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soloalfie · 2 years

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As you teach, you learn

Another part of the original draft. I know uploading just parts of a longer piece in no particular order is such a chaos. I really don’t know how to write in chronological order. I just have a long draft with a thousand notes and links and a vague idea of how to connect them, the plot is my head but I’m really struggling to develop it. I don’t have a method or a habit so I work on them in a very messy way. However, I think they can also be read individually, so I’ll keep uploading them this way instead of waiting to have them all done. Hopefully, if I get to finish it someday, I will edit it as the a slow burn it was meant to be. In the meantime, here you have a piece involving injured Alfie.

No smut or fluff, they’re still building bridges…

word count: 3k words

As you teach, you learn

Days and months had gone by since he left you standing confused, scared and speechless on the pavement in the early spring. You really didn’t know what to expect from him in such a situation, but the fact that he let you go back home by yourself bruised and scared after getting in trouble to help him, totally took you aback. However, it was the way he had spoken that you found more frustrating. After spending a great deal of time dissecting his words, you were unable to fathom his message. Should you take it as a warning or a threat? Even the tone of his voice had been so ambiguous. Whether it was a sibylline prophecy of doom or a devious threat, his narrative of Lot’s wife had you mesmerized. He was ever such an enigmatic man and deep inside you loved that. The less you understood him, the more you wanted to figure him out.

On the other hand, the strong independent woman you had become had promised herself not to make it into a big thing. After everything you had gone through in the past few years, you were adamant about your emotional and economic self-sufficiency. Willing and perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, you did your best to scrape out a living in the tough streets of London.

Your job as a nurse at the hospital kept you busy a good part of your time but since you usually felt quite energetic, you would spend your spare time in a million activities in order to dodge boredom but mostly your own thoughts. One of the many consequences you had to face when you returned from France was the fact that living an ordinary life was no longer an option. Everything felt meaningless and empty and the thrill seeker inside you crave for action. The war put you into perspective of what is worth, changed your priorities, you didn’t care about dresses and whims anymore and you’d never waste your life again with someone who wouldn’t let you be free. All things considered, you regret more what you never did because of the lack of courage, than the mistakes you had made.

That’s why you threw caution into the wind the evening you decided to get involved in Mr. Solomons’ business putting yourself at risk without a second thought. Your thirst for extreme feelings was insatiable to say the least.

In spite of this intense activity, more frequently than not, you kept finding yourself trying not to linger in those recurrent daydreams in which you shared an exciting life with the man. It was always him, the image of his broad figure dressed in black, eyes covered by the wide brim of his hat, didn’t cease to chase you. You couldn’t shake off the image of those impious eyes staring at you the last time you had talked. His plump lips, buried under a messy dark blonde beard. During the daytime, you would volunteer for different causes, taught nursery to young girls, spent hours in the library reading books and research papers, enjoying the hustle and bustle of the big city. Any distraction would do it, but at the end of the day, when you passed by the bakery on your way home, you couldn’t help but take a look inside with the hope of seeing him through the windows. Although you just had talked a couple of times and even if you thought he had been dismissive and ungrateful to you, he had brought the promise of new exhilarating experiences to your life the very moment you saw him crossing the bakeshop backdoor with a gun in his hand, so you kept passing by again and again, trying to figure out the mixed feelings he elicited from you.

____________

If only you knew what he was raking over. Oh, he knew. He kept a record of your movements, tracked you from a distance. Nothing unusual, taking into account the nature of his occupation. He was informed of every single event in the area, every detail, every person. That’s how he got to be a step ahead of enemies and rivals. But finding new opportunities for business and avoiding inconvenient situations wasn’t by far the only reason that encouraged such attention to your person. There was something else about you. He was very aware of it. What was the true reason of this genuine interest in you, he still didn’t know (or maybe he wasn’t willing to admit it to himself), but all the details he had gathered about you weren’t enough to satisfy the boundless curiosity of this man. You tried to keep a low profile and you were modest in your looks, measured in your habits and yet, you glowed. There was something in your attitude, your curiousness, you seemed to be passionate about life, always trying to comprehend everything around you. You were eager to live as many experiences as possible, fearlessly eager to get everything that life could offer you. And he absolutely loved that. He wasn’t a man of excess, at least not in his habits. Not apparently. He didn’t taste the drink, didn’t gamble, he didn’t spend great amounts of money on commodities, it was pretty obvious if you looked at him, the way he dressed, his environment. His attire was everything but fancy, each individual garment was akin to a uniform he wore as an extension of his crooked profession. He might indulge himself once in a while, and he really appreciated certain luxuries such as an exquisite piece of jewelery but this hobby met more his collector and businessman spirit rather than a need for showing off. He seemed to be a man of simple tastes so you presumed it was power that moved him to the business. To know that no other man would ever be above him to make him kneel. One of the few times you had seen him in the Free Russian Library of Whitechapel, you remembered him saying: “As a baker, I occasionally sell bread. As a bookmaker I occasionally let the fastest horse win. As a landlord I occasionally have a roof fixed. But mostly, I find it is quicker and it is easier to deal with the complainant, right, rather than deal with the complaint.”

In other occasion, while you were queueing to buy some bread you wondered who was he speaking with when you heard his voice coming from the back room: “Every time I got stomped down, yeah, I fucking stomped back up again, mate. I survived out of spite and instead of learning how to fight, I learned how to put right the wrongs done unto me tenfold, a hundred…a thousandfold, yay, unto the fucking stars, right, by using the bit of my body that God had cleverly put inside a strong bone box so the kicks and the digs could not reach it”.

You might be perfectly wrong, but those brief encounters with him allowed you to get a sense of him. Power was the end, you thought, and a weird combination of harshness and wisdom were the means. That wasn’t, though, his only motivation. The word on the street was that a good part of the benefits he obtained through his many shady business was designated for charitable use among the Jewish community. Although he had lost any trace of religiosity years ago, left his beliefs and hopes in the trenches, buried under a thousand corpses, he was a man fond of traditions who held a strong sense of belonging and he was proud of his roots. Whenever he felt lost or weak he clung to his culture and his people. It provided him an identity and it was enough to avoid the solitude and alienation in this world. It was his compass and his home.

Yes, he was intriguing, to say the least. Unreachable, you reckoned. But if you only knew, all of this aside, that this urge to know more about him was actually reciprocal. In addition, an inconvenient need to keep you safe was beginning to grow inside of him against his will, which was probably why he was so reluctant to interact while he tried to figure out how to deal with it.

_________________

Coming back home from work on a cold winter night, tiny snowflakes floated in the air and you hurried up to get to the warmth of your small but cozy apartment when you saw him leaving the bakery through the back door. You couldn’t help but stop and stare and you froze up at the sight. The tough gangster was now hunched over, you noticed he could barely walk, his hefty body shrinking and grimacing with pain, he rested his back on the dirty brick wall slowly sliding down to the floor. As you observed astonished the scene, he slowly took his right hand out of his black heavy coat and looked at it. Even from a distance, you realized his palm was covered in a red liquid. Shocked, you sealed your mouth to silence a whimper and without thinking twice, you ran to him.

“Mr. Solomons!”- you said, trying not to be too loud and without bothering to check on the wound, since you knew very well by the amount of blood in his hand and the fact that it flew from his abdomen that he needed urgent medical attention, you added -“Stay here, I’ll go get some help right now, you need an ambulance”-, but he grasped your wrist tightly and looked up to you:

“Don’t”- he warned you, “a sign of God you are, yeah, showing up right in this fuckin’ moment. How fortunate is to be found by a nurse who can keep her mouth shut and treat my wounds? Fuckin’ biblical, mate, so let’s keep this incident apocryphal, a’ight?”.

You looked at him in disbelief but despite his tone, he was speaking hundred per cent seriously.

“I’m a doctor, actually” you said with resignation, “see if we can get home, I live near here”. He surely knew about that but the thought of him digging into you vanished as soon as you put his arm over your shoulder and attempted to lift him up. The man was heavy as hell and you doubted if you would be able to get home, but he took his cane with his other hand and resting his weight on you, he managed to stand up and walk together to your place. Although the distance from the bakery was short, the route seemed to be endless and just when you reached the door to your flat a sudden shout coming from behind startled you: “Mr. Solomons!!” an alarmed voice made him look over his shoulder. “Ishmael”, he replied. Apparently, the young lad was one of his men and you felt a slight relief because you were going to need all the help you could get.

As soon as you crossed the threshold, you took off his coat, hat and cane and it was only then that you realized the gravity of the injury. A huge red stain in his white shirt revealed how much blood he might have lost and he was alarmingly pale, cold beads of sweat covering his forehead.

“Is there any chance to get any sort of sanitary materials?” You said heading for the table in the living room to take off everything on it so you could use it to examine his wounds properly.

“Make a list” he muttered, his voice sounding more and more weak as time went by, “Ishmael, will you get it please?”, to what the steady man nodded. How and where he would access medical equipment, you didn’t know, but once you had the flat surface clean, you turned to Alfie, who was sitting heavily on a chair giving instructions to the lad in a low voice and you started to give orders:

“All right, Mr. Solomons, I need you to lay down here so I can check on your injuries”-.

“It is Alfie, dear. The situation calls for it, don’t ya think?”-, he said as he sat on the table with the help of the young man.

Holding the back of his neck to help him lay down, you placed your coat under his head in order to give him a little comfort and asked his man to light the fireplace in your bedroom, bring the scissors you kept in the kitchen and get a piece of paper to write down a list of the things you were going to need. The grunts coming out from Alfie’s mouth made him look so vulnerable that you felt a deep angst crawling up your throat but you had to live up to your billing and you quickly managed to pull yourself together. You just looked at him confidently and taking his hand you told him: “let’s take a look at it”.

Having washed your hands thoroughly, you started to cut all the blooded fabric layers, slowly revealing his broad chest. Fully dressed, it would’ve been impossible to tell if his bulged figure was actually muscle or fat, but as you gradually removed his ruined clothes, gently uncovering his chest, well-defined muscles revealed, his pectorals rising and falling with difficulty. You tried not to stare, focusing on the location and size of the injury, but some scars on his wet skin caught your attention, making you wonder what sort of stories underlay them. Indeed, a stab wound in the umbilical region was now fully exposed. Contrary to what you had initially thought, it didn’t seem to be too deep and you felt optimistic. Even if you had graduated with honours, you soon directed your career to the research field and you never had the chance to practise as a doctor. However, the knowledge acquired as a student along with your valuable experience as a nurse at the front, made you fully competent for the task you were about to perform.

Pressing firmly with your index and middle fingers next to his Adam’s Apple you checked his vital signs, his pulse rate was irregular and weak but it was there. Gently palpating his thorax, you held your breath, pondering on the possible diagnosis and treatments but time was of the essence and making the wrong decision could be a matter of life and death. As far as you remembered, an internal hemorrhage was the main cause of early death in abdomen wounds when you served as an army nurse at the military hospital but the procedure to assess the damage in vital organs was risky, especially if it was going to be performed at home without proper medical assistance and equipment. There was a good chance of having complications from the surgery and you decided to dismiss the laparotomy after further explorations. You’d keep an eye on him for the next hours so in case of any sign of sepsis you could quickly call for an ambulance against his wish. Hoping that it was a simple penetrating wound without any vital organs affected you started to list every possible thing you would need to deal with the situation: a stethoscope, wound dressing, sterile sutures, antiseptics, morphine, novocaine…One by one, Ishmael took good note of every item and ran out in search of them.

As soon as you heard the door slam and you two were left alone, you looked at him making visual contact. Alfie remained silent but conscious and stared directly into your eyes. The intimacy of the moment took you by surprise and you hurried to get a clean cloth to block the wound. Taking his hands, you placed them over it and asked him to press while you looked for a blanket to keep him warm. After covering his body with the fabric, you slid skilled fingers under it, unlacing one of his black cap-toe leather work boots and taking it off, then the other. Getting closer to him, who kept track of everything you did with his gaze, you did the same with his belt, unfastening it delicately so as not to hurt him. He might be too weak to speak but the bastard wasn’t willing to stop staring and give you a break. Carefully, you took off his trousers, always under the blanket in order to keep him warm but mostly to avoid making the situation more awkward than it already was. But far from making him uncomfortable and in spite of the pain he would surely be enduring, you would’ve sworn a barely perceptible smirk flashed under his beard.

You didn’t mean to stress him out or to be nosy but you wondered why and who had done that to him. Given his background, sure he had made a thousand enemies over the years but you’d like to know if this was somehow related to the man you tried to get some information from and his boss, Darby Sabini. Anyone could have done it. Alfie Solomons was said to run his business with thread and relentless violence and as the Jewish proverb states, “as you teach, you learn”. Engrossed in these thoughts, his thick cockney accent startled you:

“Who are ya, hmm?” - he blurted out, narrowing his eyes. You turned to him,

“I don’t know anymore, to be honest. I don’t know what I came for but I’m looking for a cause”-

“You’re not looking for anything, sweetie, that I doubt. You’re just running away and it shows, yeah. Just like Adit leaving Sodom”. Again, he was referring to the story of Lot’s wife. His comment left you thinking. He was probably right. You’d heard he could read people and you quickly understood why. Laying there, injured, weak and semi-naked, even in that miserable state, he made you feel as defenseless and desirable as an open book.

“I’m not looking back, though. May the bridges I burned light the way” you replied when you suddenly heard Ishmael knocking on the door.

#alfie #alfie solomons #alfie x reader #alfie solomons x reader #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders imagine #fanfic #fanfiction

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soloalfie · 2 years

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Ok, so this was intended to be the chapter of a longer story but I’m really struggling to finish it. This is my very first fanfic and I’m not a native speaker so after months of reediting I decided to create a new account and upload at least some parts of it in hope of having some feedback. I don’t even know if this will reach any readers with the tumblr logarithms but here it goes.

1880 words, no smut (not yet), only this man’s intense kisses.

THE DINNER

You wore a maroon dress, your shoulders uncovered. You hated being complimented, for you thought a woman’s confidence shouldn’t rely on a man’s opinion about your physical traits but you felt flattered anyway when he told you that you looked lovely. He was purposefully measured in his comments about your aspect and you liked that. He offered his arm and you walked out your place by his side. A man his size provided a sense of safety much appreciated. He opened his car’s door for you and you stepped up gracefully. “Where are we going?” You asked with curiosity. “None of us are very fond of posh, crowded places, ‘ight? Not sure if you fancy kosher either, so we’ll be having dinner at me place. I have the best chief in town cooking for us this evening”. You smiled. The fact that you share simple tastes pleased him greatly. It wasn’t that you were easy to content, nope. He knew that regarding other aspects you were, in fact, a quite exigent person. He loved the fact that you couldn’t stand men with patronising attitudes that would only address you for small talk or flirting. Either you had a good deep conversation or nothing at all. Sharing interests in matters of importance such as art, science or politics was essential for you, just as much as feeling free to make your own statements and decisions. There was no money enough in the world to keep a woman like you near a boring controlling man. Life is about priorities and Alfie was wise enough to know what was more important for you, so he decided to set up a nice dinner at home, far from curious looks and comments and you were about to enjoy every second of it.

This was the first time you visited Alfie’s place and you loved every single detail on it. You would’ve expected more austerity seeing his style but the man was a hoarder and a million rare and curious objects could be found in the house. It was far from being a mansion but it had two floors and several spacious rooms. There were different pieces of taxidermy, tapestries and pictures hanging from the walls, beautiful rugs on the wooden floor. As you passed by the living room you took a glance to see a big green velvet couch, the wall covered by books, and many lamps in art deco style. You smiled in awe “Oh…my…God…I don’t know what I was expecting but it wasn’t this, definitely. This place is astounding, Alfie. So personal and peculiar…If you wanted to impress me, well, you have. I’m stunned. How long did it take you to gather all these things?” you asked. ”A lifetime, dear. It took me ages” he said, “and it’ll be all yours if you want, love” he thought to himself.

The dinner was served, you weren’t used to alcohol and you had two glasses of red wine. You had never seen him drinking but he seemed to be pleased to see you enjoying the liquor. For the next few hours the conversation revolved around his life. He had got to know so much about you and yet, you knew so little about him at that point. You were really intrigued about what kind of past a particular man like him would’ve had. He talked with no holds barred about his family. He told you about his mom escaping from the Kiev pogrom, chased by dogs through the snow in Imperial Russia, his childhood, growing up in Candem Town in poverty with an absent father whose only legacy had been that old black hat you got to love so much. As he spoke, you thought you’d do fine together after the wedding. With this man, even a platonic relationship would fill your heart. There were a million things that concerned you about your near future but you didn’t want to spoil the evening thinking of them at that moment. You told him about your own country, about your city. About your bold and willing atypical youth living abroad. You told him about Carrel and your past and ,finally, about your days in France, serving as a nurse at the war. And even if he already knew many of those facts and there hadn’t been much left unrevealed about you and your circumstances, he absolutely enjoyed hearing it from the horse’s mouth. He realised at that point that it was your determination and independence that made you so lovable to him. After you had finished your desserts, he guided you to the living room. “I’ll be ‘ight back, dear” he said leaving you in this amazing living room. Without hesitation, you headed straight to the library and tilted your head to one side to check what sort of books Mr. Solomons fancied. Many of them were written in Hebrew or Russian but you spotted some contemporary titles on different subjects as well as some classics of Universal literature. You didn’t speak Russian but you were familiar with the cirilic alphabet and as you passed your fingers over the spines, you recognised the name of one of your favourite writers, your highly regarded Dostoevski, and checked with great astonishment and joy that he owned most of his bibliography, composed by gorgeous editions lavishly binded. Out of the blue, a feeling of sadness overcame you when you thought about how fond of him you had got to be. Yes, you were sad and just then, in that very moment, you realised it was love. You had fallen for him and he would never ever be truly yours. Not as you wished. He had told you so not so long ago, and in a brief instant, as you became aware of this painful truth, you felt devastated. There was so much love wasted on Earth. Your mind was dangerously ledding you to a hypothetical future in which you both could be fiercely happy together and you blamed the wine for this ill-timed sentimentalism. You were trying to keep your mind calmed and restrained when you heard heavy steps coming from the next room approaching you slowly from behind. Now that your true feelings had revealed themselves to you, your heart was racing and you honestly doubted if you would be able to look him in the eye again. In a rush, you tried you think of a subject, something to say that could take away those thoughts from your mind quickly, so you looked at the book in your hands and just when you were about to speak about it, you felt the warmth radiating from his broad body, realising he was just an inch away from you. He laid his hands on your waist so softly, wrapping his arms around you slowly, and you suddenly felt his hot breath on your neck. You put the book back in place with trembling hesitant hands and he placed a kiss where your neck meets your shoulder, his plump wet lips lingering on your pulse so gently. His move took you off guard, being the last thing you would expect and you stood still in shock. The wetness of his lips and his beard elicited a shiver and a barely audible sound from you and your breath got deeper and louder, making your chest heave with anticipation. Your body reaction was instantly noticed by him and he released his tongue that started roaming lazily up and down your neck, his beard tickling. “Is this happening?” You muttered in disbelief and you felt a grin behind your ear. He hummed, sending electricity down your spine as he chuckled, so close to you. With his big hands on your waist, he spinned you and turned your back on the classics collection stack on the bookcase, as if reading the greatest stories ever told were nothing compared to being alive, feeling real life emotions in your own flesh. This was the real thing. You placed your hands on his chest and you were almost scared to look up to his eyes and find in them the slightest trait of pity or doubt but he urged you to meet his gaze. “Look at me”, he said and you complied, only to realize there was nothing apart from desire in his lustful irises, their colour completely engulfed by big black pupils. Tightening his embrace, holding you up as close as possible, your heels lifted until your lips were at the same height so you wrapped your arms around his neck and he kissed you softly. Breaking the kiss, he pressed his forehead to yours and spoke in his thick compelling accent “Been wanting this since you had the boldness to offer me a deal, but ya already knew it, didn’t ya?”. “Nothing further from the truth, dear” you thought to yourself. Alfie Solomons had been impossible to read for you, just like those books that rested behind you, written in an ancient and exotic language, with strange golden characters printed on their luxurious covers full of forbidden stories, untold secrets and words of wisdom. A perfect metaphor of the man who had stolen your heart. “Fucking Alfie” you thought, and you realised that even his cockney accent and his swearings had taken over you. He then kisses you again and you feel your body being conquered by his overpowering presence, an assault on your senses. The softness of his touch, warming your skin, the grip of his left arm on your waist, his right hand cupping the back of your neck lovingly, his tongue, hot and wet meeting playfully yours. He tastes like honey and wine and you swallow his sweetness thirstily. As you inhale to take in some air, his smell goes up your nostrils in floods, and the notes of wood and rum and dough and cinnamon fill your brain with fleeting memories of former encounters with him at the bakery when you barely knew him. He’s breathing deep into your open mouth and the soft groans coming from his throat over the sound of tongues entangled together, licking and sucking the hell out of each other, is pure music delighting your ears. You’re too aware of every detail and you want to keep this moment forever in your memory, so just to get the whole picture, you decide to open your eyes briefly and get a glance of his face. Eyes squeezed shut with trembling lashes, extremely close to your face, to let himself focus on what he’s doing to you. The sight sends you straight up to the stars and you close your eyes once more so you can be engulfed by the current sensations. Your senses are utterly saturated, but you enjoy every second of it, trying to keep a record of every detail. You knew this man was intense but this goes beyond your imagination, he is just too fucking much. He’s kissing you so fervently that you feel you’re going to faint. At some point he finally breaks the kiss and looks you in the eye nodding, “Yeah, I know you knew,” he smirked. The wine is now taking place and speaking daringly for you: “No I didn’t, Alfie, but if that’s true, please act like it ”.

#alfie #alfie x reader #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons #peaky blinders #fanfic #fanfiction

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soloalfie · 2 years

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This is a second part of The Dinner, both were supposed to be part of a longer story but I’ll probably turn what I’ve written so far into one-shots or shorter pieces. I don’t think I’m able to develop a slow burn, it’s just out of my depth. Anyway, here it goes.

1687 words, this one comes with luscious smut, more specifically devoting oral sex from sweet Alfie to reader.

…At some point he finally breaks the kiss and looks you in the eye nodding, “Yeah, I know you knew,” he smirks. The wine is now taking place and speaking daringly for you: “No I didn’t, Alfie, but if that’s true, please act like it ”.

UNRAVELED

“Life is unpredictable” you thought. You had learnt this truth long ago, even before the war years. However, one can never be ready when the unexpected comes abruptly. It’s not that you never imagined the scene, as a matter of fact, you had felt a compelling attraction to this man from the word go. You remembered very well the first impression he left on you that autumn morning in the Free Russian Library of Whitechapel about a year ago. His slovenly yet imposing bearing had caught your attention and the minute he opened his mouth to talk you were under his spell. He wouldn’t wear expensive tailored suits but his looks somehow reflected certain status. Even if he didn’t dress as an orthodox Jew, his style stuck by his Jewish heritage and he always wore those distinctive hats so gracefully. You weren’t sure what it was, though. Putting into words his very essence seemed quite impossible, he was a complex man, you thought. Both his appearance and his personality radiated with contradiction and nevertheless, that was his most appealing trait to you. He mostly acted as a calm confident person, didn’t care about anyone’s opinion but as far as you knew, his employees considered him a rather unpredictable guy. The word on the street was that he was untrustworthy, even a traitor, but running the sort of business he owned required not to commit to anyone ever, you reckoned. You had witnessed his rage, heard about his cruelty. Alfie Solomons took no shit from anyone, but you also knew he cared about his people. The stories you had heard about him nailing an Italian’s face in a trench during the war or cutting his enemies throats clashed with the fact that he usually donated to charities and protected women in the community. Even the way he talked was contradictory, you never met anyone who sweared more and yet he sounded so learned and educated. He was a walking paradox. An inscrutable mystery. If there was something you found absolutely alluring in this man was the fact that he always seemed to speak in a secret code, his message always unclear and ambiguous. You always had the feeling that what he really meant was left untold, waiting to be unravelled, and thus when he confessed, right before kissing you, that he had been wanting to do it for so long and he was sure you knew about his feelings you could hardly believe him.

Loosening his embrace, your heels got back on the floor. He gazed at you eagerly, narrowing his green blue eyes. You were still feeling overwhelmed when you noticed he was breathing deeply, his whole chest heaving against your body and you lifted your chin up as an invitation, waiting for his mouth again. Fortunately, you didn’t have to beg and his broad figure bore down on you, pressing your quivering body against the big wooden bookcase, your back pushing the books further to the bottom of the antique furniture. You hadn’t noticed the size difference between him and you until you realised he had to bend down and lean to reach your lips. The kiss was fierce and you tightened your arms around his neck pulling him closer in a reflex move. You couldn’t believe this was happening. Just a moment before you were hopeless, trying to come to terms with the fact that he’d never be yours, but now this twist of fate filled you with joy. His kiss was so unexpected that it almost felt like a dream and you clung to him for good measure, running your fingers through his hair. His strong hands slided down both sides of your upper body at a slow pace, thumbs brushing gently against your ribcage. Tempting fingers finally stopped at your hips, pressing your buttocks up against him so softly while he breathed you in. His mouth went down your neck, sucking and licking delicately your burning skin. Lazily, he rolled your dress up until he could slide his calloused skilful hands under it and groaning in pleasure at the touch of your thighs, he leaned back to take a second look down at you. Without breaking visual contact he slowly bent his knees and started sliding down your body until he was at your feet, his eyes caught up in yours with needing lust. God, what was he doing? You peeked down and your breath became deeper at the sight. Having a man kissing you between your legs was one of your most recurring fantasies since your sexuality started to develop but you never had the courage to suggest it to the few partners you ever had and they never showed the slightest interest in it. You never thought Alfie Solomons would be the kind of man willing to please a woman in such a way. Instead, you had imagined him claiming dominance over his partner, but the mere image of having him kneeling before you and looking up to you, drove you completely crazy and you prayed to an inexistent god for him to be that kind of man, so when you found him trailing his hands up your thighs and one by one, he unfastened the clasps of your garter belt, you thought you might even become a new born believer. He grabbed your thighs, peppering kisses along their inner part and you leaned your head back with open begging lips, although you were unable to make any sound when you felt his nose nuzzling against your core, caressing your folds over your underwear. Arching at the feel, you tried to keep a tight grip on the bookcase behind you, needing something to keep you grounded in that moment. He hummed at the heat and wetness he found down there and the vibrations in your clit made you moan. Leaning back, he took a glance at your face smiling smugly. After a brief period of time, he decided that was enough teasing and he hooked the hem of your knickers sliding them slowly down your legs, tossing them aside on the floor. He then grabbed one of your knees, lifting your leg over his shoulder for better balance and he smirked at your sight. You looked terribly needy and longing for him to sink his face between your legs to finally know what it was like to be worshiped and eaten out as you always had dreamed. Looking up from between your legs, meeting your gaze as you watched him, he slowly disappeared under the fabric of your dress, now rolled up your hips and you felt his hot wet breath on your core. He heard you sucking in a sharp breath and hissing quietly: “oh god, please…” He fucking loved eating a woman out and wanted to give you the best you’ve ever had, completely unaware that this was the very first time your body met the long-awaited feeling. At the first lap of his tongue, you whimpered louder than intended. God, he liked to hear some noise. He responded like a man starved, growling in his hunger for you, his tongue licking up and down your folds, pushing into your entrance, his nose rubbing against your clit. He groaned into your pussy, and the deep vibrations made your entire body shudder. He rejoiced in your pleasure, burying his face in you, relishing the scent and taste that was all over him. It was entirely overwhelming, and it felt so good, so inordinately good. Soon the heat pooled in your belly, muscles tightening as your legs began to shake. “Alfie,” you panted, and he raised his eyes, blue green nearly swallowed by lust filled black. He gave a tiny growl and eagerly sucked your clit again. You felt his heavenly mouth latched to your clit, his rakish tongue pushing into you, his now dark eyes watching you revel in the pleasure he was giving you. You felt yourself tiptoeing the edge and you tried to warn him: “Alfie, I…” you slurred. Noticing your hesitation, he looked up, speaking against your clit, coaxing you with a low, rough voice full of dark promise: “cum on me mouth, lass, let me drink your soul”. Even if you were unable to process them properly in such state, the lustful words pitched you over the edge, the cry breaking from your throat as you arched against him, keeping your hand clasped to his hair as you came. You felt your legs shaking uncontrollably, but he wouldn’t stop there, carrying you through it, until your body stopped seizing and he could tell the last spasm had gone leaving through the ends of your fingers and the tips of your toes.

Breathing hard, it took you a few minutes to come down, and he was so patient, continuing to lap at the sweetness from you, wringing tiny spasms when he flicked the tip of his tongue on your clit every few strokes. He laughed softly at the sound of your blissful sigh, pressing a kiss to your thigh. You were still panting when he gently unhooked your leg from his shoulder and stood up. When he was finally facing you, you felt light-headed, a slight weakness still in your legs and you leaned back on the bookcase on the verge of collapse. Feeling your body limp, he held you tight and asked in concern “You ok, sweetie?”, but you smiled mischievously at him and you kissed his open lips, tasting yourself on his tongue. He was surprised at the movement, but he embraced it immediately, moaning into your mouth. You felt euphoria pumping through your veins, a broad grin in your face that you tried to hide failing miserably. Looking at you, he felt proud to be the one who made you moan and cum and grin and nearly faint. Whatever task Alfie Solomons carried out, he always did it thoroughly, without half-measures and no shades of grey. As he scooped you up heading to his bedroom in the upper floor he whispered promising words in your ear: “Don’t ya even think I’m done with you, lass”

#Alfie Solomons #Peaky Blinders #alfie x reader #alfie solomons x reader #smut #fanfic

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