again.
“Tell her, baby.” she said. You cringed at the pet name, your cheeks flexing. “At least you know this one is willing to listen.”
“How about you shut the fuck up, huh?” you whipped around, taking a menacing step towards her. You’d had enough. “This is a conversation between me and Michael. Mind your own fucking business, Gina.”
Gina’s eyebrows raised at your sudden outburst, a mocking grin on her face as she directed her gaze toward Michael. She probably expected him to say something but he didn’t, his expression unchanging.
“In business it’s called a hostile takeover.” he explained, catching your attention. “That doesn’t mean anyone needs to get hurt.” You held back a scoff. Non-violence has never been an option in this family. “I’ll make an approach to the chinese suppliers and offer them more favorable terms.”
“And more access to american buyers.” Gina added. You cast her a pointed glare before focusing back on Michael.
“Gina’s uncles are in Chicago, Boston, and Long Island.” he continued. “They run whisky and gin from Canada, but booze is now being legalized again. So narcotics is the future. Tommy is taking too much on, his business is too big for him to handle.”
Sucking in a breath, you ran a nervous hand through your hair as you began to pace silently around the room, taking in everything Michael was telling you.
You had a bad feeling about this. Tommy would have no mercy on Michael if he were to go on with this plan and try to outsmart him. He was risking so much.
Your pacing finally came to a stop and you took a hold of Michael’s hands, forcing him to keep his attention on you.
“You need to tell Polly everything.” you said calmly. Once again Gina shared her exasperation, the clicking of her heels resonating as she paced around you.
“Why? So she can read into our future and tell us something really bad is going to happen if Michael sticks to the plan?” she mocks. “You cannot be serious. Listen, honey…Michael laughs at this witchcraft bullshit when his family’s not there. We don’t need Polly’s approval.” she came up to Michael and placed a hand on his shoulder, clinging onto him. “Let’s just go, baby. It’s not worth it.”
“Shut up, Gina.” Michael finally snapped, giving his wife a cold glare. Gina’s expression dropped and if you weren’t so worried you would’ve smirked at the expression on her face when she drew back, walking back to her seat while mumbling something about ’this fucking family’ under her breath.
“Michael, listen to me.” you continued, lifting a hand to cradle one of your palms against his cheek. “I need to know you’ll be okay. Please, if you won’t do it for me or anyone from this family, do it for our daughter.” you begged.
“Jesus Christ.” Gina sighed.
“We’ll speak to Pol, Y/N.” Michael responded, taking your hand that was still on his cheek and giving it a squeeze. He could tell you were genuinely distraught. Although you and Michael had been divorced for two years you still cared a great deal about each other, therefore the thought of him getting hurt or possibly dying had you panicking. “I promise.” he added softly, staring into your eyes as if to let you know he truly meant what he said.
A couple seconds passed until you nodded, releasing a breath of relief. After a quick moment of hesitation you cupped Michael’s face and leaned forward to press a lingering kiss to his forehead, resting yours against it afterwards. Michael’s hands came to your sides, his thumbs subconsciously stroking your skin in a soothing manner.
“I know your heart, Michael.” you murmured, just loud enough for him to hear. “Your family has always mattered more than your business. Think about it, that’s all i’m asking. And if you change your mind, just know that you’ll always be welcome home. Your daughter misses you.”
