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muneca-lemon-steppa · 5 months ago

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hello!!! hope you’re doing great, I kinda wanna ask about Thomas x Sister Shelby if you do that ? And if you do I’m thinking she’d be smart, has a very quick tongue and she wants to get out of the Shelby business to marry the love of her life (alfie😝😍) so she fakes her death and ofc everyone is distraught and angry than after a few years Thomas sees alfie at his home and than comes his sister who he thought had died and he berates her than she says something like you’re a worse person than me always killing for money like he can’t live without a war. Also I am in the mood for a very angst ending

A/N: Hello my love! How are you doing? I am so so sorry that this has taken forever. Truthfully, I had no clue how to do this. I thought about this long an hard, and though some things I switched up, I hope you enjoy this. I feel like this got me to stretch my writing muscles, and it was really fun. Let me know what you think darling!

Run Away With Me Darling

Alfie Solomons x Fem! Reader; 3.8k words; fluff, angst

Warnings: language, contentious family relationships, arranged marriage???

It started innocently enough.

You bringing tea and biscuits to meeting rooms where the men started their schemes. Listening and taking notes alongside your ever watchful Aunt Polly. Sneaking glances at the big brute in the chair across from your big brothers.

“Thank you treacle. Yeah that’s real kind of you.”

That brute is the only man that would say thank you for the tea you bring by. And when you go to pour more for him, he’s the only man who says, “No need for that darling. Grown men can pour their own tea yeah?”

It wasn’t meant to be anything more than professional. But you should’ve known. Known from that first encounter outside those Shelby walls… you and Mr. Solomons shared a single soul… and heaven nor hell could keep you from each other’s grasp.

It was hot. London is not a tropical city by any means. But the sheer amount of bodies, activity, and warm rain, had transformed the city into a sauna. The wisps of your hair along your neck and forehead are plastered to your body. Rivulets of sweat sneak down your chest. The heat could only be described as oppressive. You were counting down the steps till you could go home.

On the one hand… it was strange having a home all to yourself. Truthfully, it was the Shelby homestead in London, where the family would stay when business needed attending to. However, when they all left, you stayed. Carrying delicate messages. Keeping a close pulse on the going’s on of the city. And perhaps most importantly… remaining a pretty show pony for the Shelby family.

You hated to admit it. But you were desperately jealous of Ada. She had the guts to sneak past Arthur, Tommy, and John. She had the foresight to marry her true love before Tommy could marry her off to the highest bidder. You had no such luck. No childhood love. No sweetheart to campaign for. The boys had made sure of it. Despite Ada and your protests, and Polly’s discrete ploys; Tommy had decided. The sweet, pure, and innocent youngest Shelby girl will be auctioned off to the richest and most lucrative partner for the Shelby Company. And she will remain pretty and docile. A prize.

The mere thought made your stomach twist and churn and burn.

You loved them. Your family. More than most love their family. But you could barely breathe under their watch. Even in another city you felt the reach of their eyes. Felt the whisperings of potential matches for your hand and womb. The sweat on your brow burned your eyes. Taking place of the unshed tears you long abandoned.

All you longed for was cold water. A cool bath. Anything to scrub off the sweat and dirt and exhaustion. However, shade covered your front door, casting a shadow over the threshold.

“Sweetheart! Been waiting a bit for you!”

No matter where you see Mr. Solomons, he seems to take up all the space. You don’t know how he is able to stand the heat, with his coat and hat and bushy beard. But he looks unfettered. Cool even. You finally felt the kiss of the breeze on your neck as you approached.

“Mr. Solomons. How can I help you?”

“You going to invite me in like a good girl?”

“I’m not in the business of inviting strange men into my home.”

“You think me strange?”

“Oh Mr. Solomons you are the strangest man I’ve ever met.”

“Makes you a little excited though don’t it? A hint of danger yeah? Big brute standing at your door.”

You stuck your chin out, staring directly into his stormy eyes. “I’m not afraid of you Mr. Solomons.”

His mouth quirks up in the corner. A twinkle in his eyes, and your breath hitched as he leaned into your space, “Oh I know sweet. You ain’t like the others ain’t ya? I saw it… the first time I laid eyes on you I knew you were different. Those boys… cold blooded little snakes… you… nah… there’s a flame in you treacle…and I look forward to see you set things aflame.”

Before you could respond in any way, he leaned away, smiling at your response. He pulled out an envelope from his coat and handed it to you, ��Contract and information for your devious brother my sweet. Don’t worry, put a little something in there for you too for your trouble.”

You snatched the envelope from his hand. Unsure of how to respond to his… behavior. His rumbling laugh set a shiver down your spine, but you pushed it down as you appraised him, “This seems below your job description… don’t you have messenger boys?”

He further smirked, “I hope you’ll forgive me, that I want to keep you to myself.”

“I’m not a kept girl.”

“That you are not. Just have to inform your brothers of the fact don’t you?”

Hot shame rose in your cheeks. The envelope in your hands crinkling sharply. You felt the cool brush of gold rings on your cheek, “I have a standing dinner every Thursday evening. Let it be our little secret, hmm?”

Before you could react, a coarse kiss is pressed to your knuckles. As he started walking away, you called out, “And if I don’t show up? What then?”

He turned, with a boyish smile, “You’re not a kept woman treacle. Not my business. I’ll just send my messenger boys in my place.”

That was a year ago. Things were so simple then. Secret dinners. Secret mornings. Secret dalliances and outings around town. And when the family came to town, you placed that mask back on. Sweet, innocent, and docile Shelby girl. Ready at the beck and call of her family. And when they left, you ran right into the arms of Alfie. Because where it all started as something to feel disobedient, it grew into something deeper and more ancient. You felt your soul intertwine with his, as if it was always searching for him. In the evenings when he whispered his love for you and kept you close, you had never felt safer. Never felt more alive.

But dreams are not forever. Sooner or later the bubble must pop.

“You’ll need to come back to Birmingham dearest.”

“For how long?”

Everyone looked up at Tommy. Tommy didn’t even look up from his dinner plate, “Permanently. I’ve got a husband for you.”

Your fork dropped. Your heart stopped beating.

You faintly hear Aunt Polly call your name.

“Husband?” You whispered.

Tommy sighed, “That is what I said. High time you married, you’re old enough. Mr. Gorman has multiple factories both here and in the states, and his son is set to inherit them all. It’s a good match, it’ll be very beneficial to the company.”

“Tommy I don’t even know him.”

“You have your entire life to get to know him. Now finish your dinner.”

“So you just decided is that it? You just decided to that I’d belong to some man? Tell me Tommy… how much did you sell me off for? How much is my womb worth?”

“Watch your mouth!” Polly hissed, with Arthur wincing at the cutting words.

“I’m not going.” You stood from your chair. Preparing for battle.

“It’s not up for discussion.”

“I’m not going! You cannot make me!”

Tommy rose from his seat, John putting his head in his hands with Arthur knocking back a drink. Low. Deadly. Tommy always could command a room with his voice. Cold finger pointing at you like a deadly weapon. “You will do as you’re told. This is not about you. This is about the family. In a week, I will come fetch you. I will drag you back to Birmingham if I have to. And you will marry the young Mr. Gorman, and you will have as many of his fucking babies as he chooses. You will be rich. You will be safe. And you will be set. I am not about to argue with a child.”

You felt the tears well up in your eyes. Sorrow. Mourning. Hatred. “I hate you Thomas Shelby. I hate you.”

“You will get over it.”

You ran to your room. Weeping the rest of the night.

Because how can your body and name be given to a man, when your heart and soul belonged to another?

They left the next morning. Arthur knocking on your door to announce the departure, and trying to convince you, “He’s a good lad darling. Trust Tommy alright? Wouldn’t let nothing bad happen to ya, even though it seems like right shit. Don’t be too angry at us. We’ll all still be close. And anyway… it’s what’s good for the family.”

You didn’t look at him. Not even a hum of acknowledgment when he kissed your hair tenderly. A regretful sigh leaves his body as Arthur walked away, taking one last look at your quivering body on your maiden bed. Arthur always had a soft spot for you. Always defensive for you unlike your other siblings. He had tried in vain to get Tommy to rethink the arrangement. You didn't need to get married. The company didn't need such an alliance. They'd get by as they always have. But Tommy's sights were set much higher. He wanted that name of honor. And to get it, he was willing to play by the rules of old money. Tommy had convinced Arthur enough. Enough that you'd eventually forgive them all.

The orange sky illuminated your bedroom in a bloody hue. Your throat dry and head hot and pounding. The creaking and settling of the house had become a steady ring in your ears, you didn't even hear the bedroom door open.

"Treacle. What are you doing? Eden said you haven't left since last night. You ill?"

Maids hear everything, you think bitterly. But you couldn't be too cross with Eden. Not really.

"He's done it Alfie."

Alfie toed off his boots after the hat and coat. Sinking into the too ornate duvet. "Who treacle? What happened?"

You faced him, deep creases of the duvet threads divide your hot wet cheeks. Lashes clumped together and soaked. "Tommy... he... he finally did it. He's married me off. In a weeks time I'm to belong to some... Mr. Gorman. His father owns factories, and I suppose that's enough for my bride price."

You feel your body being gently tugged up and into Alfie’s embrace. Despite any protest from you about how it may affect his back, he shushes you instantly, “Now now my little dove. Nah you ain’t going back to Birmingham. You ain’t getting married to some prick. Nah you’re staying here with ol’ Alfie.”

You force your face under his chin, letting his unkempt beard absorb your sobs, “No Alfie it’s true! Tommy told me yesterday at dinner! He… he’s taking me away Alfie! I hate him. I hate him so much. I don’t want to marry some man I don’t even know!”

“I already told you darling, you’re not going to! It’s not happening.”

You push his shoulder, “You’re not listening to me! Tommy said-“

“I don’t give a shit what Tommy said! You’re not marrying the shit because you’re marrying me!”

Like an unpracticed magician, he pulled out a gorgeous diamond and sapphire ring. Its glimmer and fractals made it look as endless as the night sky. You felt the breath in your lungs catch, anger and fear simmering down and cooling. You dared not touch something to precious, “Alfie Solomons…”

“Was my mother’s. Gave it to me when I came back from the war. On her death bed. Made me swear that I wouldn’t give it up for any pretty girl on the street. Had to give it to the one.”

You struggled to meet his gaze, “And I-“

“The one treacle. If you’ll have me.”

He shifted you in his lap, fully facing him, “Now… I had a whole event planned out. Garden stroll. Drinks. Music playing. And I know I’m a sorry old monster and you have loads of suitor-“

“Alfie-“

“But I swear on my life treacle, you’ll never want for anything. You will have freedom to do whatever you would hope to do. We’ll go anywhere. I’ll love you till the stars go out-“

“Alfie! Yes! Yes yes yes! I’ll marry you! You silly old man!”

You pushed him back and kissed him fiercely. With all the passion you had been hiding from your family for years. Until the acidic burn of reality came down, “But what about Tommy? Alfie you hate each other, he’ll never let me go.”

Rough hands running up and down your thighs, gazing in awe at the fiery halo surrounding you. “I was willing to go in and threaten blessing or death.”

“I won’t have you put in danger for love. This isn’t Shakespeare.”

With a laugh and kiss to your fingertips he whispers, “You got any ideas? I’m all ears.”

You try to think, but kept coming across a wall. Any option you thought of ended in bloodshed. You fell into the bed next to Alfie, curling into his chest, “I wish we could just run away.”

His arms tighten around you, “What if we did?”

It would happen three days before Tommy would come to fetch you. You dismissed Eden with an oath to secrecy, and for four days you played the part of excited bride to be. Purchasing things for a new marital home, a wedding dress and new wardrobe. Who cares if the detail of the lucky husband was slightly off?

Whenever your family called, you lied happily through your smiling teeth. At first you felt a twinge of guilt. But in the end, they stood by as your brothers sold you off. They lost the right to the truth. They hated Alfie, said as much any time they came to the house. They would never understand. They would never allow it. But this was your life. And you would be damned before you were cleaved from your beloved.

The men from the distillery made regular visits to the house in the middle of the night, picking up your things to take to Margate, dropping off love letters and updates from Alfie. With each passing day, your heart became lighter. The binds lessening. Freedom was right on your tongue.

Three days before Tommy, Arthur, and John are to pick you up, the horrific news explodes through Birmingham. The Shelby home in London: set ablaze. No survivors. The beautiful bride, burned alongside her wedding dress hanging in the window. The youngest Shelby girl, an angel amongst demons, taken too soon from the earth from a horrific accident. The fire so destructive, not even a body is there for a proper burial. Just ash and a memory of that sweet face. The funeral is horrible. Wailing and weeping from all of Birmingham. Aunt Polly could barely keep it together, blaming Tommy for it all. Even business acquaintances from London and beyond come to pay their respects. The most shocking visitor, was Mr. Solomons, who paid for the funeral itself, “I’m sorry Tommy for your loss. I really am. She was a sweet girl. But… she’s in a better place I’m sure.”

And what a better place that is. White washed home right on the beach, windows open at all times, with the sea breeze billowing pristine gossamer curtains in the wind. You spend your days reading and writing to your heart’s content, strolling the beach, playing with Cyril like a child. As Alfie settles affairs in Camden during the week, he visits during the weekend, serving and worshipping you like a goddess. He never gave you information about the family. You didn’t want it. That was your old life. A you that you couldn’t recognize. Here, in this life, you were free. Free to speak. Free to argue and give your mind.

After a month, Alfie permanently moves to Margate. Home. Retired from the gangster life with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of his life, with more than enough to comfort when he’s gone.

And the years pass blissfully. Just how it was in the beginning. Kisses and dancing and laughter and arguing and love and joy. 3 years of absolute heaven, you had nearly forgotten how it all was almost taken from you.

But the past does have a way of rearing its ugly head doesn’t it?

It’s the dawn of summer. The final kisses of spring bringing crisp clean air through your marital home. Alfie had never felt better. The pain in his body had long left him, only flaring during the coldest evenings. The dark circles under his eyes have dissolved. His face and body, fuller, firmer with the glowing health of a man at peace who works for life not death. You were upstairs, searching for the a particular spool of thread you had been working with for a blanket you had spent days on. But it needed to be done soon. Alfie shifted through the records you both had been collecting. Symphonies had become his special interest in the recent months, and he was looking for a particular composition that he felt would make your heart sing.

The heavy knock on the door sent the hair on his neck stand at attention.

Only one demon knocked like that.

His eyes shifted to the stairs. He could still hear you moving things around. Searching tirelessly for that spool. You’d be missing for a couple minutes. Enough to rebuke the vile creature from the door without your discovery.

With a deep breath, Alfie tries to remember the armor of his past. The Mad Baker. Just as another round of knocks was about to come, Alfie opened roughly, “Tommy! What are you doing here? Gates of hell need their master don’t they?”

He looked thinner than normal. It’s been years since the men had seen each other, but the difference was still shocking. Those icey blue eyes even more haunting than they were at the funeral. Gaunt cheeks and pale skin made him look like a living corpse. A flicker of a flame winked behind those eyes. Hope for another fight. Something to set him aflame. “Hello Alfie. Enjoying retirement?”

“Yeah actually I am so whatever you have up your sleeve I want no part in it so if you’ll just fuck off.”

Before Alfie could slam the door, Tommy stuck his foot in the door, “Not that simple Alfie. Worlds gone to shit and it needs Solomons to set it to right.”

“Your world not mine. Now get out.”

“I’m not going to leave until you let me in Alfie.”

Your angelic voice danced on the breeze down to the front door, “I found it! Alfie you would not believe where it was! I swear I’m losing my mind.”

Tommy’s face some how went paler. As if he heard Satan’s whisper of condemnation. Alfie tried to push the door closed, but with the strength of a mad man Tommy pushed past the threshold.

Tommy almost fainted.

This must be hell.

He must have died.

It’s the only rational idea.

God chose to lock him in the home of his biggest agitation, with the ghost of his dead baby sister.

But this couldn’t be your ghost. Your swollen belly proves this.

“Holy shit.” You drop the tea cup in your hands when you see Tommy. Tommy who wasn’t supposed to be here. Tommy who saw you buried and dead.

Alfie rushes in, pulling you behind his broad frame. Through his linen shirt, you feel the ragged breath and hammering heart of your husband. You feel faint. “Tommy… you need to leave right now.”

“You paid for the funeral.”

“Tommy we can do this later but you need to get out right now. I’m asking nicely.”

“You knew she was alive… you knew.”

“She is very delicate right now she does not need any excitement.”

“You fucking made her delicate! You compromised her you fucking bastard!”

You cried out as Tommy lunged for your husband, “Stop it Tommy! Enough! Get out of my house!”

Tommy stumbled, pointing at you, “You… you’re fucking sick. You’re demented! You caused Polly a near heart attack. You are disgusting!”

You push past Alfie, who is left watching, “I’m disgusting! You sold me off to some man. And for what? To get people to see you as a big man? Guess what Tommy, you will NEVER be good enough for them! They’ll always see people like us as trash! But you don’t care. Anything to get ahead right?! You’ll stoop as low as you need to ahead.”

Tommy laughed bitterly, holding back the urge to spit, “And what about you yeah? So spoiled that you throw the biggest tantrum of the century. Whore yourself out to the Mad Baker, and get knocked up with his bastard.”

“I’d stop talking if I were you Tommy.”, Alfie snarled darkly. Fists curling in. Like a wolf ready to devour.

“I’d rather be his whore than be a part of any family of yours. You can’t leave well enough alone. Murdering and slaughtering for some honor so quick to tarnish and fade away. You tried to lock me away, never taking a care to what I wanted or thought. But you can’t do that to me anymore. I’m a Solomons, and I carry his child. You can’t touch me.”

Tommy settled, steel washed over his face. “They have a right to know.”

“You all have a right to nothing. I’ll see the family when I’m good and ready.”

His eyes shift to Alfie, “You are evil incarnate. You are cursed.”

No sign of mirth reaches Alfie’s eyes when he smirks, “Careful Tommy. You know what they say about curses. Especially when you curse family.”

Without another word, Tommy storms out. As soon as the door slams, shaking the lamps, you let out the breath in your heavy lungs, “Holy Shit”.

Your knees give out from under you, and cold shakes roll through your body. Alfie grabbed your body, helping you into a chair. “Settle my love it’s alright he’s gone. What do you need? Baby ok?”

“No I’m ok thank you my love. I just… I need air. I can’t believe he came here. He knows. They all know.”

“Hush darling, breathe for me, settle your nerves, you don’t need to worry. They know but they can’t touch you. You’re my wife and they can’t get to you. You are your own woman. You are safe.”

“But what are we going to do. What if they come?”

“Then we’ll deal with them. I’ll have some boys come in, set up a watch. We won’t be caught off guard ever again.”

You nodded. Trusting the words of your husband. You felt an affirming kick in your ribs. The rushing of your heart. You had paradise for three years. You couldn’t run forever, no matter how far you got. The bell had finally tolled, and it was time to face it.

#alfie solomons #alfie solomons x reader #alfie solomons x you #alfie solomons fanfic #alfie solomons x y/n #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinders

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shelbydelrey · 15 days ago

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synopsis: 1924. With the advent of the new year, Evelyn has faith that her husband Arthur is ready to move past his criminal endeavours. But as it turns out, blood is thicker than water and family business is a matter of life and death. While she fights this reality, Evelyn will be tested on the tribulations of what it truly means to be a Mrs. Shelby.

pairings: Arthur Shelby x OFC; Tommy Shelby x OFC.

A/N: i don't actually plan on posting this story. yet i do wish to share snippets of Evelyn's journey since she's been living rent free in my head for over two years 😅

CHARACTER PROFILE

PENGUIN CLASSICS COVER

MY SHIP IN 5 MINUTES

-> EDITS

Family Above All by the amazing @zablife

The Gold

Hallelujah

The Blackbird

#x: mrs shelby #oc: evelyn shelby #peaky blinders x oc #arthur shelby x oc #tommy shelby x oc

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sneakyblinders · 1 year ago

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Superstition pt ii modern!tommy shelby x ofc

A/N: pt 2 of superstition! tommy x amandine, a new ofc! set in Louisiana in modern day. read pt i here. listen to the ambiance here. warnings: sexual themes, violence, superstition, not canon, weapons, war.

Amandine watched as Tommy pulled his clothes on. Jeans, t-shirt, holster over his shoulders, gun loaded. He pushed his rings on his fingers, his signet ring and a ring she had bought him years ago. She was surprised he still wore it. He clasped a chain around his neck, one from his brother, Arthur. He sprayed his cologne on and turned around, blue eyes beaming at her. He felt more human today.

“Ready?” she asked, already hot in her sundress.

“If you are,” he said, walking out to the living room, ceiling fan chugging away at the already oppressive heat.

The drive to Amadine’s parents house was quiet. They lived about twenty minutes from them, closer to the center of the small city they lived closest to. They pulled up to the old house, which always made Tommy seethe. It screamed old money. White brick, four white pillars holding up the second story balcony with the biggest porch on a house he’d ever seen. Rocking chairs on the porch, rocking gently in the breeze, air circulating well thanks to a ceiling fan that whirred on the ceiling of the first floor.

They could smell the food from the driveway– the smoked boudin and collards, the peach pie–from the front porch.

“Della, I think someone’s here to see you,” Roseanne Theiriot said, dark eyes serious as she met Tommy’s eyes through the screen door.

Amandine and Tommy heard little footsteps running down the tile floors, stopping short when she saw her daddy. “Daddy?” she whispered.

Tommy knelt down. “It’s me, baby,” he said.

She smiled, running to him, crashing against his chest. Tommy wrapped his arms around his little girl. This little girl who he’d only seen pictures of–only ever heard her voice over a fuzzy phone call.

Amandine had gotten pregnant right before he’d enlisted in the service and gotten sent to the sandbox. He’d been away at war ever since–a topic that Amandine and Tommy fought over often. He had the opportunity to come home on leave but never took it–always choosing to stay with his men.

“This is really him?” Della asked, looking up at Amandine.

Amandine’s emotion caught in her throat. “Yes, sweetheart. This is your daddy,” she said, nodding.

“Thomas, I need to speak to you,” Roseanne said in that eerily quiet voice of hers. Gus, Amandine’s father and Roseanne’s husband walked down the hallway, and after seeing Tommy, groaned.

“Ah, fuck,” Gus groaned.

“Good to see you too, Gus,” Tommy said, standing up, Della clutching Tommy’s legs.

“Della, baby, Grandmere needs to talk to your daddy for a minute, okay? I’ll bring him right back,” Roseanne said, talking to her grandchild in a voice she only reserved for her.

Roseanne Theiriot was a force to be reckoned with, and one of the few people Tommy feared. Her hair was black, dark eyes, an olive skin tone. She always wore flowy dresses that billowed in the wind. Many people who did not understand this life, this culture, would refer to her as a witch, a fortune teller, a necromancer, a palm reader. The mystical power that was Roseanne Theiriot scared many, and enchanted all others.

The Theiriots and the Decourdreaux’s, Roseanne’s family, had been in Louisiana for generations. The land Gustav and Roseanne owned belonged to Gustav’s family going back to the 1800’s. Roseanne was raised in New Orleans. Her mother, and her mothers mother, and all the mothers before them, had been cursed with the gift of the spirits. Gifts going back to their Creole and Indigenous American roots from before Louisiana was even a state. They made their money telling fortunes and reading palms in Jackson Square. It’s how she met Gus, actually.

Gustav’s family roots traced back to the original Acadians, French immigrants pushed out of Nova Scotia in the late 1700’s. Amandine, and as a result, Delphina, affectionately nicknamed Della, had strong Louisiana roots that tied them to this land. This culture.

The Shelby’s had settled in Louisiana sometime around the 1930’s during the Great Depression, forsaking their traveler ways, but never forsaking the superstitions and beliefs that they so deeply to their core. The Gypsy beliefs that mimicked the beliefs of the Theiriots.

Roseanne pulled Tommy to the sitting room, where she shut the French doors. He pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it, knowing it would bother her. “I knew you were coming, Thomas,” she said in a calm voice. “The waters were disturbed before you came back.”

Tommy tried to remain unphased, although being alone with Roseanne always sent chills up and down his spine. “Is that right?”

“I know what you did in Iraq,” Roseanne said, walking closer to him, her dark eyes boring holes into his soul. “Who is Grace?”

Images of her flashed through Tommy’s mind. Her on top of him, her lips on his skin. Sinking into her. Then her gun to his temple, nearly pulling the trigger before his men stormed the barracks, aware of the mole. The rat.

“No one,” he said simply, eyes meeting Roseanne’s.

“You should know better than to lie, Thomas,” Roseanne warned, jaw clenched. “The curse,” she shook her head slightly, her turquoise jewelry rattling.

“I haven’t betrayed Amandine in any way that she hasn’t betrayed me,” he said plainly.

Roseanne slapped Tommy across his cheek, a stinging pain shooting through him. “Don’t speak of my daughter, and the mother of your child in that way,” she seethed. “She has taken care of all your filthy business and ran it through her own business as a damn cover operation, evading arrest multiple times all to continue the filth you started, just so you would come home to her.”

“She did it for the same reason I came back to this shithole,” Tommy argued. “She did it because she doesn’t want to live the rest of her days with the mark of Cain, and a curse to rival hell’s fury,” Tommy exhaled, annoyed already. “I have a child I need to introduce myself to, so if you don’t mind, I’ll be seeing myself out. We won’t be staying for lunch,” Tommy said, forcing himself past her and out the doors.

Amandine found herself back at Marie’s the next night–the restaurant she had opened the year she fell pregnant with Della. Tommy and Della were alone together for the first time. He had decided to take her to a movie and out for pizza.

Sweat ran down Amandine’s back as she grilled off steaks and asparagus, before one of her waiters came asking for her. “Somebody here to see you, Ma’am,” the young waiter, no older than seventeen said.

“Who?” she asked, unbothered by him and far more concerned with the char on her New York Strips. The muscles in her back flexed, reminding her of the gun she had tucked in the waistband of her checked pants.

“Uh, Vincent, ma’am,” he said uncomfortably.

“Alright, I’ll be out as soon as I get this ticket done.”

Vincent Camponi was a farmer and fisherman who Amandine bought her produce and shrimp off of for the restaurant. They’d fumbled into each other one night at a bar. One thing led to another, and they couldn’t keep their hands, or mouths, off each other ever since.

“Hey, baby,” he drawled, his thick Louisiana accent making Amandine’s stomach flip.

“Vin,” she began, putting her hands on his chest to avoid his kisses. “Vin, Tommy’s back. I–I can’t do this.”

Vincent’s eyes became dark, the often playful look that was in them disappearing completely. “After the hell he’s put you through? After all the neglect? What did he do to deserve you, Dine?”

His lips were dangerously close to hers. So close. “Not a damn thing,” she breathed before their lips crashed together.

That night, Amandine tried her best to sneak home, but Tommy was up, whiskey in his hand, gun on the coffee table. Della was asleep in the recliner, curled under her favorite blanket.

“Where the hell have you been?” Tommy asked, eyes heavy with fatigue.

“Working,” she said.

He checked his watch. “Restaurant closed damn near three hours ago,” he said.

“Lots of dishes,” she said, the lie rolling off her tongue easily.

Tommy stood up, stalking towards her. “Are you trying to ruin our lives? To ruin our daughter's life?”

“What are you talking about, Tom?” Amandine sneered, trying to push past him.

“I can smell his cologne on you,” Tommy seethed, backing her against the wall. “You’re the one who made your mama cast that damn spell,” he pinned her hands above her head, against the wall, his hips crushing against hers. “And you’re gonna keep the end of the damn bargain, woman,” he sneered.

“You wanted that spell as much as I did,” she countered, wiggling her hips against his. Talks of curses and spells be damned, he had a spell on her. On her body. How she craved him. How she needed him.

“What an idiot I was,” he chuckled to himself.

“Do you love me, Thomas?” she asked, emotion cracking through her voice.

He shook his head, in disbelief of himself, of his life. “With all I fucking am,” he breathed before crashing his lips to hers.

After Tommy rolled off her for the last time that night, collapsing into exhaustion and blissed out sleep, Amandine had some time to think. Reflect. On this life. This confusing as hell love she and Tommy shared.

They’d met in high school, what seemed like eons ago now. They’d fallen head over heels in love with one another–lost their virginities to one another, shared hopes and dreams, slept out under the stars in the canals, the swamps, together in his pirogue. They’d graduated a year apart, buying their house the day after Amandine graduated.

Tommy had gotten mixed up in the wrong crowds that first year out of high school, a result of Arthur’s dealings and out of a necessity for money. The drugs had begun flowing freely when they began working as protection detail for big time dealers. And the money followed.

Amandine had proven her talent in kitchens time after time. And before he went away to war, he had bought her Marie’s–a restaurant named for her Grandmere, who taught her everything she knew about the kitchen. He had bought it for her under the condition that she would use it as a cover business to funnel his drugs through. He, Arthur and John had managed to make their own name in the business, also continuing to illegally produce their own alcohol. A form of moonshine, outlawed in the States for decades. She had reluctantly agreed.

Before Tommy went away to war, the couple, still desperately in love, bound themselves together spiritually. Roseanne cast a spell over the two of them, binding them together in love and devotion, with the warning that if their love was ever broken, calamity would befall them and all their children for the rest of their days.

The scars on their palms were from where they had bound themselves together with blood. Bodies and souls–forever bound.

Despite their awkward reunion, their wayward hearts and confused minds–Amandine knew she and Tommy would always come back together. The love they had ran deeply.

Deeper than most understood.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x ofc #tommy shelby x amandine #tommy shelby x oc #thomas shelby x oc #thomas shelby x ofc #thomas shelby #peakywomen #peaky fookin blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine #sneakyblinders #louisiana au #modern!tommyshelby x ofc #modern!tommy shelby

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rashaiya · 2 years ago

Text

Like Real People Do Pt.1

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Ofc

Word Count: 1.3K

Warning: use of adult language, the implication of sexual activities

The sun cast an orange shadow over Thomas as he stood beside his car. A cigarette was lit upon his lips as he waited for John to exit the store.

Where the fuck is he?

In and out he inhaled as he took a deep drag of the stick. It was just the thing he need after all the shit he had to deal with today. Not with the inspector sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and the new barmaid asking questions that didn’t need to be asked. As he blew out the smoke from his lips, his vision was obscured by the cloudy gray that covered his eyes. The smoke cleared and Thomas found his turning to the side as a new sound reached his ears.

Heels clacking against the pavement made a strange rhythm that gathered his attention. His blue eyes focused on the woman's small frame as she walked down Watery Lane. A royal blue overcoat hung from her shoulders, unbuttoned to see the cream-colored dress that was underneath. The lace trimming that skimmed over the woman's ankles flowed in the wind. Her brown skin was a nice contrast to the pearl necklace that hung from her neck. This paired with her short hair cut in a boyish cut that had licks of hair curing at the back of her neck, caused a stirring to form at the pit of Thomas’s stomach.

Classy he thought emptily as his eyes trailed her like a hawk.

What made Thomas’s eyebrow go up was the cane that she held in her small hand. The clacking of it made their fellow walkers on the street move out of her way. The pieces fell together for him as he connected the glasses to the mobility cane.

She’s blind. What kind of business could she have in Birmingham?

“Oi, Tommy” His name on his brother’s lips drew away his attention from the woman as he registered the new presence beside him.

“John.” was his only reply.

A large arm wrapped over his shoulders and made Thomas strengthen his back, fighting against the urge to shrug John off.

“Tommy, Esme has finally let me off the hook for today. What do we say we hit the town aye?”

Casting one last look to the street to the left of him, Thomas was met by an empty sidewalk. The clicking sound was gone as well as the strange woman.

“I guess we can spin by the Garrison,” his response was immediately met with a hard clap upon his back.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The night passed in a blur as Thomas sat in the small cut in the Garrison. His brothers came in and out in a flurry, and Grace kept his glass full. The blonde woman often came into his space with questions that bothered on near invasive, but he couldn’t find it in him to care that night. Not when his thoughts were dominated by the strange, honey-toned woman.

Clapping his hands on his knees, he turned his attention to his Author who kept checking his pocket watch as if he was expecting something or someone.

“What are you waiting for?” He inquired, his rough voice feeling the small room as if he reached into his breast pocket to pull out his cartoon of cigarettes.

“What are you going on about?” Arthur responded his hand leaving the pocket watch and going to rest on his thigh.

“Author.”

“Tommy?”

An amused look flashed in Thomas’s eyes, and he had to fight back a smirk. He didn’t usually find joy in many things, but finding ways to make his brother look like a brainless idiot was always a high point for him.

Rising from his seat by the furnace he looked at his brother with humored eyes.

“Now Author, you being so defensive makes me think you’re,” he paused to rub a cigarette over his bottom lip and light it, “doing something you shouldn’t.”

Arthur was easy to rouse these days, so it was no surprise when he stood up suddenly and faced him with a frown appearing upon his face. Before their argument could start, the cut’s sliding door was opened by an impish Grace.

“Umm Mr. Shelby, there's someone here to see you, by the name of Ruth?”

A confused look crossed Thomas’s face as he took in the name.

Ruth? Do I know Ruth?

“Ah, that would be my Ruthy dear.” His brother spoke, his voice higher them its usual timber sound.

“And who would be you ‘Ruthy dear’, Author?”

“It is no bother, Tommy boy.” With an extra pep to his step Author walked out of the quaint room with a grin spread across his face.

Ruthy dear? Who could he be talking about?

The door to the cut closed with a slam and left the small room in an empty silence. Interest bubbled within Thomas and as much as he tried to contain it, he couldn’t help but satisfy his curiosity. Stubbing the cigarette out on a plate nearby, Thomas’s feet guided him to the door. A small sigh, something he found himself doing often these days, escaped his chapped lips as his hand gripped the knob of the door. Through the wood, he could hear the chatter and glass clanking from within the pub. With a turn of the knob he walked into the crowded area, and his eyes immediately went to the figure sitting at the bar.

Christ Almighty.

Sitting at his bar, the place where his family would conjugate, the place where the four walls had seen some of his darkest times, sat the woman from earlier that day. His angel in all of her wondrous glory. His lungs felt as if they were constricting as he gazed upon her, rejoicing in being able to see her up close.

A round, youthful face that still held some baby fat made it seem as if she was fresh out of girlhood. This was further emphasized by her round, gray eyes that still held that flicker of innocence that was rare to find in women, especially those that occupied Small Heath. Thomas’s eyes met her pink, plush lips, and felt his most primal urge telling him that he must kiss her. That those lips that looked as soft as the finest pillows needed to be ravished. But what intrigued her the most was the smile that she gave his brother. Full of fondness and long-suffering patience she sat gazing up at him and Thomas couldn’t help but be jealous that it wasn’t him on the receiving end.

Closing his eyes, to clear his mind and try to reign in his thoughts about the woman before him. Describing her as a woman didn’t feel right, not when she looked like…. God, he felt like a dirty old man. The girl couldn’t even be past nineteen and here he was calling her his. With great reservation, he turned around to make his way back to the cut, maybe even ask Grace to fetch him a new glass of whiskey.

The poor child had her life ahead of her, and he didn’t need to hinder her with some petty infatuation, especially in her condition. He wouldn’t be good for her at all. His foot was just across the threshold when he heard his name being called by Arthur, his rough voice cutting through his deprecating thoughts. In an instant, he turned around, almost like he was waiting for an excuse to look at the girl once more.

What he was met with was Arthur giving him a toothy smile with a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Used to his older brother’s immature antics he rolled his eyes and made a move to turn back around. That was until he heard a twinkling bell sound. His eyes followed the sound, and immediately met the sight of her holding her stomach in joy. Thomas stood there, enraptured and full of disbelief.

In a second that it feel like the Earth had stood still her head snapped to him, her eyes flickering around as if trying to find where he stood. And only then did he realize that a smile was on his lips and he was laughing.

Bloody Hell.

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x oc #aurtur shelby #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #cillan murphy #peaky fookin blinders #gangsters #period series #1920 #black characters #blindness #plus size oc

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peakyblindas · 3 years ago

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Quiet (Arthur Shelby x OFC)

Arthur isn’t any good at dates, he hates fancy restaurants and art galleries, but he knows the countryside.

Sorry this is so short, I lost the thread of the plot but I think this is cute anyway <3

Tagging: @stone-hearted-seymour @julyzaa

The field was peaceful and the shade was a welcome hideaway from the noon sun. Pearl unpacked the picnic basket and placed the sandwiches on the tartan blanket.

“I did some corned beef and some chicken…” She unwraps them “I wasn’t sure what you liked.”

The sandwiches looked lovely, somehow perfectly cut, with perfect white fluffy bread.

“And some pop..” Pearl produces two glass bottles: “One is orange, the other is dandelion and burdock.”

“Sandwiches and pop?” Arthur chuckles “We belong on a fucking postcard.”

He reaches for a sandwich and wolfs it down like he hasn’t eaten for a week, crumbs and butter lodge themselves in his bushy mustache.

Pearl laughs and pulls out her handkerchief, she wipes away the crumbs.

This was a sweet, quiet moment, something just for them and them alone.

She could get used to quiet moments like this with Arthur Shelby.

#OC: Pearl Stone #arthur shelby x ofc #Arthur Shelby #peaky blinders fan fic

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call-sign-shark · 2 years ago

Text

Heaven in Your Eyes|| Arthur Shelby x OC!Reader

Summary: When Arthur comes home with his arms wrapped tight around your shoulders, willing to introduce you to the family, the reactions are lukewarm. Some love you, some are wary, and others do not really care. But when it comes to Thomas Shelby, things are different. After meeting you he comes to two conclusions: first, Arthur is madly smitten with you to the point it worries him. Second, he does not like you. Not at all. That's why he tries to scare you away.

Words: 4,5k

TW: smut, non-protected sex, p in v, age gap (reader is in her late 20s), typical canon violence, mention of suicide attempt, mention of drugs, Tommy being a dick,

Notes: ✞ All chapters can be read as stand-alones but it's obviously better if you read everything.

✞ Heaven is OP's original character but written with the use of « you » (Moodboard here).

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

“Bloody Hell.”

That was all John could say when his vibrant blue eyes fell on you. The night Thomas told him Linda and Arthur had divorced, he could not believe it. He, more than anyone else, was well aware of his older brother’s tendencies to kowtow under his wife’s authority. Hence his reluctance to believe in such an improbable event. Once he processed the information, John thought about the whole ordeal over and over again. At first, he genuinely thought Linda was the one who left for she had already threatened Arthur to do so countless times. Let alone the fact their relationship had been hanging on by a thread for a while. Somehow he could not blame her — dealing with his brother’s mental illness and tantrums was overwhelming, he could get it, but if there were positive traits among Arthur’s troubled behaviors they were certainly his loyalty and the gigantic amount of love he could give to his significant other. That was why he was persuaded Arthur would never leave his wife, as much as John and the Shelby women warned him she was not a good person.

— And here he came today after weeks of absolute ghosting, the fairest creature he has ever seen snuggling in his arms. For sure, no one expected it.

“Bloody. Fucking. Hell.” He reiterated, standing in the doorway with his hand still on the knob and his eyes wide open. Astounded, John looked at you from head to toe for probably the tenth time in a row.

“Are ya going to stand there like a dumbass or can we come in?” Arthur growled. He tightened his protective embrace around you, ready to bounce on his little brother’s throat at the slightest inappropriate comment. You bit your lip, not really sure what to do or say — maybe meeting the Shelby family was not a good idea after all.

“Is she really your woman?”

“Fuck off, John! Let us in.” Arthur said louder. He did not want to throw a brutal fit in front of you but you could feel his body shaking against yours, for John was about to cross the very short limits of his patience. One of your small hands gently stroked his chest in an attempt to calm him. Luckily for John, the sensation of your cold skin, which he could feel through the thin fabric of his shirt, was enough to tame his fire.

John Shelby blinked again and, this time, his thin adorable lips stretched in a teasing smile. You did not know him, but you felt he was about to say something stupid. Very stupid.

“How could such a stunning young girl like her be interested in an old and ugly ass dog like you? Fuck, is that your real hair color tho?”

The flip in Arthur’s brain switched - it was too much for him not to react.

“YOU LIL PIECE OF —“

“Arthur, dear.” You said with an indescribably soft voice, stepping in front of him to block his path. You pressed your hands on his chest a second time to gently keep him from fighting with his younger brother and probably knocking him out with his bare fists, “It’s alright. He is just messing with ya, you know?” You looked at him, a loving smile flattering your juicy lips. Letting a long and noisy exhale out of his quavering mouth, Arthur looked dagger at his brother one last time with a threatening gleam burning in his iris before shifting his focus on you. As soon as his steel blue eyes caught sight of your adorable pout his face relaxed.

“Alright. Alright.” He whispered, feeling his rage evaporating at the sole view of your holy smile, “Ain’t going to smash his face in front of such a delicate little lady, eh.” He said. The gravel in his voice never failed to make you burn with both love and desire. Then, he leaned over you for a kiss, his mind finding its peace only when your lips crashed together.

John watched the scene with vivid interest, for he had never seen someone handling his brother with such genuine care. To be honest, he had hated Linda since day one — not only for the power she exerted on Arthur but also because of her irritating and condescending nature. She had always walked among the Shelby family as if she had been irremediably better than them, both morally and socially. John could not help but see all her sweet gestures being tainted with a will of controlling Arthur. That, along with the muzzle and leash she had put on her brother, strengthened his deep aversion for Linda. But you were different — he could sense it. There was something about the way your fingers laid upon his brother as if you were not afraid of his destructive fire but did not want to extinguish it either. Also something about the way you looked at him, with both love and admiration, to the point he could not say if you were his guiding light or if it was the other way round. And when he saw the sudden shift in Arthur’s behavior, immediately calming down at your angelic voice, he knew you were the one.

“Moreover” You added, slowly pulling away from the kiss to press your forehead against his. Arthur looked at you with eyes half closed, bewitched by your enchanting tone.

“Hmm?”

“I only see one ugly ass dog here and it’s chewing on a toothpick.” Your smile turned into a cunning smirk and your precious aquamarine eyes glanced at John.

“Hey! Hold your woman.” John retorted, pretending to be vexed — truth was he liked your wit, “Alright you can come in,” he said, stepping away from the doorway to invite you inside the Shelby’s house.

“Ain’t holding shit, I love it when me angel bites,” Arthur stated with one sharp, almost carnivorous grin on his face. As he passed by his little brother he punched him right in the shoulder in a typical sibling way to avenge himself. The younger one swore.

You took a deep breath and looked at Arthur, trying to find the necessary courage you needed for this first encounter. Admittedly, you did not know what to expect, but one thing you knew was that the Shelby family was not people you wanted to mess with.

A relieved sigh escaped from your lips as you filled the teapot with water, all alone in the family kitchen. You enjoyed this quick moment of calmness, soothed by the pleasant smell of freshly baked cookies Esme had taken out of the oven minutes ago. The wooden floor creaked when Arthur entered the kitchen, closing the door behind him. As soon as you left the table following Polly’s comment he had followed you.

“Yer okay?” He asked, his hoarse voice highlighted with sincere worries.

“I’m fine dear,” You glanced at him above your shoulder and offered a light smile to reassure him even though you both knew you were hurt, “You should go back to your family, I won’t be long.. Just needed to take a big breath. And we are running out of tea.” You added, waving off his question.

Arthur shook his head in disapproval and walked toward you with his so-specific yet adorable gait, swinging both arms at the same time. You had always found this detail absolutely endearing, which had surprised him at first — you never mocked him for the way he walked, nor made the slightest snarky remark.

Your smile, flickering and fragile at first, soon widened in comfort knowing he’ll keep you company during this life-saving break.

“I’m sorry for what Pol said to you. She doesn’t mean it.”

“Pretty sure she did mean I was a Devil and that I’ll bring woe to this family, but it’s fine.” You said before shifting your attention back to the teapot. Arthur wrapped his arms around your waist to pull you in a tight and reassuring back hug. As soon your bodies collided together, his warmth alleviated all your doubts and you found a well-deserved comfort in his presence. Worries vanished in smoke, annihilated by his protective demeanor.

Each time you touched was a reminder that everything will always be fine as long as you were together.

You wiggled your nose like a little bunny for his musky perfume tickled your nostrils. And its familiar fragrances were enough to chase Polly’s unpleasant comments away from your brain. If you had not been busy making tea, you would have buried your face in his chest and never moved again.

“It has nothing to do with ya,” Arthur broke the silence first, “it’s your hair.”

“My hair?” You asked in a half-convinced tone, one brow raised.

“Yes, your hair. She thinks someone cast a spell on ya when you were young or something, and she’s afraid the spell will harm her too if she sits next to you. Like it’s bloody contagious. It’s some kind of superstitious shit, not that she had really felt something evil in you.”

At such a revelation, you brought your small hand to your mouth to cover it and tried your best not to laugh. If her words had hurt you, painfully reminding your troubled life in France, the idea of a strong woman like Polly Gray being afraid of you only because of the color of your hair had something hilarious.

“Esme too. She told me she’d personally kick me in the balls if her fookin’ baby comes out with white hair. But that woman is batshit crazy anyway. Pretty sure she’ll kick me in the bollocks for free.” He growled, his arms tightening around your waist. He rested his chin on your shoulder. Arthur was holding you firmly as if he was afraid you might run away from him after the disastrous encounter with the two Shelby women. After waiting all his life for a woman not to flee from him, he would break into a million pieces if you would do so. Fortunately enough, Ada seemed to like you. She fancied your wit and your curiosity. Most of the afternoon had been spent chatting with her and John under the judging eyes of both Polly and Esme. Usually, people would shut Ada down each time she would talk about politics, especially about her communist ideas, but you did not. Quite the contrary, you listened to her carefully and questioned her with a genuine will to learn — even though you had never been good with politics. At least the conversation had been stimulating. And just like John before, she had also noticed the indescribable care and love with which you blessed her older brother, never controlling him, and always showering him with signs of deep affection. Maybe that was why she did not tease you when she noticed that you and Arthur were holding hands under the table.

As for Finn, he had been too busy staring at Arthur with eyes wide open to even bother interacting with you. He could not believe that you, a tiny young white-haired girl with an angel face, were in love with his violent brother.

“So they think I’m contagious.” You might have been too confident about your ability to remain impassive because you suddenly snorted with laughter as you understood the true nature of their rude behavior. The crystalline laugh that escaped your mouth sounded like the most delicate music to his ears — he would listen to it with delight each time, his sick brain momentarily forgetting the booming canons and cacophony of war. Arthur, relieved by your reaction, allowed himself to chuckle along.

“They do, eh.” He admitted, his lips gently brushing your neck, irremediably attracted by your fragile porcelain flesh. His breath, slow and peaceful, caressed your sensitive skin as he exhaled, sending shivers down your spine. Arthur closed his eyes for a second and let the delightful scents of your perfume intoxicate him. Way stronger than any drugs, your fragrances made his head spin — he was losing touch with reality but, this time, he was more than allowing it to happen. Because instead of being sent into a violent craze, he would drown in a blissful haze.

“You should flee from me, I might infect you too, and you’ll be under my spell.” You teased, your heavy French accent adorning your words.

“I’m already under your spell, love.” His arms freed your waist from their grip only for his strong, calloused hands to run up your sides. How much you enjoyed the sensation of your body flickering under his touch as his soft fingers left trails of fire in their sillage until they finally cupped your small breasts. A blazing desire awoke in your belly and spread like wildfire through every inch of your flesh.

“Arthur — no,” You looked around you to make sure no one had discreetly entered the kitchen.

“Why not say Arthur yes?” He grunted in your ear. His raspy voice caused an earthquake in your whole being — it shook you so strongly that your legs were now trembling, ready to give up under your weight. Your lips parted to say something but words got stuck in your throat as his hips pressed against yours to keep you trapped between the kitchen counter and his tall, lean body.

“I’m serious, we could get caught. And half of your family already distrust me so I’m pretty sure fucking in their kitchen won’t do me good.” You managed to say quickly before biting your lip, trapping its juicy flesh between your teeth.

“It will do good, love. Fookin’… Good…” His thumbs gently rubbed your perky nipples, which were already pointing through the thin white fabric of your dress. A feverish and liquored sigh escaped from his lips, as he started moving his hips against the sinful curve of your butt cheeks, “I crave you so much Heaven, ” he paused his sentence to lay myriads of hungry kisses on your neck, “You make me lose me bloody mind…” An excruciating heat pooled in his body, so insufferable he could have ripped his skin apart. Arthur growled again at the overwhelming sensation of lava flowing through his veins

— “I. Need. Ya.”

You don’t understand. He did not only want you, he needed you.

You were his missing half, and he could only feel complete with you.

You were his light, and he could only find a way out of the darkness if you were here.

You were his saving grace, his redemption.

You were his breath, his blood, his heart.

You. You. You. You.

There was only you.

You could not help but moan in a frail and aroused whine: his hands had left your breasts to travel everywhere they could on your body, almost a bit too eagerly for you to keep up with what was happening. At that point you had to hold onto the counter, nails digging into its worn wood.

“Arthur.” You whispered, eyes closed and head down. As the arousal building within almost suffocated you, Arthur kept invading your pale and fragile flesh with both his daring hands and mouth. You whimpered at the pinching sensation of his teeth that had just bit the base of your neck. You were usually not timid when it came to sex, but not when the family of your man was taking the tea in the room that was right behind the door. But Arthur could not care less about getting caught. All he wanted was a taste of his angel.

He was everywhere — on every inch of your body, his lips kissing and biting. His hands rubbing and grabbing. He was overwhelming your senses with his unquenchable need to touch you again and again. And how good it felt to be desired as he did.

To be desired "À la Folie".

“Say you want me, eh. I wanna hear it.” The gravel in his voice sent tremors in your belly. You exhaled, your breath shaky, for one of his hands had just lifted your dress. Doing so, he disclosed your garters and the beautiful lace panties you were wearing. The fear of getting caught was still pounding in your chest, but the way he touched you was too good to resist. You gave in, ready to pay the consequences.

“I want you Arthur, “ You finally admitted, your lips stretching in a smirk, “ I want you,” You repeated, arching your back and spreading your legs to show how eager you were to feel him inside you, “Only you.” You had uttered the last two words with such tenderness, such a comforting tone, that you felt him smile against your neck. His mustache was tickling you at each word, each movement, which only contributed to the hurricane of sensations and feelings he provoked within your soul. Right next to you, the teapot had started to let out a faint and continuous whistle as the water boiled inside. At one point you were convinced it was not the kettle, but your scorching desire that made such a sound.

With one skillful movement, Arthur’s fingers shifted your soaked panties to the side and he unbuckled his belt with his other hand.

“Please…” You bent over the counter and begged, for the clothes that separated your bodies had become a far too heavy burden to bear. The only moment you felt a twinge of satisfaction was when his hard shaft pressed against your dripping pussy.

“Bloody hell, woman.” He grunted, his voice raspier than it usually was, as your delightful warmth and wetness welcomed him.

Arthur grabbed your hips fiercely and, unable to wait any longer, sunk into you in one slow but determined trust. A gravel moan, far from being discreet, echoed in the kitchen at the dizzying sensation of your warmth swallowing him. Struck by a moment of clarity, you covered your mouth with your hand to muffle your whimpers of pleasure. Stars dangled behind your closed eyelids, along with the melody of beating hearts and snapping flesh. In that risky situation, you were both well aware it was not time for a languid and intimate moment, but rather for a quick and torrid fuck. Hence, Arthur started to pound you with a fierce and quick pace as soon as you had adjusted to his size. Your legs quivered even more for his cock was thick, so thick your walls were stretched all around him.

“So… Tight…” He stuttered, breathless.

“Oh my — Arthur, Arthur!” You chanted, as a poor sinful soul chanting for God to set her free. The way his name melt on your tongue only made his thrusts rougher, for he loved how it sounded in your mouth. Especially with that adorable French accent of yours. There, with his cock buried deep in your heavenly cunt, he felt like a proud man — not some kind of rabid animal, or a lonely lunatic anymore. He just felt like a good man, giving pleasure to his good and beautiful little wife.

His pulse quickened. His pupils dilated, and you felt him going faster. Muffling your screams, you lost yourself in a fire of lust. You were not you anymore, but a wet mess of desire.

The pleasure you were giving him sent a shot of dopamine through his brain. Arthur threw his head back, grunting louder, and let his whole being sink in the high you were causing him “So — good. Yer so good, Angel. Keep pleasing your ol’ Arthur, will ye?” His hips jerked for he felt his climax coming. Yet, Arthur put his own pleasure on the back burner, refusing to come if you did not. He kept fucking you on the counter and slipped one of his hands between your legs to rub his fingers against your swollen clit. This time it was too much to handle: your walls clenched around him and you froze, all your muscles tensing at once. A cry of release would have echoed in the kitchen if you had not choked it with your hand. A tsunami of pleasure crashed against your bones, leaving you panting and shaking like a leaf, still bent over the kitchen counter with your dress lift and Arthur deep inside you.

As you cum, your glistening love juice dripping along his shaft, Arthur allowed his own pleasure to overflow. He slammed his hips one last time against yours -- his cock throbbed, at the edge of climax. But as much as he wanted to fill you with his semen, he still gathered all his remaining will to pull out in extremis.

You sighed with ecstasy when warm and milky ropes of cum rained down on your ass.

“Aah yes, love.” Arthur’s hoarse moan echoed in the kitchen. How long did you stay there? You could not tell, for you were still dizzy with the orgasm he had just given you. Arthur slowly came back to his senses, the fog of pleasure in his brain evaporating.

"We should get back to the living room, eh."

That was at this moment of intense relaxation, the two of you catching your breath and sharing post-sex smiles, that the door slammed open.

“Am I interrupting something?”

Your heart missed a beat. In one movement, Arthur pulled up his pants while you strengthened up and smoothed the folds of your dress before turning to the newcomer.

“Fuck off Tommy. Can’t you knock?!”

“This is no bedroom. I don’t need to knock because I am not supposed to find anyone having sex here.” A freezing and quiet voice, also blessed with a seductive and hoarse tone, retorted.

The infamous Thomas Shelby stood in front of you, arms crossed in his back and cold blue eyes staring at you. If you had the ability to disappear right on the spot you would have used it without hesitation. Yet, you remained silent, slightly hidden behind Arthur who ran his hands through his hair to slick back the rebel strands that had fallen on each side of his face. The older Shelby quickly moistened his lips with the tip of his tongue before talking.

“Erm, can I help ya Tommy?” He asked, still panting from your quick but intense fuck. You took advantage of their conversation to wipe the sweat from your forehead and briefly redo your hair.

“I am afraid you can’t, brother. However, I am pretty sure you charming woman can. I’d like to talk to her if she allows me to.”

You frowned. Why the hell did he want to talk to you in private?

Arthur nodded and wrapped your shoulders with one protective arm, his surprised expression turning into a smile. He could not wait to introduce you to his little brother, filled with pride at the idea of showing him his magnificent woman. It was important to him — even though he would have preferred him not to meet her in these conditions — “Of course, I've been waiting to…”

“Without you.” Tommy cut him off, and his words broke Arthur’s dawning grin. Despite the rollercoaster of emotions you just had, you could not help but open your mouth.

“He’s your older brother. He has every right to remain here while we talk, hasn’t he?” You argued, unhappy with the way Thomas Shelby acted. Arthur had waited the whole afternoon for Tommy to come so that he could introduce you to him, and when his little brother finally ought to show up he sent him off. That was painful to watch, “or if you really want to talk to me in private I think you might ask politely.”

A heavy silence fell in the room. How dare you speak to him with that arrogant tone? He thought. Tommy inhaled through his nose slowly, and moistened his lips, “Well, Arthur would you please leave me and your charming lady alone for two minutes?” He reiterated with a more polite phrasing. In spite of his unshaken placidity, his bleak winter eyes were looking daggers at you. He had certainly killed you at least three times in his mind. Slightly confused, Arthur looked at you, then at Tommy, before nodding, “Right,” he mumbled, his eyes fleeing his brothers’. He kissed your cheek and reluctantly left the kitchen, already aching from your absence.

You sighed, wondering what was going to happen now that you were all alone with the fearless Peaky Blinders’ boss everyone was talking about. Rather than starting the conversation, you took a cigarette from the small silver case that was on the counter and slipped it between your full lips, still swollen from the countless times you had bit them when you and Arthur had sex. Thomas Shelby remained silent too— all he did was walk to you, his soles hammering the floor, and lit up your cigarette with his zippo. But you were not fooled by his gentlemanly appearance nor by his undeniable charm. You took a puff from your cigarette until the tip ignited, and you stepped back from him as quickly as you could. Contrary to what people could think when watching Arthur and you, you did not like people entering your personal space without an invitation.

“I’ll go straight to the point, Miss Lavey. How much do you want?” He asked, his low and quiet voice undisrupted by the slightest emotions. While Arthur was made of fire, Thomas Shelby was surely made of ice.

“I beg your pardon?” You asked, brows furrowed , for you had not understand what he meant.

“How much money do you want to leave my brother?”

His words were so violent, so unexpected, that you were unsure if he had just slapped you across the face or not. Your mind started to buzz, its gears creaking and tinting as you tried not to burst out in anger at such an indecent suggestion. Against all his expectations, your innocent pout turned to the most freezing expression he had ever seen on a woman.

“To Hell with your money. I don’t know what you're trying to do but I won’t leave him. Why would I, eh?”

“Because I don’t trust you.” He retorted as soon as you had finished your sentence. Thomas quickly rubbed his cigarette on his lower lip and lit it. White smoke came out from his nostrils as he stared at you, like an angry dragon gazing upon the last breath of his future meal. “When I learned for you and Arthur I decided to send some of my guys to investigate on you. They told me every bloody thing,” He emphasized each syllable, almost baring his teeth doing so for you to understand he was not joking — in case you doubt it, “ I know you come from that small town in the French Alps. I know about the witch hunt that took place there and all the women who have been tortured and burned. But more than that, I know that you managed to escape right before they tied you to the pyre. And I also know about the story of the five poor villagers who have been hunted and killed like animals — it was you, right?” Tommy exhaled another cloud of smoke, his eyes never losing their focus on you.

“— And?” You gritted through your teeth, hatred blooming in your heart at the mention of these traumatizing memories. However, you did not let it show, for you knew it would please him. Thomas Shelby was well aware of the threatening aura that emanated from him, and how to use it for his own benefit. If you displayed any sign of fear or anger, it would be over and he would win. And somehow you were not particularly afraid of him.

He might had blood on his hands but you did too.

“And I will not tolerate a witch and a murderer around this family, nor will I let you take advantage of Arthur and ruin him.”

“Now you’re worried for Arthur. Isn’t it a bit too late?” You said, all the traits of your doll-like face suddenly devoid of any emotion, except a slight shade of unsettling arrogance, “You throw away his meds, you send him off when he asks you for help — when he tells you he’s desperate.” You stubbed your cigarette out in the nearest ashtray, “You didn’t even help him when he was ruining himself with cocaine. But that’s not it.” You walk toward Tommy, reducing the distance between you and him with unstoppable steps until you were standing a few inches from him. You raised your head to look at his arctic blue eyes, “He tried to kill himself and all you did was wave it off at best and treat him like a child at worst. Now let me ask you something, Thomas Shelby. Who’s the one who uses his own brother as his combat dog? And who’s the one who closes his eyes on his problems until they are insufferable enough for him to attempt suicide?”

Thomas clenched his jaws, his gaze hardening. He had to admit you had guts for a frail creature he could have broken in half with his bare hands. You were such a small yet fierce woman, it almost unsettled him. Moreover, you were smart, and smart was dangerous.

“So, don’t ever say I am the one who will manipulate and ruin Arthur when you do it on a daily basis. I love your brother, and whether you like it or not I’ll stay by his side.”

He rolled his eyes. The conversation was slowly but surely getting on his nerves, “Listen, I don’t need another Linda. She almost turned him into her dog and yet he was barely half in love with her compared to what he feels for you. Look at him! Look at fucking Arthur Shelby! He would throw himself out of London Bridge if you’d ask him to do so. She already tried to change him and took him away from this family, so don’t think I am naive enough to believe in your so-called love and kindness.”

“I ain’t gonna change shit. I am well aware of his demons, well aware of what he is but that's okay, I accept him the way he is. All I want is to see him healed and happy. No matter if he wants to keep killing people for your business. Sky could break loose I won’t give a damn as long as he feels better.”

Another silence. Thomas was trying hard to decipher your intentions but he could not probe your far-too-unique eyes. His brows furrowed; it was the first instance of emotions you had seen on his face since the beginning of your not-so-cordial conversation.

“You’re a bad omen, Heaven. I can feel it.”

“Why dear? Do you see a sapphire in my eyes?”

A rush of thunderous rage ran through his veins — how could you mention Grace's death? A gleam of violence ignited Thomas's eyes, who suddenly grabbed your throat without any warning sign. His strong and large hand tightened around your fragile neck and pressed against your windpipe enough for you to give you trouble breathing. You tried to talk but nothing came out, words choked under his palm. The pressure was not enough to really choke you, but it was still painful. With eyes wide opened in surprise, you wrapped your own fingers around his wrist and clawed his flesh in a desperate attempt to free yourself from his grip, but Thomas did not falter. Quite the contrary, the more you struggled the more he closed his fist around you.

“Don’t ever disrespect Grace anymore!” He gritted through his teeth, “You want to stay by Arthur’s side? Fine. So here's the plan: you’re going to be a good little wife for him and you won’t cause any trouble, nor interfere with my business. You’re going to do the best you could to make him happy and you’ll take care of him. You'll want him even when he’ll go back home wasted, yelling at you and breaking things because he will ultimately do it,” He paused, his eyes falling on the pale flesh of your throat he was still holding. The expression on his face changed for one brief second as he started to caress your neck with his thumb, almost too tenderly to be completely devoided of any kind of attraction, “but let me set this straight: if you ever try to leave him, if you become an inconvenience or if any member of my family is hurt because of your cursed being… I’ll burn you in a field like the witch you are.”

He finally released your throat and looked at the scratches you inflicted on his wrist. As you inhaled loudly, Thomas rolled down the sleeve of his shirt to hide the red and thin cuts your nails had left on his skin. He did not even bother checking on you.

“Let’s go back to the living room. And wear your most beautiful smile.” He stated with his usual cold demeanor, watching you rub your sore throat. Then, he offered you his arm to keep up appearances. You reluctantly accepted and followed him out of the kitchen, still shaken by the conversation —

The whole family, freshly joined by Michael Gray, was chatting together, all scattered here and there in the living room. Arthur, a hip flask filled with whisky in one hand, got up from his chair as soon as he saw you. At first, you thought he suspected something but the truth was that Thomas was insanely clever and he took care not to leave any bruise on your delicate skin. And when it came to hiding things, he was certainly the best. Even better than you. Tommy finally released you from his grip so that you could come back to his older brother, then he poured some whisky into a glass for him.

“Well Arthur, congratulations. You’ve brought a stunning and lovely lady into that house. I guess we could welcome her in the family, since she made our good ol’ Arthur happy, eh.”

He rose his glass to you, his threatening blue eyes staring right at your soul.

“Welcome, Heaven. Hope you'll stay with us for a while.” He said, pretending nothing had happened.

Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivated me, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

Also, the third first parts of this series can be read as stand-alone but I advise you to read everything if you want a better understanding of details.

Tagging those who might be interest: @areyenotfondofmelobster @meowtastick @babayaga67 @sired-to-hybrid

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novashelby · 2 months ago

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Would my Peaky Blinders community enjoy taking part in a community secret Santa? I notice we all pretty follow one another and /or communicate in some ways. We are a chill Fandom for the most part.

How it would work:

On October 1st, I will set up a way for people to submit their names(URL). And set the deadline for October 7th. I will use a generator to set up and match people to others.

Obviously, I am the one dealing with the URLS, so my name won't be in the "bucket". But I will be dealing with the oversight and people can ask me questions. I can even talk to their person without revealing who and what.

You HAVE to be over 18. Ageless blogs cannot join. EMPTY blogs cannot join. You should have some writing on your blog. I'll get to specifics later.

What you would do for your person: write a 1,500 one shot based off what they seem to like. Obviously, if they love intense smut and you are a fluff queen, you shouldn't write things that make you uncomfy. And vice versa. Don't write smut for someone who seems to mostly write fluff. It's a gift 🎁 so, I don't think it's right of anyone to expect any certain thing.

Again, specifics to come later.

All fanfics should be posted no earlier than December 20th and no later than 25th.

Once I know people are actually interested, I will answer questions and make a mass post explaining everything better.

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interstellargatorskinboots1812 · 2 years ago

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TAPPED INTO YOUR MIND & SOUL UPDATED MASTERLIST

UPDATED OCTOBER 2022

SUMMARY

Arabella Shelby is tired of the antics of her twin brother Tommy. She hates how she is always left on the back-foot of what is going on. As a fierce and intelligent force to be reckoned with, she knows she is more than capable of dealing with the more unsavoury side of the Shelby Company Limited.

She’s made a decision that if Tommy won’t allow her to come out of the shadows, then she will make light of her own, elsewhere. But will a deal with the devil be the answer to her problems? Tommy has a proposition for Arabella and one that will see her tied to his most untrusting of business associates. Will Arabella take the plunge and start a new life in Camden, beside the most eccentric and sadistic bread makers and leader of the Jewish Gangs in London, Mr Alfie Solomons?

CHAPTER ONE: Satisfaction Seems like a Distant Memory CHAPTER TWO: SHE'S THUNDERSTORMS CHAPTER THREE: Middle of Adventure such a Perfect Place to Start CHAPTER FOUR: Judith & Holofernes CHAPTER FIVE: All Things are Subject to Decay and Change CHAPTER SIX: A Fugitive, But You Don't Know What You're Running Away From CHAPTER SEVEN: 'I've Done Some Things that I Shouldn’t Have Done CHAPTER EIGHT: How Many Secrets Can You Keep?

CHAPTER NINE- You are the Unforecasted Storm

CHAPTER TEN: It’s Much Less Picturesque Without her Catching the Light

CHAPTER ELEVEN: Under the Warning Light

CHAPTER TWELVE: Have You No Idea That You’re in Deep?

As always, please support my fanfic with a reblog, or even better with a comment. Nothing makes you motivated to write like some fic appreciation,

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midnightswithdearkatytspb · 2 years ago

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“She’ll let you into the parts of herself that’ll bring you down. She’ll let you in her heart if you got a hammer and a vise. But into her secret garden, don’t think twice. // There’ll be tenderness in the air. She’ll let you come just far enough so you know she’s really there. Then she’ll look at you and smile, and her eyes’ll say she’s got a secret garden. Where everything you want, where everything you need will always stay a million miles away...” – Bruce Springsteen • “Secret Garden”

“You saved me, Beth. Perhaps it’s time you allowed me to protect you from whatever demons you allow to darken your beautiful mind.” Arthur ran his thumb over his fiancé's cheek catching the lone tear that fell.

There was still so much Arthur and Beth didn't know about each other's past, but it had been a silent agreement the past was the past, and it should stay there behind them. They were each other's future, a hope for so much more. They guided each other out of the darkness. At least Beth did that for Arthur.

“Oh Arthur, my sweet, gentle Arthur. It seems I'm having a case of melancholia. I'll be fine, especially with you at my side. I can face anything.” Beth grabbed ahold of Arthur’s hand and placed it in her lap after kissing the tips of his fingers. Times like this Arthur wished he knew Beth’s story before the Thorne club, before she came to Birmingham, but the past was the past.

“Together, we can do anything.” Arthur kissed her soft lips before pulling Beth’s gentle body into his lap and snuggled into her neck, taking in her signature lavender scent. With Beth at his side, he could take on the world, but living with her was perfect.

I hope you enjoyed this little blurb for Arthur and Beth, my OC I made for him. She belongs in my In This Heart universe. You can make a request for both Arthur x Beth and Tommy x Estella.

#in this heart #peaky blinders #arthur shelby #arthur shelby moodboard #arthur shelby x reader #arthur shelby x ofc #arthur shelby x y/n #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders moodboard #my moodboards #moodboards #peaky blinders x oc #peaky blinders one shot #peaky blinders x ofc #ktk post #ktk writes

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ugly-crying-over-bucky-barnes · 4 years ago

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Blue Eyes Epilogue

Summary: After the Garrison is shot up, the youngest Shelby daughter finds a new home in London. She strips herself of her last name and tries to live a peaceful life far away from her brothers’ chaos in Birmingham. But fate leads her right back into it after she runs into Alfie Solomons.

“Alf?”

“You alright, love? I heard you getting a bit heated over the phone.” Alfie was at the sink, gently washing the sand off Ezra’s feet. Father and son had been out on the beach that morning watching the waves and the sea birds overhead.

“I was on the phone with Tommy.” Ella set Sofia down so she could go to Alfie.

“I figured that much.” He replied sympathetically.

She walked around to stand by the sink. Ezra gave her a gummy smile, squirming a bit because of the cold water on his toes. Ella grabbed a towel to give to Alfie so he could dry Ezra off. “I just don’t know what to think anymore.”

“About what, love?” He asked, shutting off the sink and taking the towel from his wife.

“Just…everything. Tommy was going on and on about how things used to be. I mean-I understand where he’s coming from. He spent all that time looking toward the future, looking at what he could have instead of appreciating what he did have. Now he regrets it because look at everything that’s happened. We’ve lost so many people. But…I like what I have now. I can’t look to the past anymore.”

“I hate to say it, but your brother’s gone and dug his own grave, hasn’t he? He wanted power and this is what it gave him. The man doesn’t know when to quit.” Alfie wiped off Ezra’s feet even though the toddler gave him a bit of a hard time, kicking his legs and giggling like mad.

“But we know when to step away, right?” Ella asked quietly.

Alfie set Ezra down so he could dry his hands off. “What’s the matter, love? Talk to me.”

Ella wrapped her arms around herself, thoroughly shaken by the world around her. When once she had been so fearless, she was becoming aware of how chaotic things could become. “I’m scared that we’re going to lose everything we’ve worked for.”

“We’re not gonna lose anything. What are you afraid of losing?” Alfie wasn’t looking to ridicule his wife, he saw the fear in her eyes, and in turn, it worried him. One of his primary jobs was to comfort her.

“I’m afraid of losing you, I’m afraid of losing the twins, I-I’m afraid of losing my sanity, Alfie.” Her voice broke. “I never expected any of this to happen. Th-this has all gone too far and I can’t take it anymore.”

“It’s alright love.” He embraced her, pulling her to his chest.

“It’s not alright, Alfie. I’m not going to give you up because of the things Tommy does. But there are things in this world that I can’t stop.”

Alfie was starting to pick up on the root of her worry. After all, Mosley was just one man. They could deal with individuals, gangs even. But when there was some sort of movement, with an unknown amount of people following? Well, they couldn’t exactly fight off the world, could they? Even if Tommy Shelby liked to think he could. “The world we’re living in, s’not ideal, is it? But there are more people who are willing to fight this than are willing to stay quiet.”

“How do you know that?” She asked.

“Because I fought in a bloody war for the sake of this country.” He reminded her. “I don’t doubt that we’d do it again if we’re threatened again.”

“But they’re here, Alfie. There are people in Britain who would rather see you hung than fight for you.”

There were things that Alfie could brush off. He could brush off her brother’s disdain for him. He could brush off the slurs that Darby was so fond of calling him. He could even brush off that he was shot in the eye. But he couldn’t brush off his wife’s concern for him. “What would you suggest we do then, love?” He asked softly, gently petting her hair.

“I think we should just go somewhere else.” She whispered. “We can go to America, we can put this behind us.”

“There are fascists in America, El. There ain’t a place on this Earth that’s pure.” He told her truthfully. “America might be further away, but it ain’t much different.”

Ella couldn’t argue with that. She knew that it didn’t matter how far she went. It didn’t matter if she changed her last name from Shelby. She would always be involved in Tommy’s game. It was her birthright. Something would always bring her back.

“Mumma.”

Ella drew away from Alfie so she could scoop Ezra up. “I won’t lose them.” She whispered. It had been painful enough to lose her twins before they were even born. But to lose Ezra and Sofia after she had bonded with them? Ella knew she would never be able to come back from that.

Alfie nodded. “Well, we’ve got more than enough money to retire. We can sell the bakery, sell the flat in Camden. We can stay here for the rest of our lives.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know. It’s a scary world, but you know we can make it work. It’ll be alright. I promise.”

~~~~~~~~~~

For the next few years, Ella lived her life very removed from her family. That wasn’t to say she never saw them. She made a habit to keep in touch but wouldn’t involve herself in any business matters. She was vocal about Tommy’s mental state but there wasn’t anything anyone could do. It was all in his hands. And he continued on as the soldier he was.

Lizzie and Polly confided in Ella often, if only to make sure they weren’t going crazy because of Tommy’s behavior. But they also respected that Ella was raising her own family and had more than enough good reasons to keep her distance.

For the most part, she and Alfie remained at Margate with the children. Retired and happy to be retired, Alfie was content staying by the ocean. They returned to Camden for special occasions or to see friends and family. But Ella felt much more comfortable at Margate. Going back to London was just another reminder of the trouble brewing. There was unrest, not just in the city, and not just in the country. It was across the continent and Ella felt like everyone was just holding their breath, waiting for the powder keg to explode again.

Outside of the city, however, she felt much more removed from it all. She could truly enjoy her life as being a wife and mother. She had gained the peace she had always looked forward to.

As the twins grew, their personalities started to blossom and it was such a lovely thing to see.

Sofia was a rambunctious little girl who loved the outdoors. One of her favorite things was to trawl the shoreline with Alfie by her side so she could find little sea critters in tide pools. Or sometimes she’d crouch in the garden, hunting for bugs and earthworms. A day without getting her clothes stained with dirt or covered in sand was not a day well spent in Sofia’s eyes.

Ezra was on the shyer side. He became very bashful when talking to people he didn’t know well and would cling to Ella when they were visiting others in Camden. But he was curious in his own way. Often times, he would have long discussions with his father, simply asking endless questions about how things worked. Where the sun went at night, how did clocks know the time, how did the record player work, why did Cyril have a tail and he didn’t, how come birds fly, how big is the moon. Any little thing would pique his curiosity and he would rush to Alfie for information.

Trouble was, Alfie wasn’t too sure how to answer his questions most of the time. There were some things he could explain, but most of Ezra’s questions were beyond his expertise. It was a blessing, then, that Ezra learned to read at a very young age. He absorbed books like a sponge and it was hard to get him to stop reading and go to bed.

Their differing personalities positively enchanted Ella. Despite how difficult motherhood was, she was so happy to take the journey. Every day, her children surprised her and gave her another reminder of how blessed she was.

It was a difficult balance, trying to keep her children safe while still allowing them to have a relationship with their kin. It was easier to have them around the people from Camden. They grew up with the other children of Ella’s friends and came to know the people they would consider like aunts and uncles.

But with Birmingham, Ella was very cautious. She understood how easy it was to be swept up into the Shelby Company Limited. Her cousin Michael was a great example. Although raised outside of the family, once he was back in, there was no going back. Ella refused to allow her children to be roped in. Perhaps she was being over-skeptical of her own family. But she was willing to be over-cautious rather than let her guard down.

Still, she allowed her children to attend parties and holidays with the Shelby family. It was tense, at least in Ella’s shoes. She watched her brothers like a hawk whenever they were around the twins.

~~~~~~~~~~

One bright summer afternoon, while celebrating Finn’s birthday at Arrow House, Tommy came over to his sister.

She was sitting in the shade, watching her children play with their cousins on the lawn. Cyril and Anthea were running around with them, just as happy. Alfie was talking with Polly a bits away. The two had grown a well-formed relationship of respect. Polly liked that he had taken care of Ella all those years and Alfie appreciated Polly’s sanity.

Tommy took a seat beside his sister and pulled out a cigarette. He coughed a bit as he lit it.

“Y’know, some people are saying smoking is bad for you.” She said. “Maybe you should cut down.”

“Lots of things in life are bad for you.” He replied and took a drag from the cigarette anyways.

“Charlie looks so much like Grace now.” Ella did everything in her power to avoid arguments at family functions. She knew there was no point, nothing she could do would change anyone’s minds especially Tommy’s.

Charlie was kicking a football back and forth with Karl, trying to keep the ball from Anthea. He was so grown from the little toddler that he once was. He was nearly a teenager, had grown like a weed, and indeed was nearly the spitting image of his mother.

“He’s been asking about her,” Tommy told Ella. “He knows Lizzie isn’t his biological mother, so he’s been asking about Grace.”

“What did you tell him?”

“That we lost her before he was old enough to remember her. I gave him all the photographs I had of her. I don’t know what else to do.”

“I don’t think there’s much else you can do.” Ella shrugged.

The siblings went quiet for a moment. Tommy smoking and Ella watching the children play.

“Do you trust me, El?” He asked out of nowhere.

“Trust you?”

“Yeah.”

She glanced over at him to gauge whether he was trying to get a rise out of her or not. But he seemed genuinely interested in what she had to say. “Why are you asking that?”

“Because it seems like anytime I’m near Ezra or Sofia, you’re looking at me like I’m about to kidnap them or feed ‘em to a lion.”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t even say that.”

“So, you completely trust me, then? I’m just overthinking things, aye?” He challenged.

Ella crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you.”

“You’re kin, Ella. They’re kin. Fuck it, even Alfie is kin by now. You really think I’m going to bring them harm?”

“I trust that you want what’s best for everyone. I trust that all those years ago, you made a conscious decision to help this family. I trust that maybe you didn’t anticipate all of this, and if you had known maybe you never would’ve done any of it. I know you’re a good man, Tommy. I know the person you were growing up. I just…I wish you would quit this. I thought so many times that this would be the one thing that would make you stop. But every time, no matter what happened, you kept at it. I know that if you don’t stop, you’ll be killed. And if that’s something you accept then…there’s nothing else I can do.” She sighed heavily. “But I have to protect my children from that fate. I know you don’t want this for our kids. You said so many times that if we had children, they would never grow up the same way we did. We were supposed to be the ones to stop the cycle, Tom.”

“I know.” He said in a rare tone of assent.

“I’m scared,” Ella admitted, trying to keep her composure for the sake of the party. “I’m so fucking scared of everything in this world now, Tommy.”

Tommy had always known his sister to be fearless. Now it seemed that motherhood had brought up new fears in her. Maybe because she knew what it was like to grow up poor in a dangerous neighborhood. She was familiar with guns before she even went to school. She’d seen death and violence at an early age. It was only a natural instinct to want better for her children. But it didn’t mean she had to have such a crippling fear of everything. “Things are gonna be alright, El.”

“That’s what Alfie says, that’s what everyone says but I’m not blind!” She exclaimed. “I know that it’s only a matter of time ‘fore…”

“Before what?” He asked gently.

Ella shook her head. “It’s a cycle, Tommy, it’s always a cycle. Do you know what I prayed for every night while you and Arthur and John were in France?”

Tommy could only imagine. She was so young back then. “I don’t-tell me.”

“I prayed that you three would all come back home safe. And when you did, I prayed that you’d all find nice women and settle down. I prayed that you would all have good lives and be at peace. But then I saw you at the train station and I knew that would never happen. The things you saw over there, the things that happened…I know why you three changed, I get it. But I never anticipated what would happen after that.”

“I know.”

Ella looked down at her hands, almost too tired to continue going around in circles with him. Facts were facts and the past was the past. “Do you think we’re going to go to war?”

Tommy nodded. “Yeah.”

She swallowed and chewed on her lip. “And that doesn’t scare you?”

What else could he say? His nightmares were growing more severe, the shovels were getting louder.

“It terrifies me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

After Finn’s birthday party, Ella felt a little more forgiving toward her family. Maybe if they understood her anxiety, she could trust them a bit more. She also knew that there was no use arguing with Tommy. Both of them understood what it felt like for their sanity to slowly trickle away. They understood what it felt to have the world on their shoulders. They were too alike to blame one another.

One night, back in Margate, Ella was coming in from bringing Cyril and Anthea out. She shrugged off her coat and hung up the dog leashes. Anthea bolted to Ezra’s bedroom while Cyril hobbled down the hall. The bullmastiff was getting up in age but still had the same docile demeanor he had when she had met him for the first time in London as a pup.

Ella gave the old dog a pat. “Good boy.” She said softly and followed him into Ezra’s room where Alfie was reading a bedtime story to the twins.

“My armor is like tenfold…”

“No, Smaug is still talking so you’ve gotta do the voice!” Ezra protested.

Alfie chuckled. “Alright, alright.” He cleared his throat and began to rumble in a deep, menacing voice. “My armor is like tenfold shields, my teeth are swords, my claws spears, the shock of my tail is a thunderbolt, my wings a hurricane, and my breath…death!” He read from The Hobbit dramatically.

Sofia and Ezra laughed, delighted by all the voices their father did for every book he read them. It was commonplace. Alfie always read to them even if he struggled with the strain on his one good eye and often got headaches.

The eight-year-old twins were always insistent that he read to them, and Alfie wasn’t exactly complaining. He loved their rapt expressions as he read. Sofia often laid on the bed, petting Cyril or Anthea as she imagined the scene her father was describing. Ezra cuddled up close to Alfie in the crook of his arm so he could try and read along with his father. Sometimes he’d stop Alfie and point to a word he didn’t understand, asking for the definition.

Sometimes, Ella would sit in just to spend those last few moments of the day with her family. But that night, it had grown too late.

“It’s late, my loves.” She interrupted.

Sofia looked up and pulled a pout. “Nooooo, mummy it’s not that late!”

“It’s summer!” Ezra chimed in.

“It is quite late.” Ella walked into the room.

“Mum’s right.” Alfie dog-eared the page in the book and began to untangle himself from the children, Ezra on his arm and Sofia sprawled over his legs.

“But dad hasn’t finished the chapter,” Ezra whined.

“S’a long chapter, mate.” His father stood and helped him under the covers. “We’ll pick up on the rest of it tomorrow.” He promised. “Not much left of this book anyhow, don’t want to go storming through the rest. Best we take our time ‘n savor it, aye?” He scooped Sofia up so he could bring her to her bedroom.

Ella tucked Ezra in and kissed his forehead. “Goodnight my love.”

Cyril took his place in his bed on the floor of Ezra’s room. It was remarkable because the old dog liked sleeping in the little boy’s room. Ella guessed it was because Ezra spent so much time inside reading with Cyril snoozing beside him on the sofa. Meanwhile, Anthea chose to sleep in Sofia’s room. She was very fond of the little girl who always took her out for adventures outside.

So, Anthea followed them as they brought Sofia across the hall. She hopped up on the bed and curled up by Sofia’s feet.

Alfie and Ella kissed her goodnight before retiring to their own bedroom.

Ella sank into bed as Alfie got ready for the night.

“Y’know, I like the voices you do too.” She commented.

“Aye?” He chuckled.

“Your dragon voice is very nice.”

“Nice?” He grinned and tossed his shirt to the side. Striding over, he grabbed his wife’s ankles to tug her down the bed.

She stifled a squeal and giggled. “Alfie!”

“Hush now. Don’t go waking up the whole house.” He murmured in a low voice and began to creep up her body until they were face to face.

“Or what? You’ll eat me up?” She teased; her heart started to flutter in her chest. After years of being together, Alfie still never failed to make her swoon. It felt like every night she fell in love with him all over again. Whether they made love or she simply just fell asleep in his arms.

He laughed and captured her lips with his. One hand pressed into the bed while the other lightly grazed down her side before resting on her thigh.

When he drew back, she wove her fingers into his hair and pecked his lips a few more times. “I love you, Alfie Solomons.” She murmured.

“And I love you too, Ella Solomons.” He replied, looking down at her with so much adoration in his eyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

August 1940, the Solomons family traveled out to Small Heath. The twins’ birthday had been a few days earlier but they were now going to celebrate with Ella’s side of the family.

It was a strange time to be celebrating anything. The continent was at war yet again. It had been almost a year since Britain declared war and started to mobilize. Ella got horrifying flashbacks off the time her brothers had been at war. It was so difficult to fathom that they would live through a repeat of the Great War. But this time, eyes were turned to the next generation. The generation that had been too young to fight, now they were ready.

Ella urged Polly to do everything she could to keep the Peaky boys off the front lines. But it was futile, not with how headstrong they all were, and not with the draft initiated.

Now they could all only hope this war wouldn’t last as long as the first one did. They could only hope it wouldn’t be as gruesome and wouldn’t claim as many lives.

“Erdington then Castle Bromwich,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he stood by the kitchen counter, drink in hand.

“They’re trying to get a better target.” Tommy agreed with a grim look.

“Enough.” Polly shushed the men, pointing a cake knife at them. “No talk of the war, not tonight. Let the children be children.”

“Sorry, Pol,” Arthur mumbled.

Of course, the war was on all of their minds. It was nearly impossible to ignore it.

Polly brought the two cakes over to set in front of Sofia and Ezra. As she lit the candles, the family gathered around the table and began to sing Happy Birthday.

Ella was ready with her camera to take a picture of them as Alfie stood behind them, with a proud look on his face.

But the moment didn’t last long.

A loud explosion rocked the very ground and was almost immediately followed by a high pitched siren that had become so common to hear in the cities.

The men who fought reacted the quickest. Alfie grabbed Sofia and Ezra by the hand and hurried them to the cellar doors. Polly gathered the rest of the children as Arthur hurried them all along. Ella set her camera down on the table and blew out the birthday candles so they wouldn’t catch anything on fire. Tommy shut the lights off in the house, making sure everything was off upstairs as well.

Once dark, he glanced out the window.

“Tommy, c’mon.” Ella urged and grabbed her brother by the arm.

The two headed downstairs where the rest of the family was hiding out from the air raid.

They knew it was a possibility it was a false alarm. There had been dozens. But there was no telling either way.

“Mummy!” Sofia wailed.

“I’m here, I’m here.” Ella hushed her softly and gathered her into her arms. Alfie held her and the twins close, gently soothing them.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

It wasn’t a false alarm. Bombs shook the city with such intensity that everyone in the cellar was praying silently or out loud. It felt like they were down there for days when it was mere hours.

No one could sleep that night. In the morning, Ella left the house, she couldn’t listen to the radio anymore. She walked down to the Bullring and found it in ruins. The buildings had been gutted and ash was covering the ground.

It was nearly impossible to fully comprehend. People around her stood and stared at the scene in shock as well. Some were crying, others were too lost to react.

Ella was in such a state that she didn’t notice Tommy standing next to her for a good while. When she did, she glanced up at him.

He saw the same scared little girl who asked her older brothers not to go to France. She was too afraid they wouldn’t come back. She was still there, the scared girl who was afraid of what war would bring her family.

“I’ve got a few leads on houses in the countryside. Plenty of space for you and the kids.” Tommy said quietly.

“We have Margate.”

“Alfie wants to stay away from any city or town. Anything that might become a target. The country is the best option.”

“You spoke to him?”

“Last night.”

Ella’s stomach was in knots. “Okay.”

He nodded. “Stay in Margate until then.”

“We will.”

~~~~~~~~~~~

Alfie was still at the flat with the rest of the family when Ella returned. He was sitting by the radio with Arthur, both of them silent. Ezra was laying on the carpet, drawing while Sofia sat on Alfie’s lap.

Arthur turned the volume down a bit when his sister came in. “Alright, El?”

“Yeah, I think we’re going to go back to Margate.” She said quietly.

Alfie nodded. “Sof and Ez go get your things, yeah?”

The kids got up to gather their things as Alfie stood up from the armchair. “Did Tommy talk to you about our plan?”

She nodded. “Yeah, he did.”

“That’s okay?”

“We need to keep them safe.” She concluded. “Anyway, we can.”

“Okay.” He kissed her forehead and rubbed her shoulder.

~~~~~~~~~~

It didn’t take long before Tommy bought the Solomons a place in the countryside. A lovely little home with a sprawling garden and plenty of space for the twins and the dogs.

He saw them off at the train station. Most likely, it would be some time before they saw one another again. Knowing Ella, she would keep her children in the safest possible place until they were guaranteed safety in the outside world. Tommy knew he had to respect that.

“Bye Uncle Tommy.” Ezra and Sofia chimed off, each giving him a big hug.

“Be good for mum and dad, aye?” He said gently. “Make sure you give everyone a call once and a while, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Tom.” Alfie gave his brother-in-law a hearty handshake. “Thanks, mate.”

“Of course.”

Ella swallowed her tears as she hugged Tommy next. “Thank you.”

“I should’ve done this for you when you asked all those years ago. When you wanted to be free and safe.”

“I never would’ve met Alfie if you did.” She pointed out with a tearful smile.

“I guess so.” He chuckled and let go of her.

“Right, ready then?” Alfie helped the kids up into the car of the train then held a hand out to his wife.

She nodded. “Ready.”

-The end

//Thank you to everyone who stuck around for this long! It was so hard to end this but I leave the rest up to season 6 and see how things go from there. Huge thanks to my tag lists. If you’re interested my masterlist of all my oneshots and series are pinned to the top of my blog and my requests are open.I’m currently working on a new Alfie series so stay tuned. In the mean time I have a lot of Alfie one shots with more on the way as well as plenty of Tommy content.

Thank you again!

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kai-n-ali · 4 years ago

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In the Fields of Asphodel (My Regrets Follow You to the Grave) | Chapter Two

Eleanor Blum didn’t know what to think of this man, this Peaky Blinder devil that made all of Small Heath cower before him, this almost-stranger with his dead wife and dead stare, but she wished he’d stop showing up at the flower shop she worked in. And that he’d stop looking at her with those blue eyes of his.

Follows aftermath of Season 03 throughout Season 04. Tommy x OFC.

Warnings: Depictions of child abuse, antisemitism towards OFC (slurs), canon-typical violence, canonical deaths, sexual themes, etc.

Word Count: 11K

Chapter One ❀ Chapter Three

Chapter 2: Lemon Geraniums (Unexpected Meetings)

Most people met devils at a crossroads: she met hers once more in a tacky Birmingham bar.

When she faced Thomas for the third time, she was half-way to drunkenness, sipping another gin with not enough tonic. But the bartender had given her an extra lime, so she wasn’t complaining. The Garrison, all gold-gilded Palace of Versailles, contrasted against the dust of its streets and the dirt on the cheeks of children running around cars, the echoes of bangs that rung out from the steel factory and the bursts of flame from a nearby forging and pressing factory.

Sitting in her soil-stained skirt with her blouse rolled up to her elbows, Eleanor imagined that she looked more at home out among the muck than here, within. But the few men that lingered at the booths and tables were just as grungy as she was, if not more so, with their oil-stained working overalls and sallow faces. None of them paid her any mind, and it allowed the tension to seep from her shoulders in a way it hadn’t since she left Flora’s. She took a sip from her glass and crinkled her nose—it wasn’t sweet enough for her taste, bitterness from both the drink and the minimal tonic water covering up the floral flavor from gin’s typical use of juniper berries. With a hum, she dug out the lime, the half-melted ice swirling around against the calluses of her fingers, and squeezed the wedge into the drink.

Another sip. Much better.

A warmth was beginning to weigh down her limbs, thick as a blanket that fell over her shoulder and curled around her head. All muffled and muted. Her ears felt hot.

When she’d first stepped in and ordered a drink, the bartender had told her women couldn’t sit unaccompanied at the bar. He’d said it in an almost apologetic way, with a shrug to his shoulders as he slid the drink across the wood and towards her person. “Well,” Eleanor responded, hefting her own shrug, and raising her glass in a near salute. “I’ve got company, don’t I?” And she gulped down her drink in three long drags. “Another, please. Or I might grow lonely.” And the man hadn’t said anything more on the matter.

Someone had etched their name in the wood of the bar— FINN in scrawled, too-big letters—and she was tracing it with her thumb, three tonics in and feeling her head grow heavy, when a hush fell upon the pub.

At first, she thought she must’ve nodded off for a moment, her eyes closed from where she was slumped against the bar, but when the silence stretched on and on after she opened her eyes again, she knew it must’ve been something else. A glimpse out of the corner of her eye showed the patrons of The Garrison quiet and meek, grown men turned mice from where they ducked down their heads and sipped at their drinks.

Her neck felt too weak to support her head, but she still craned it back for a peek. She was a curious person by nature. Couldn’t help it. The world spun, and just past the doorway of The Garrison stood Thomas Shelby in his silly cap and fancy clothes, making his way towards the very bar she sat at. How lovely, Eleanor thought, and turned back for another swig of her drink. Empty. Fuck.

She gestured towards the bartender for another, but his eyes were not on her at all, instead facing the man walking his way. Said bartender had gone quite pale, his shoulders moving with a subtle quiver. The tremor in his voice was much more obvious. “The usual, Mr. Shelby?” he asked, but a drink was already in his outstretched hand. Thomas tossed down a few coins without thought, grabbed the drink from the man’s hand.

“The whole bottle,” Thomas said, and that, too, was seemingly brought up from nowhere, a glass bottle of amber liquid lying in wait for Thomas Shelby’s hand. He grunted out a thanks, and without looking her way, was off again. That big black coat of his was back; it had a red lining she hadn’t noticed before. It looked soft. Eleanor watched after him, turning her head and getting hit by a wave of dizziness as she did so. Behind her, she heard a new glass hitting the bar—another gin and tonic. She grabbed the glass with one hand and slapped down her payment with the other. For all four drinks. Nodded her thanks to the bartender, who didn’t acknowledge her existence. And then, compelled by either her drunkenness or her curiosity, she wasn’t sure, she hopped off the barstool to saunter after a Mr. Thomas Shelby, who was sliding into a booth in the back with all the ease of a man who claimed the spot as his and his alone.

The pub was a lot emptier than it was before.

Her knees felt like gelatin by the time she made it over to his booth, and Eleanor set down her glass with a thunk. Unlike the other surrounding tables, this one seemed untouched by engravings, by chunks taken out of the varnish through careless hands or pocketknives. It was pristine. “You look lonely.”

For a moment, she was worried he’d never look up at her, his gaze only for the crystal glass in his hand. He swirled whatever was inside—whiskey, she bet, but beyond that she had no clue—with a sort of mesmerizing pace that almost distracted her before she straightened up and darted back to his face again. Eleanor rubbed at the burn scars on her arm, a nervous tic, and chewed on the inside of her cheek.

But he did look up, eyes half-lidded and still so very unnatural and blue. She couldn’t help but jolt a little. He looked like shit. Deep circles underneath his eyes dark enough to be bruises. She flexed her hands to avoid swiping at them, like she would still-wet watercolors. Eleanor gnawed at the inside of her cheek a little harder.

“Just peaceful,” he said after a pause. Eleanor scoffed.

“Pity. You��re about to have company.”

And she slid into the booth on the opposite side of him, though it felt less like a slide and more like a stumble. She gripped the table for support. His hat was gone, she noted, perhaps resting on his thigh. Thomas just stared at her, head cocked, his hair in a bit of a disarray. Strands falling into his eyes. Her fingers fidgeted. There was something about him—maybe the way he held himself, shoulders forced stiff even in the middle of a bar where no one even looked his way for fear of him—that was so... sad. Worn. And Eleanor had always done a terrible job at not caring.

He didn’t reply, so neither did she speak. Just nursed her drink, and after that got a tad unbearable due to a lack of both tonic and lime, began using her finger to spin the ice, ‘round and ‘round. She felt his eyes and the eyes of all the other men at the bar on her. They must’ve thought her insane.

Eleanor blinked, felt the world around her warp and shift, and next thing she knew, she found her cheek propped up on her fist, wisps of cinnamon-colored hair obscuring her vision. One finger, drenched up to the knuckle with watered-down gin and tonic from twirling in her drink, left a wet trail on her cheek. Her lashes kept fluttering despite herself. Through squinted eyes, she looked back to those dreadful circles of his, so purple they were near black, and the words she’d bitten back before came bursting forth. “Can’t sleep?”

It felt like a hypocritical thing to ask, when she herself had come here to avoid the disquiet in her own head. She’d spent a good portion of the night tossing and turning in bed, near delirious with the need to just fucking sleep, but something had her limbs buzzing, her hands shaking. Eleanor had worked herself into a near panic, wheezing and breathless for a reason she couldn’t name, before she’d put back on her clothes and toed into her work boots, marching out of her apartment above Flora’s with adrenaline still thrumming through her bones. Something in her whispering flee, flee, flee. She'd used the fire escape to leave out the back, barely remembering to snatch her keys from her bedside table before she was out of there.

(She was lying, but only a little. She had fallen asleep at some point, but only for what felt like minutes, moments. There’d been no light, no shapes or shadows. Just sounds. Just touch and smell and a ringing in her ears that drowned it all out. The headmaster’s voice, from years ago, voice nasally from a cold and breaking off high with anger. The sound of phlegm rattling in his throat. Sister Sarah’s scoff of disgust. “Do it again,” he said, and Eleanor felt the knobs of her knees itch against the carpet. Knew the indents she’d find there later, a brief reminder written in flesh. And there was the sickening crack of leather, a phantom pain arching like lightning down her back, along her nerves. The muscles in her arms strained and ached. But it didn’t matter. Eleanor woke up on a gasp clogging her throat, but her eyes were dry. It didn’t matter.)

When Thomas looked at her, a certain iciness had crept in at the edges of his expression. There was a moment of glacial stillness. When he set down his glass, she shrank back into the confines of the booth, felt the hairs at the back of her neck prickling. Clear warning bells sounded off in her mind. The warmth of her drink snuffed out under his stare. But what came out his mouth wasn’t at all what she expected, and the last she checked, gin wasn’t a hallucinogen.

“Do you want to fuck?” His voice was low, head still tilted, eyes dark. It was almost rude, the way he said it. Like asking, what’re you here for? Eleanor swallowed. Rubbed at the scars across her knuckles on her left hand.

“No,” she replied, a bit too quick, and he quirked a brow at her. Picked up his glass for another sip. She shrugged in response. “Gotta work tomorrow.” And she smiled a bit, a grin that pulled nervously at the corners, and slumped forward to rest her heavy head against her hand again. “And anyway, I’m drunk enough I can barely fuckin’ see. Why fuck someone if you can’t even see their pretty face, y’ know?” Fuck, she hoped he didn’t think she was calling him pretty.

There was that quirk to his lips again—that almost smile.

It made him look even more exhausted.

In a whoosh of movement that made her dizzy at the mere thought of it, Thomas was up and out of the booth, barely touched bottle of whiskey left behind. Hat in one hand. He offered up the crook of his arm. “Come on,” he spoke, but all she could do was blink up at him. He huffed. She blinked again, and the hat was back on his head. “Lemme walk you home. Since you can barely fuckin’ see. You far?”

Eleanor checked her hip on the table as she moved to get out and hissed a little under her breath, rubbing at the spot. She resisted the urge to tell him that she could get home just fine, thanks. “Not at all. Live about Flora’s, actually.” After a moment of peering up at him through her lashes, lips pursed, she took his offered elbow, clutching onto his bicep with tight fingers. She could confess, only to herself, that walking was difficult when the whole room swayed like a ship out at sea. “How gentlemanly, Mr. Shelby. It’s a right shame I’m no lady.”

He shook his head, maybe at her or maybe just at the circumstances, and began guiding her out of the pub; she kept her head down so she wouldn’t catch anyone’s eye. So she wouldn’t catch the way they looked her up and down, as if to say—that’s what he chose to fuck? She wondered if any of them knew Mrs. Shelby with her perfect smile, her pretty face, and if so, she understood their skepticism. Despite their jump to wrong conclusions.

In any case, it was kind, she thought, that Tom walked slow enough that she didn’t stumble to keep up with him. By no means was he a tall man, but his legs were longer than hers by a good bit: he had perhaps half a foot over her. “But that’s not true, is it?” he drawled out, and Eleanor stumbled without knowing why. Her grip on him saved her. “I saw you at the charity gala. Last spring.” She looked up at him again as he opened the door for her, dropped his arm so she could walk through. His gaze was locked on hers. If mentioning the gala brought up any bad memories, they didn’t show on his face. Or behind his eyes. “I’ll ask again. What’s someone like you doing here in a place like Birmingham?” His elbow was offered up again; the heavy door of The Garrison shut behind them with a parting gust of air. She took it. Dug her fingers into his coat.

Eleanor sighed. She thought, for a moment, about lying, but it didn’t seem worth the struggle of sewing together a coherent fib as fucked up as she was. Words trickled out of her grasp before she could get a good grip on them. Shaking her head to herself, curls bouncing against her cheeks, she began chewing at her bottom lip. It was already raw from a night of worrying at it, and it stung at the dig of her front teeth. “I don’t know. Because I can, I suppose?” Looking back to him, she offered him an approximation of a smile. Birmingham was almost quiet around them, just the muffled laughter and sputtering of drunken men, the occasional moan from within the alleyways. Just white noise.

He didn’t look impressed by her reply.

So, she soldiered on, fumbling a bit for words. “I’m not. Well. I’m not very good at the whole socialite thing. I—” Cutting herself off, she kicked some gravel with her boot, watched a shower of rocks skip up ahead and disappear into the black of the night. “I can learn all the tips and tricks, curtsy like a real lady. Laugh like one and smile like one.” She met his eyes, smirked a bit. “Use the right fork. Doesn’t make a difference. They all still know I don’t fit, anyway.” Unable to help it, she laughed a bit, and her smirk stretched into such a wide grin she knew her teeth gleamed white in the dark. When she was a teenager, at elaborate dinners with her curls pinned up and away, unable to hide behind them, she used to wish her teeth would flash with her smile, bright and sharp. Something other. A predator’s snarl pasted over a little girl’s face.

She hid the bitterness of her tone well enough, she thought, but she could taste it on her tongue anyway, like the thistle leaves she chewed on in childhood, hunger gnawing at her stomach and the humid air making her pant, making her hair frizz. “Can’t hide the stench of trash, I guess.”

Tom was silent for a pause. They turned a street. Almost there. “You’re American?”

Eleanor nodded. Even still, the accent showed itself on her tongue. “Grew up there ‘n all. New York. But I have citizenship here—have lived here over ten years now. My father’s family, they’re Irish, though they’ve lived in London for decades.” The silence stretched. “But, uh—yeah.” She cleared her throat, coughed just to let the sound take up space. Her filter had been worn away by gin—it felt near impossible to shut up now. And her loose lips couldn’t withhold her confession. “I came to work at Flora’s, in the end, because I wanted to prove to myself that I could still do it.”

“Do it?”

“Real person shit. Get a job. Live. Not be entirely useless, batting my eyelashes for half-assed charity. Drinking tea with my pinky finger up and all that.” Feeling exposed and having no one to blame but herself, Eleanor ducked her head, felt the wispier curls of her hair brush against her face.

Eleanor took back the hand curled around his bicep—the lamp from her second-story apartment was clearly visible now, left on in her haste to get out-out-out, and its promise of warmth peeked through the gap in her dark curtains. If she squinted, she could almost catch sight of the book she’d left on the windowsill, a hint of a gold-leaf title glimmering from where it caught lamplight. Now, she was merely talking to make the walk go by faster, the words spilling past her lips as she felt Tom’s gaze burning into her, his presence a long line of body heat against her side. She was drunk enough that something in her longed to lean in, to burrow into his coat. It was a ridiculous feeling. “It all worked out, in the end. I work in the shop—and Cora, the owner, allows me to live up above, instead of working for pay. Help her keep up the place.”

Truly, the thought of stealing money from a woman who needed it made her ill. Especially when she had too much of the stuff by far. But when she’d attempted arguing with Cora, begging to pay at least half the original price rather than living there rent-free, the older woman had merely glared at her, expression sharp as a blade, and told her that no one wanted to live in an apartment that came with it the stink of rancid milk. “No use lettin’ it gather up dust, eh?” Eleanor argued that the dried lavender hung in the windows almost stifled the whole of it, but she didn’t dare try and bargain with her again.

She could see said lavender now from where it loomed just above her, trailing out and pressing against the glass. The door to the shop was in front of her now, though she couldn’t recall the few paces they must’ve walked between the street and the doorway; a wave of dizziness struck her as she reached for the shop’s keys within her pocket with numb fingers. Tom was at her back, almost too close, when he cleared his throat and enquired “Need any help?” as she struggled to put the correct key in the lock. Eleanor leapt in the air at the feeling of his breath ghosting against her neck, and when she glanced back, just for a moment, she found him peering at her over her shoulder, eyebrow arched. He was near enough that she could count those faint freckles beneath his eyes. It was nice to see them again. She swallowed.

The key went in, and with a twist, the click of the lock sounded in the air. “All good,” she muttered, and she felt her cheeks grow hot, though hopefully not red. It doesn’t matter, she told herself. He’ll be gone soon. But it was as she turned to thank him and wish him goodnight that she found herself once again acknowledging his appearance, just as she did at the pub. In the dark of night, those shadows under his eyes had surpassed purple and presented quite black, and the fine lines at the corners of his eyes and along his forehead had deepened, brought into stark focus. Casting shadows on his face. And his eyes, near ghoulish in the faint light, were tinged red, irritated.

Again, she felt her fingers quiver. There was deep furrow in his brow she wanted to smooth away with her fingertips.

All-in-all, he just looked raw.

She couldn’t help herself. She didn’t know what overcame her. But with her bottom lip tugged between her teeth, Eleanor found herself reaching out and pushing back the strands of hair that fell in his face. She blamed it on the gin. In that moment, all she could note was how soft it was, how silky against the pads of her fingers. Then, reality crashed in. Snap out of it.

Swallowing hard, she turned away and pushed open the door, using the force of her shoulder to get the rusty hinges to budge. Faced away from him, from his expression that had become blank—wiped clean at her touch—she stared into the shop, the shadowy figures of bouquets and foliage. Her blood thrummed with nerves. “I have tea,” she blurted out. “It helps—when I can’t sleep. If you wanna come in.” The back of her throat grew dry with the thought of a good cup of tea. For chamomile with its apple and floral notes, for lemon balm all mint and citrus. Perhaps valerian root in its earthiness. Just a good cup of tea and the sometimes-dreamless rest it brought with it. Maybe London life had changed her after all.

But then she remembered what Tom had asked her before, in the dim-lit corner of that pub, his head inclined to one side and his eyes so very, very dark. And the hot flush to her cheeks bloomed, she had no doubt, into a bright, blaring red. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck—!

“Not,” she squeaked, and her voice was high, almost unrecognizable. Her shoulders up around her ears. “Not to fuck or anything. Just tea!” Eleanor couldn’t see his expression, but she could imagine it just as well. There was a pause, a certain amusement heavy in the air. “You don’t—”

His voice cut into her rambling. “If there’s no alcohol,” and she could hear the smirk in his voice. “Then sure, tea it is.”

“Oh,” she breathed, felt something in her chest loosen even as shock colored her words, “alright. Yeah. Come in, then.” Eleanor stepped into the doorway, the streetlight making it so she didn’t have to hunt for a light. When she held open the door for him, she saw that, yes, he was smirking, but the overall look of him was softer than she expected. No sharp edges. Probably too tired, she guessed, to be an ass. She watched him narrow in on the blush staining her cheeks and fought a squirm; in response, his smirk widened. Never mind.

Prick. “It’s just up the stairs,” she muttered, gesturing with the crane of her neck to the backroom before spinning on her heel. In the air was the smell of eucalyptus, strong enough to unclog a stuffy nose, and the smell of it uncoiled the tension in her shoulders, made her sigh. This place wasn’t her home by any means—that was back with Sam and their dogs, with their library full of cracked spines and dog-eared pages, and the garden out back with tomato plants and courgettes, basil and mint sprigs—but it was safe. Familiar. And when the lights went out and the shop sign flipped closed, it was all hers. If only for now.

There was a danger, however, in becoming so relaxed when absolutely fucked. It went straight to her head, made it spin, and next thing she knew she was tripping on that damned faulty step—the one that was shorter than the others, the one that she’d learned to avoid in the first week of being here—that took them to the upper floor. “Shit, fuck,” she hissed, felt herself begin to tilt, but Tom’s hand was already on her elbow, pulling her up and reeling her closer to himself, close enough she was near flush with her back to his front. “Shit,” she repeated, with feeling. Felt a stutter coming on and tamped it down like you would a cigarette butt. “Thanks.”

He let her go. Eleanor didn’t shiver. She didn’t.

She was near twenty-four years old, dammit—not some touch-starved little girl. Not anymore. With a renewed gusto, she took the stairs two at a time, her face no doubt screwed up in a concentration she was grateful he couldn’t witness. She huffed a silent breath. Why was his gaze so piercing? Why could she always feel it against—against her skin, against her hair like the brush of fingertips? It was fucking distracting, is what it was. Did he do it on purpose?

But it was fine. They were at her door now, and after some tea, she could say she gave it a try—to be kind to this odd, broken man with his razorblade stare. He’d leave, and it would be done. Whatever curiosity he had sated. She was hardly an interesting woman.

Yet, when she went to grab for her keys the second time, moments away from putting the right one into her lock, he was up behind her again, closer than ever. His long fingers plucking the keys from her gin-numb hands and twisting the bronzed bit of metal into the lock for her. The back of her hair brushed the sturdy line of his shoulder. What the honest fuck, she thought, not for the first time. Her heart tripped over itself. That’s it. He’s got to fuckin’ go.

Without much thought, she snatched the keys back from his hand. “Thanks,” she said again, sounding very much like she didn’t mean it at all. She took a step into the faint light of the apartment, all sunset lit from the lamp, orange and warm and homely. Even if not home. The thought of her flicking on the lights and ruining this summer glow made her head pound. So, she didn’t. It’s not romantic, she reminded herself. It’s not. You’re fine.

“Of course,” he replied, sounding smug about it. Damn you. She flung out her arm, held the door open for him. Tom stepped inside.

Again, like back in the shop when they first shook hands, she wondered against her better judgment what he thought while he took in the place. What he saw. While she hadn’t been in this apartment long, she could see bits and pieces of herself throughout the small apartment: the fresh herbs dotted along her small amount of counterspace, the mint-green ceramic kettle on the woodstove with its matching teapot. A sketchbook that had tumbled off the quilt of her bed, still shut with a pencil sticking out from within the pages, a half-assed bookmark with the eraser side out. Small clay pots of seeds on her windowsill, housing sprouts young enough to need all the sun they could get.

There was always better lighting up here during the day. The perfect place to paint. It was why she’d set up a chair right next to the window. Some of the paintings and sketches she’d done here were already hung on the walls—mostly because Cora got so excited to see a new one whenever she came over for a visit.

Eleanor pointed to the small, round table set off-to-the-side, not far from her bed piled high in blankets and pillows and even closer to the stove, with a cup of old tea in a chopped mug still resting there. A swath of burlap functioning as her tablecloth. Leftover from the homemade bows Cora and Florence would make for the shop. There was a ring of tea from an overfull cup mostly dry, long having seeped into the fabric in tiny, out-branching veins. And a paperback book, Frankenstein, already with a crease along the spine and a few fingerprints immortalized in ink across the top of the pages. Eleanor couldn’t help it—she loved writing notes in all her books, much to her uncle’s chagrin. “Here,” she said. “Sit. I’ll get the tea started.”

“You got any preferences?” she asked over her shoulder, making her way to the small stove and sink that functioned as her kitchen. It only took a few steps to get there. “If you’re real insistent on booze, I think I’ve got some whiskey I can slip into your tea.” Despite asking, she still reached into the cabinet above her head, pulling out a small glass bottle of fennel seeds. Then another bottle of dried peppermint, then one of dried lemon balm. Dried lavender flowers. Dried rose petals. Slices of licorice root.

“Just the tea,” he said from his seat, and she heard her table rattling. One leg was shorter than the rest; she’d yet to fix it. “Do what you want.”

She shot him a lopsided smile over her shoulder. “Yes, sir,” she said, dripping a teasing sort of mockery. It didn’t bother her as much to feel his stare, not now that she was in her own space, her own terrain. But it did do something to her, seeing him sitting in her place, lounging on a chair she bought from a yard sale. Her stomach felt trembly and weak, almost like a stomachache.

Eleanor turned back to the stove, but not before she shot a look to the picture of Sam on the mantle of her fireplace. What the fuck am I doing? she asked him. But the smile that crinkled his hazel eyes in the photo didn’t waver. He had no answers for her. Thanks a bunch, uncle mine.

Clucking her tongue once she realized what she’d forgotten, she got up on her tippy toes one last time, scrounging for her mortar and pestle. Pouring out a little bit of each ingredient, eyeballing more than anything, she started grinding them into a rough mix. Not quite powder. It took maybe three, four minutes, but it felt like decades. Like time suspended. The next time he spoke was near lost in the sound of her sink running, water hitting the bottom of her kettle with a dull tinkling sound. “Tell me,” Tom said, and Eleanor gave a little hm? in reply. Why was she calling him Tom in her head? She shut off the water, turned to look at him only after she set up the kettle to boil. Her arms crossed against her chest. “Is this,” and he gestured to her room, the clutter of it from close quarters, “enough for you?”

Eleanor almost laughed in his face, but she chewed at her cheek instead. At this point, she was going to bite clear through it. “Sure, I’ll tell you.” She cocked her head. “But first—answer me this.” Tom puffed out a breath, waved her on with a hand. His elbow propped him up on her table, holding it steady. “You’re a wealthy man, Mr. Shelby. You’ve built yourself up from the bottom.” And she smirked despite herself. “What’s a wealthy businessman like yourself doing in a place like Small Heath, eh?” she asked, deepening her tone into his Brummie accent. She thought it quite good. “Thought it’d be below you by now.”

Tom scoffed, but she kept her steadfast gaze on him. When his eyes focused on her, Eleanor saw the concession in them. The grudging respect of acknowledging a point well-made. Go on, his eyes said. So, she did. “Exactly,” she said, just the right amount of smug with a stubborn tilt to her chin, “I feel the same. This,” and here she gestured towards the rickety table with its lopsided wobble, the paint peeling from her walls, the way all her furniture near knocked together, “is more than enough for me. New wealth—it doesn’t change old habits. Old haunts.”

She raised her shoulders in something of a mix of resignation and good humor. “New wealth just gives you prettier things. But you’re still a gangster at heart, aren’t you?” Thomas had gone very still. In the back of her head, the small, rational part of her brain was pounding against her skull with furious fists, screaming why can’t you learn to shut the fuck up? But Eleanor just straightened her shoulders back up, steeled herself, and offered a piece of herself in return for whatever she had just taken. Fucking gin. “And I’m just a bastard orphan from Brooklyn. It’s how it is. Why pretend otherwise?” And then, like a miracle, the kettle began whistling.

Bless you, HaShem, I may start believing in you yet.

From then on it was just a flurry of movement, of her scooping the ground up botanicals into her teapot, then pouring in the boiling water to allow it to seep. Grabbing her oven-mitt for a make-shift trivet and tucking it under her arm, then grabbing one mug and a dainty, ridiculous little teacup by their handles in one hand and her teapot in the other, she trotted over to the table and placed all the items onto the table now between them. “It’s gotta steep for five minutes or so,” she admitted, and sat on the chair across from him, barely resisting the urge to curl her knees up to her chest like she wanted, to rest her head on them and close her lids. Eleanor trained her eyes on Tom instead. Drummed her fingers against the table.

“Lemon balm is good for stress,” she told him, for some fucking reason. Her mouth wouldn’t stop moving. She wanted to bite off her own tongue. “Soothes an anxious mind. And it’s supposed to induce sleep, when combined with other herbs. Like chamomile. Or Valerian root.” Shut up, shut up. “Actually, uh, in your last bouquet I put in Valerian flowers. I have some of that, too, but I didn’t put any in the tea.” Shut up, shut up, shut up. “It fuckin’ reeks of feet.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up, shut up—

“You talk an awful lot,” Tom told her, in his cigarette smoke-hoarse voice, and her mouth shut with a click. It hadn’t been said cruelly, just matter of fact, but against her will, her leg started bouncing beneath the table. She rubbed her fingers over her scarred set of knuckles and swallowed. Opened her mouth again.

“Not usually. But when conversing with a brick wall...” she trailed off. Tucked a curl behind her ear just so her hand could move, work off this odd restless energy that hung over her. Her palms were sweaty.

She slid the teacup his way, keeping her eyes on the pink petals painted onto the fine china. “For your delicate sensibilities.” She didn’t even get a snort in reply.

Tom studied her, one leg crossed over the other and body tilted back in some mockery of rest. His hair, once she’d brushed it back, stayed in some semblance of order. Even slouched, even ruffled, he appeared to her the perfect soldier. Alert. Mind too sharp for his own good. Finally, his lips parted again, and he asked, “Why put the Valerian in the bouquet for me?” You ask an awful lot of questions, she didn’t say.

To spite you, she wanted to answer, but that didn’t seem entirely honest. Eleanor reached up and pressed a finger just beneath her eye, dragging it down. She couldn’t see herself—but she knew she looked ridiculous. “Your bags have bags. Tea’s ready.”

And because she was a lady, thank you very much, she poured for them both. Eleanor pointed to the honey already on the table. “I don’t have sugar. Or milk. Sorry. Just honey.” The spoon was already in the pot—she'd had some tea before bed. Not that it had helped. He didn’t add any in. She put in two spoonfuls into her mug while watching the steam curl from his.

He took a careful swig from his teacup. It suited him.

“You haven’t given me your last name.”

Eleanor paused mid sip. “Fuck. Yeah, guess I haven’t.” She set down her mug with a thud. “It’s Blum.”

“Not very Irish,” he pointed out.

“No, guess not,” she said, smirking. Like she’d give herself up that easily. She stared down into her cup. Her posture was already unwinding, the tension in her neck and shoulders having seeped out with every swallow of her drink. The lavender was soft enough to chase away her oncoming headache. It was all fine. Drinking tea with the devil of Small Heath. After a moment, she heard a sound that made that change.

Thomas Shelby was laughing.

Not very loud, no, not very hard. It was more a chuckle than a true laugh, coming low from somewhere deep in his throat. But his head was thrown back, if but a little, and there were crinkles in the corner of his eyes from mirth, not exhaustion. It was a really, really lovely laugh.

What. That’s all she could think, but there was no surprise in it. Of course, he’d have a gorgeous laugh. Fuck you.

When he spoke, you could hear that laugh threading through his voice still. There was a smile lingering on his lips. She wanted to trace it with her fingertips. Eleanor scrunched her hands in her lap, abandoning her tea entirely, and watched the fabric of her skirt wrinkle beneath her fingers. There was a faint tremor running through them—that’s how hard she gripped on, muscles straining with the effort. “A woman named Bloom working at a flower shop. Couldn’t make it up.”

Oh. “B-L-U-M, but yeah.” And she laughed a bit, too. It scraped her throat. “I didn’t think about it like that. Guess it’s fate.”

It was only when he’d left, when he’d promised to lock up the shop behind him, tea drained in a few sips and her own cup half-full and growing cold, that she slumped against her door and placed her head in her hands, capable of thinking only this: what the honest fuck.

This wouldn’t be the last time she thought it. Eleanor knew this better than she knew the palms of her own hands. No, not by far.

The next day, when her head pounded to the beat of her every footfall and her eyes were dry enough they’d go alight with a match, she trudged down the stairs with a stumble to her steps and a groan already on the tip of her tongue. Awaiting her at the bottom of the steps, one hand on her hip and something wrapped in wax paper clutched in the other, stood Cora. A delicious smell wafted from the paper, savory and spicy. And the recognizable scent of fresh bread. Eleanor started salivating on the spot. The older woman held it out with a wry smile.

“Eat up, love,” she said, “Before you fall down and knock your ‘ead.”

“Read a recent study that blood can be good for the plants,” Eleanor said, and then winced, feeling her own words echo and bounce around the confines of her skull. “Feel free to use mine if I knock my brains out on the counter. Waste not, want not.” Cora faked a gag, a smile pinching the corners of her eyes, and waved the pastry in front of her face. Eleanor snatched it with fingers that shook with hunger. “But yes, please.” The crust of the pasty was flaky, filled with skirt steak and potatoes, onions and some spice she couldn’t name. It was buttery enough that it melted on her tongue. From the bakery across the way, Eleanor guessed.

Eleanor let out a little moan, just this side of obscene, muffled by her mouth being full of crumbs. “You’re an angel as always, Cora. This world doesn’t deserve you.” Cora guffawed. She shook her head and sent stray tufts of her greying hair all about her face.

“And what do you want, eh?”

The two of them walked together to the main area of the shop, Eleanor munching on the pastry while catching spare crumbs with her free hand. She must’ve ate the thing in four, five bites, saving the side-crimping for last—it was the crunchiest—and licking the bits of flaked-off crust from her fingers.

“You’ve caught me,” she said. Cora curved a pencil-thin brow, hands having already found themselves arranging a boquet of sweet peas and lilies. She’d done it for so long she didn’t even need to look down anymore: her sight was through touch alone. Eleanor plucked a lily from the pile left behind and tucked it loosely behind one ear, the wax paper now crinkled in one fist. “I need off next Thursday into Saturday, if that’s alright with you.”

“Sure thing. If you can pick up Sunday’s shift.” It was then that she grinned, all ex-Catholic mischief with her blue eyes twinkling. “I don’t work on God’s day. You visiting that uncle of yours?”

Sam had come down to Birmingham only once since Eleanor had begun working here. A devout gardener and amateur botanist, the man had hit it off with the owner almost immediately, though that was difficult to notice at first glance. A thoughtful man more prone to speaking in his head than aloud, her uncle was rare to even raise his voice in excitement. Still, he’d left with little envelopes of seeds overflowing from the pockets of his coat and a random bouquet clutched in his fist, and Cora seemed fond of him for that alone.

“Yeah, he’s free for the weekend.” What Eleanor didn’t mention was that her uncle was free because the twenty-first was her birthday. Twenty-four years old—a frankly lackluster year. Even after all these years living with Sam, it was strange, celebrating her birthday, and she wasn’t eager to tell anyone about it.

When she’d been small, since she was maybe two or so, her mother had gone out to Doscher’s Bakery on Graham Avenue for two slices of bee sting cake, one for each of them; she’d let Eleanor eat the slivers of honeyed almonds off the top one-by-one and lick the cream off her fingers. Make a total mess of her clothes, her hair. They’d clink forks like champagne flutes, her mother saying “Zultsu zikh meren in freyden!” and pressing a sloppy kiss to the crown of her head while she did her best to shovel the treat into her mouth whole. Eleanor hadn’t touched a single crumb of the dessert since she last saw her mother. Almost a decade ago now. And she’d almost forgotten her own birthday by the time Sam entered her life.

Still, her uncle insisted on celebrating every year, drowning her with books and art supplies and trips to new oddities and historical sites, and he did it with so little fanfare that she could barely protest.

The next week and a half passed in a blur—remembered mainly through the feeling of dirt under her nails and the faint, lemony scent of fresh-cut camellias, pink and frilly and petals soft against her fingertips—and before she knew it, she was being helped into her uncle’s Bentley by a driver, sketchbook clutched in one hand and pencil tucked behind her ear. No need to bring anything else when she was on her way home. “Thank you,” she told the driver, Jonathon Simmons, fighting a flinch when his thumb brushed against the roughened tissue of her knuckles as he guided her inside the back door. She rubbed her own thumb against the scars once she was settled into her seat, as if she could somehow smudge those marks out of existence the way one would smear charcoal across the page.

“Happy birthday, miss,” Jonathon said as he slid into the driver’s seat, flashing her smile-crinkled eyes through the rearview mirror.

He was an older man, perhaps her uncle’s age, with a missing tooth putting a gap in his smile and grey peppering the dark caramel of his hair, his skin a deep golden color from gardening. When she was younger and could barely stomach the thought of speaking to anyone in the new and frightful place that was London, “Mr. Simmons” was the only person besides her uncle and their housekeeper that could pull out of her more than a handful of words. She’d sit in the back, Sam’s shoulder brushing hers, and babble about whatever new plant she’d seen or planted or read about, all hands and wrists and bright-eyed enthusiasm, and Eleanor had later realized that they’d looped around and around the streets for hours, driving aimlessly in an effort to keep her talking.

“Thanks, Mr. Simmons,” she spoke back, winking at him through the mirror, and he laughed and shook his head, eyes already back on the road. She could hear the smile in his voice when he replied.

“It’s Jon to you."

“Then it’s Eleanor to you, Jon, not miss.”

The rest of the ride passed in near silence, just the occasional series of thumps as the tires rode along gravel or hopped over a pothole—in truth, Jon was a quiet man like her uncle, only speaking when spoken to and then in only a few, well-placed words. Though, he had a love of humming the newest jazz hit under his breath, warm baritone filling the confines of the car and tucking around her as a thick quilt would.

Eleanor shut her eyes in what felt like a blink, sketchbook in her lap and pencil tickling the place it sat behind her ear, and woke up to that very hum. She took a quick look around—the outside surroundings having transformed into the soft curves of windows and geometric lines of buildings, the bright pops of color that symbolized St. James Square. All Deco pomp amongst the older, smog-worn structures. Almost there.

“Just stop over here, Jon,” she said around a yawn, arching her shoulders in a half-hearted stretch and watching his eyes dart to peer at her.

“Y’ sure? Your uncle wanted you dropped off at his office.”

“Yeah, m’ sure. I like a good walk.”

The street she stepped out onto was all busyness, people bustling past and contorting to avoid jostling shoulders. The feel of multiple bodies made the back of her neck sweaty with additional heat, even as she leaned against the driver’s door; her arm stretched through the open window, tucking several packets of seeds wrapped in a quid into the front pocket of Jon’s shirt.

Her next five or so minutes were spent inhaling the London summer air, so humid her body felt as if it was moving through water. From a street corner, there was the smell of Chelsea buns wafting, the brown sugar baking in the heat and making her mouth water. In what felt like seconds, there was one in her hand and a few coins dropped into the seller’s. The dough of the bun ripped easily between her teeth, baked currants bursting flavorful and tart on her tongue. Melted butter wet her lips.

“I’ve fucking missed you, London,” she muttered under her breath, as one would a prayer or blaspheme—whichever—and felt brown sugar and cinnamon crunch against her back molars. It was gone in mere bites.

It was bliss. Happy birthday, Eleanor.

That bliss, of course, did not last. Humming whatever tune Jon had drilled into her head, Eleanor was stepping over the cracks in the concrete and admiring the scuffs in her leather t-strap shoes when she finally looked up and caught notice of a familiar ridiculous hat. The noise of the surrounding passerby dulled into a roar.

She was standing directly behind Tommy Shelby, eye-and-eye with the all-too-familiar woman that sat across from him. Suddenly, she felt very aware of her sticky fingers.

Said woman was beautiful in that classic way, slight and trim with a short bob of dark hair and lips painted a pretty red, not yet smudged despite the bite of egg and toast she had held halfway up to her face. There was a toddler sat on one of her knees, shoveling tiny bits of sausage into his mouth with grease-slick fingers. “Eleanor,” Ada Thorne blurted, brown eyes wide and grin already forming, and Eleanor didn’t even have a moment to enjoy the hilarity of Thomas Shelby dining at some greasy spoon in a patio chair before she felt that burn of his blue eyes on her.

Ada Thorne, who’d worked at the head desk of the London Library when she knew her, was now sitting in an expensive dress probably triple her monthly salary, eating greasy food with the very same man that made fully grown factory men quake in their boots. Eleanor blinked to clear whatever must’ve obscured her eyes, but the image stayed the same.

“Ada,” she said.

“Ms. Blum,” Tom replied instead, his gaze still roving her face. There was a tight clench to his jaw that looked like it could crack teeth. Eleanor wanted to look to the sky and ask for—well, she didn’t know what. A bolt of lightning, perhaps, though the Lord had never done her favors before. She knew—she just knew there were crumbs collected at the corner of her mouth but wiping at them meant admitting defeat.

Instead, she just sighed and said between pursed lips, voice near a growl, “Tom.”

Ada was bouncing her eyes between the two of them, her grin growing more and more with every second despite the bewilderment at the edges of her expression and in the pinch of her pretty features. Here eyebrows were experiencing a steady ascent to her hairline. “You two know each other?” An obvious thrill to her voice, she tugged little Karl off her lap and placed him into the seat beside her, moving forward to lean both her elbows on the table. Eleanor pried her focus from Tommy to shoot a crinkled nose in her direction.

Somehow, Eleanor’s feet had carried her without knowing to the side of their table, now safe from foot traffic. “I should be asking you that,” Eleanor said. “You know him?” And she gestured with a violent stab of her finger towards the man, silent and brooding, that sat across from the petite brunette. Ada outright cackled.

“This,” and here, Ada gestured with a hand, all splayed fingers, towards the man who was rapidly becoming the bane of her existence, “this is my brother, y’ know. How d’ you know him?” Her smile twisted into something wry, even as her shoulders shook with leftover laughter. “I mean, you’re too lovely by half.”

Ringing endorsement, Eleanor thought, numb with shock as she shot a look Tom’s way.

Meanwhile, before she could even part her lips to respond, Tom had twisted his body to face off with her, head for once tilted up to meet her eyes instead of down. It was heady feeling, him looking up to her. But the high fell too fast. “Crawling back to London society?” he asked, lashes thick and dark as he peered up through them, and Eleanor knew the scowl tugging at her mouth was a ferocious one. She tweaked it into a mean smile, instead.

The crumbs were still lingering about her mouth, she just knew it.

She told herself she didn’t care.

“Just visiting,” she told him, saccharine sweet as she crossed her arms over her chest. “Birmingham can’t be rid of me that easily.” Pausing a beat too long, Eleanor cocked her head. All faux casual. A curl sprung against her cheek. “And what about Mr. Thomas Shelby? Here for business or pleasure?” His lips parted to retort.

Ada butted in again, setting down her fork with a clink against her plate, a bit of sausage still speared on the end. Karl snatched it. “Birmingham?” she blurted, voice gone high and aghast. “What on earth could make you stay in a place like Birmingham, eh? You?”

Ouch. “A healthy sense of adventure,” she defended. Ada stared. Tom scoffed.

With the screech of his chair as he pushed it back, Tom stood up. Now with his gaze torn away from her, Eleanor felt something in her chest loosen. It felt like relief. “Well, Ada,” he paused. “Karl. This has been... nice.” Eleanor snorted, staring down at her feet to avoid either’s responding stare. “I’ll leave you both to catch up.”

He pulled back the chair again to offer it up to her. She blinked in his direction, mind swept clean in that moment before it kicked back into motion; she muttered a soft “thank you” and stepped in front and into the chair. The sensation of him tucking the chair back into the table with her in it made her feel... odd. Not this shit again.

“Consider my offer,” he told Ada in a parting goodbye, tossing far too much money on the table between them, and without waiting for a reply, he was gone. Eleanor stared after him. Across from her, Karl now peered at her with narrowed eyes. It became clear that he was after the untouched plate before her, piled high with fluffy eggs and toast and breakfast sausage.

“Did I....” and she trailed off, furrowing her brows as she turned back to Ada. “Did I scare him off?” she asked, gesturing towards the full plate with a nod. She wanted to sound impressed with herself, but she just came off lost, even to herself. Ada shook her head.

“Tommy’ll forget to eat even when it’s right in front of him.” At Eleanor’s puckered expression, she pressed on. “Said he had a meeting, earlier.”

“Ah.” Eleanor went quiet.

Ada looked at her with her head tilted. There was something about her that had softened with Tom gone, as if some burden had been lifted. Eleanor didn’t know how to feel about that. But a curiosity still burned bright in the dark color of her eyes. Eleanor swallowed. “Go on,” she groaned, “just ask.” Grabbing the plate from in front of her and scrapping the contents onto Karl’s own to a loud, boyish cheer, she arched a brow in Ada’s direction. “I know you’re gagging for it. Go on.”

Head tossed back, Ada let out a full belly laugh. Crinkled eyes suited her. Now that she knew their relation, she could see Tommy in bits and pieces of her facial features: the fine bones of their cheekbones, the quirk of their mouths when they laughed. Ada Shelby, she thought. No shit.

Meanwhile, Ada steamrolled ahead, leaning forward in her seat with a renewed enthusiasm. “Birmingham, Eleanor? Christ, you’re mad. No wonder you know Tommy, then.” She shook her head, though not a hair went out of place. “And the way you spoke to him! I can’t believe—Hey! Karl, love, get your fingers outta your mouth! That’s impolite.” With her attention diverted as she tugged her kid’s slobbery fingers from his open mouth, Eleanor got a moment to speak.

“I thought a change of scenery could do me some good, is all. Your brother came into the flower shop I work at.” She didn’t disagree with the scoff Ada let out at hearing that. It had been quite the sight, seeing Thomas Shelby among all the flowers of Flora’s.

Ada was grinning at her now; Karl back to eating his eggs and sausage, clumsily using a fork this time. “I bet your uncle was sad to see you go. Fused at the hip, the two of you always were. He’d sit with you for hours at the library.”

Mid-laugh, Eleanor caught the time on Ada’s watch. “Oh, shit,” she hissed, and then knew her eyes went wide. She shot a wild look in Karl’s direction. “Sorry, Ada,” she said, but Ada merely shook her head with a light laugh and a handwave. “It’s just—I'm seeing my uncle today. That’s why I’m in London.” Eleanor ran a hand through her hair, already standing up and pushing in her seat in hurried, jerky movements. “I was meant to meet him, oh, ten minutes ago?” She cussed, much softer, under her breath again.

“Hey, no worries,” Ada soothed. “But wait.” Pulling a pen from her purse on the table, she scribbled down a number on a napkin. “My phone. Call me so we can really catch up, eh?”

“Yes, absolutely. So good to see you, Ada—” she rambled, breaking herself off with a hasty clap to Ada’s shoulder, and with a grease-stained napkin now in hand, she was near bolting down the street.

In what was almost no time at all, Eleanor found herself panting in front of her uncle’s office building, hands on her knees and appearing for all the world like an utter madwoman. Curls in a disarray and sweat beading down her flushed face. She stood there, gasping for air, before straightening her shoulders and flicking the hair out of her eyes. The grey, lifeless building before her loomed, as it always did—a reminder of the Connolly legacy and her failure to live up to it; their business in steel that she was never meant to touch. The very air around the place tasted stale.

If she saw Will Jr., her half-brother, today—she swore she was going to lose it.

It was her birthday, dammit. The universe owed her one decent day.

Eleanor scrubbed at her mouth with the back of a hand, and with a wave of relief, found no crumbs lingering there. Small miracles. A boost of confidence steeling her spine at that knowledge, she swung open the door of the office building with her head held high.

Only to find Timothy, the daytime secretary, meeting her with a sneer behind his desk.

Fuck’s sake, she thought. “Afternoon, Timmy,” she greeted, just to be spiteful. She watched the plastic mask of politeness overlapping his young face twitch and waver. He’d never liked her. Why don’t you go suck Willy’s dick upstairs, huh?

The inside of the office space was much sleeker and more modern than the outside, with plush velvet seating for the waiting room and little crystal bowls of candies speckled throughout the wide-open entry way, on Tim’s desk and the end tables scattered about. Wine gums this month, she noted, red and yellow and green—it was her uncle that insisted on keeping the office stocked up on candy: he had a famous sweet tooth that made her gums ache at the thought of it by the time she reached adulthood. A lot of her early memories with him were colored by some sweet treat he’d taken interest in.

Besides the candy, it was a sophisticated set up, all dark wood and rich reds and plums, more suited to be a parlor than an office. It made her palms sweat whenever she saw it, like at any moment someone was going to burst through the door and accuse her of stealing some trinket or mucking the place up. That was ridiculous, of course. But still. Old fears never died.

“Ms. Connolly,” Tim replied, though he spit it out like a curse. She bared her teeth at him in a mockery of a smile, wished they were razor sharp. “You uncle’s in a meeting, if you’re here for him.” A sour look briefly took over his expression, wrinkling his snout-like nose, as he spat out the word “meeting”. Eleanor rose her eyebrows in shock at his vehemence. He briefly looked down at the clipboard set before him, flicking the first page up to reveal the one beneath it. There was a moment’s pause where she did everything not to shift on her feet; no way was she going to wait here with this guy. She’d rather bake in the summer heat. “He should be about done, if you’d like to head back.”

There was a hint of a smirk lingering in the watery blue of his eyes. She didn’t know why—but she didn’t like or trust it, anyhow. “Sure,” she said, slow and cautious. “Thank you, Tim.” Eat shit, Tim. And if she heard him mutter “damn kike” as she strolled past, shoes muffled by the carpeted flooring, she just held her head one notch higher.

Her uncle’s office was one of the only ones on the first floor, isolated from Will Jr.’s and all his little friends on the board. While it was true that Sam had been trying to tiptoe away from the business over the years, wanting to pursue his own passions away from London society, he’d agreed to keep his position on the company’s board of trustees after the death of Will Sr.

She couldn’t blame him for sticking around—she didn’t trust Will Jr. very much herself. Bit too malleable for his own good. Not to mention, a mommy’s boy to the core.

The office was smaller than the ones upstairs, she knew, but in a way that seemed cozier and more intimate than stuffy. She’d spent many moments curled up in one of his chairs, sipping tea with too much milk and re-reading Wuthering Heights with all her scribbled-in margins. Adding new notes over top the old ones with her favorite fountain pen.

The hallway leading up to it was all wood-paneling, and Eleanor counted the number of panels under her breath as she made her way towards the door. “Fifteen, sixteen....” she trailed off, steps away from the doorknob, as she heard two voices from within. That bastard—the meeting wasn’t “about done” after all, it seemed. Eleanor shifted on her feet, debating whether to head back out.

Now that she thought about it, both voices seemed awfully familiar. Wait.

No way, no way, no way, no way—

One of those voices—Sam’s—cut off abruptly. Through the wall, she could hear him listening, the strain of his old ears tuning in. There was a soft sound of mirth. “Eleanor, little wall-flower, I can hear you hovering,” her uncle said, a laugh thrumming just beneath his voice. A pout tugged at her bottom lip before she could stop it. “Come in, please.” Fuck. She swung open the door and shut it behind her.

And inside, of course, was Tommy Shelby, back as straight as a soldier’s and his hands folded in his lap, sitting in Eleanor’s chair with his head craned back to peer right at her. His eyes seemed a bit wide.

It was a good look on him.

What the honest fuck? she thought he might be asking, though beyond the slight change in those eyes he seemed entirely unaffected. Like I fucking know, she thought back at him with all her might. His brow furrowed.

She could see the very moment where everything clicked into place, his eyes darting to the side; she wondered if he was recalling Sam’s picture on her mantle, if he had experienced a flash of unexplainable recognition when he first stepped into the office.

“Eleanor Connolly,” Tom spoke first, a tilt to his mouth but an edge to his voice. The paranoia welling up beneath the businessman veneer was clear to her. That vein in his jaw—the one she was becoming fast friends with—was ticking, bulging out against his skin. Too many coincidences, his eyes said. Eleanor didn't disagree. “It’s Irish, alright.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “It’s still Blum. Bastard, remember?” Sam laughed outright.

Speaking of Sam, the man was looking too entertained by half, face lit up the same way Ada’s had been what felt like ages ago now. Smiling like this, the wrinkles at his mouth and eyes tugged his features into an expression that made Eleanor’s heart go soft even as she gave him a death stare. His hazel eyes glittered with a mischief people often dismissed. He looked entirely unrepentant. And delighted to see her.

“I was going to introduce my niece to you, Mr. Shelby, but it seems there’s no need.” Sam leaned back in his leather chair, offering up a feathery brow in Eleanor’s direction. She shrugged, avoiding the other set of blazing eyes settled somewhere on her face. Instead of meeting that stare, she scanned the huge bookcase that towered behind her uncle, searching for new texts among all the gilded titles. None. Her uncle was slacking.

“I met your niece in Birmingham, Mr. Connolly. Not where you’d expect to meet a woman of her caliber.” At that, Eleanor whipped to face Tom with a glower twisting up her lips. He smirked at her.

“Ah, yes, well.” Sam’s cough disguised a snort. “That healthy sense of adventure of hers takes her wherever it will, I’m afraid.” His thin-wire glasses slipping down his nose-bridge, Sam nudged them back into place with a thumb and leaned forward in Tom’s direction. His expression took on a degree of seriousness. “But back to business. You see, I’m running a good bit late for quite the birthday bash—” Eleanor choked but he heard none of it “—so let’s make this quick for the both of us. You wish to set up a contract with Connolly Steel for your distribution of motor cars to America, yes? But couldn’t get into contact with my nephew?”

A certain bitterness overcast Tom’s face, but in a flicker, it vanished. “That’s correct.”

“Hm. Well.” There was a stretch of time, then, when her uncle locked eyes with her, hazel on brown, not even attempting to hide the clear question emblazoned across them from the other person in the room. His head tilted to one side, not a single hair escaping his slicked back style. Every inch the man-in-charge, yet asking for her opinion, nonetheless. What do you think? he questioned her, clear as day. Eleanor swallowed hard. Felt the sour-sweet taste of responsibility settle somewhere behind her back molars.

Out of the corner of her vision, Tommy had eyes only for her.

After a pause that pressed against her skull, behind her eyes, Eleanor finally gave her a small nod. He’s good, she told him—even though she’d been told the very opposite, even though she had nothing but gut feeling telling her otherwise—kept her eyes steady and true on his, and hoped it wasn’t a lie. Hoped she wouldn’t regret it.

A smile lingered on Sam’s lips. She didn’t like what that smile might’ve meant for her—he'd want to chat later, she was sure. Gossip, more like. Her uncle clapped his hands, and the sound of it ricocheted throughout the office, vibrating down her spine. She caught the way Tom tensed, his knuckles going white. “That’s that, then. I’ll speak to my nephew and have it so his secretary wouldn’t dare refuse your call, Mr. Shelby.” With a shake to his head, Sam huffed. “I don’t have much sway in this company in my old age, but that I can do for you.”

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got the Chelsea Physic Garden to visit with my niece, if you don’t mind. We’re running late for our appointment.” Standing up and forcing Tom to stand up in suit, he offered out his hand to shake.

Connollys, it seemed, had no fear of shaking hands with devils.

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boogiewrites · 6 years ago

Text

Choking On Sapphires 49

Title & Song: Hounds of Love

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Word Count: 8400+

Summary: Gen spends the holidays with the entire Shelby family at her place. All the kids bring up a lot of feelings, and Alfie isn’t helping her hormones stay stable. She has to face a lot of hard truths about what she wants out of her future.

Warnings/Tags: Language. Angst. FLUFF. Babies. Alfie with babies. You’ve been warned of potential ovulation.

**Chapter song is Hounds of Love by Kate Bush.*

Positive feedback is MUCH appreciated! Reblogs, likes, asks and comments feed me to write more! Let me know if you’d like tagged in my work.

My Masterlist. (Includes Parts 1-48)

Weeks pass and you nurse Alfie back to health. By the time he's set to leave to go spend the holiday with his family, he's up and about and working on getting the strength in his arm back.

The words you'd finally spoken had put an ease over the two of you. Without the expectation of sex, you'd found other ways to spend your time together. You'd drawn him as he rested and even as he was awake, placing a crown of laurels on his head to practice for a painting. Even though he hated it, he let you. You read together, finally getting around to the Oscar Wilde book. He'd even worked on some writing of his own which you praised him for. Both of you using art both together and separately seemed to help you both cope. You'd been cooking together, or rather he would instruct you and you would follow, doing all the work yourself as he couldn't because of his arm. He teaches you how to make proper challah and matzo, which in turn you made matzo ball soup with. You'd been taking walks in the garden together, even showing him some basics in painting as you tried to capture the beautiful gloom of the winter landscape of your estate. He thought he was shit at it as he put it, but you, of course, thought he was doing wonderfully.

If anything the time together brought you closer, you weren't sure if that was a good thing, but you were certainly happy there was no looming gloom above the both of you. You trusted that when the time was right, he'd tell you what was wrong, and you held onto it so tightly to get you through the moments when your heart would thump for his touch.

--- He was gone for what felt like weeks, but in reality, it wasn't. You did keep yourself more than busy in the time being, celebrating Hanukkah with those you shared your home with. You put out the breathtaking Menorah, you read the passages you sang the songs and lit the candles every night. You baked and cooked and fried every sort of thing you'd always wanted to eat but weren't allowed, you gave gifts and even played the piano some nights, trying to give something of yourself to those who helped you every day. --- Alfie returns, seeming to be feeling better, the color back in his face even if his eyes did read as tired.

You're in front of the fire in the big family room in the guest wing. You'd readied the house for the appearance of all the Shelby's, rooms dressed, presents wrapped and home decorated for Christmas. You didn't feel wrong celebrating Christmas with them, even if it wasn't something you had to do anymore, it still felt right to be with them and if you weren't celebrating Jesus with them, you were celebrating a chosen family. Realizing Alfie wouldn't be around for Hannukkah, you had called Tommy to see if they all wanted to come to stay at yours for Christmas. You told him about what happened with your father and he understood, he didn't want you alone on Christmas either. Your home was plenty big enough for them all, a grand nursery and many maids and cooks to accommodate everyone so he gives you the go-ahead to start planning for the flood of Shelby's.

The night before they are scheduled to arrive, you're sitting and staring at the presents under the tree. You'd gotten carried away but you needed someone to buy presents for and you'd spent a great deal of time picking things out for every adult and child. You're in the floor, cheek resting on your knee with your back against the couch as you sit and try to think about any good Christmas memories you might've had. They mostly involved you playing with the other children, and even as an adult that was a part you were looking forward to most. You loved the late night drinking and laughing, the overeating and the gift giving.

But there was something so wholesome and pure about a child around Christmas time, and knowing Elizabeth would've been celebrating her first as a mother made your mind overthink about whether you'd be like her and never have such a thing yourself. For now, you'd just have to be content with the many baby Shelby's that would be calling out for your attention. A Shelby child at every age to let you live out a mothering fantasy for yourself. You'd thought that maybe one day you'd have a child. It wasn't something that was ever at the forefront of your mind, but you'd gone this long and not gotten pregnant you were wondering if that was the result of good planning or luck. Whether that luck was good or bad you weren't so sure.

"Genevieve?" you hear Alfie's voice call from the doorway of the large room, taking you from your thoughts about happy children with his appearance as you hide a frown from him. To say he hadn't been involved in some of your thoughts about children would be a lie. Even if you didn't like to admit to yourself that you were being silly enough to imagine such a thing. You hated yourself for feeling so pregnant with emotion this time of year to even indulge in such thoughts.

"I'm in front of the fire, dear." you call out, waving a hand in the air so he can see you. He appears as he rounds the couch, a stack of presents in his hands. "You adding some to the tree as well?" you ask with a half smile and a tilt of your head.

"Nah, luv." he gruffs out as he sits in the floor next to you. "These are for you." he says pushing them between your close bodies. "Dinnit get to give ya any over our holiday did I? Since I'm not really a part of this holiday celebration ya got goin' on I wanted to give 'em to ya tonight before the fleet of gypsies comes in." he grins.

"That's actually not a bad idea." you say slowly, head turning towards the tree. You crawl over to the large decorated and shining tree. He laughs at the sight.

"What ya doin'?" he thumbs his nose as your bum sticks up in the air as you reach into the stacks of presents.

"Getting your present, silly." you say obviously.

"Ah...ya did get me somethin'."

"Of course I did," you say in the same tone, tucking it into the pocket of your wooly jumper before crawling back and facing him with crossed legs. "You've gotten me so many grand things, what kind of person would I be to not give you something in return, hmm?" you say with a smile, retrieving the box from your pocket and handing it to him.

"You first." he says, laying the box on the couch cushion behind you.

"I do have more." you grin an almost childlike smile.

"As it should be." he says with a shake of his head, handing you the biggest box first.

"Thank you, Alfie." you say softly, eyes connecting for a breath or two before you tear away at the paper. You pop the lid off of the box, and inside is a roll of new paint brushes rested on top of a new mixing palette with tubes of paint piled to fill the rest of the space in the box.

"You couldn't have chosen better, darling." you say cheerfully. "RIght brand and everything, clever man." you lean over and kiss his cheek and it even brings a slight flush to his face in the painful absence of your touch. "Thank you. They'll be put to use as soon as the Shelby's are gone. I guarantee it."

He relishes in the happy look on your face, knowing he could still cause such a thing. "I knew you'd been drawin' me too much so I thought you could use 'em since you keep saying you're working on something big." he shrugs.

"You don't have to make excuses, it's perfect, truly, thank you." Your sweet smile makes him sigh. "You want to open yours or should I go for another?" the smile that reaches your eyes stays put and he hands you another wrapped package.

"Another. Even us out." he says in an almost sleepy way as he felt relaxed at the sight of you happy with him in the light of the fire.

You unwrap it with eager fingers and as always he loves to see the expression come over your face. There's no box this time, but a leather-bound book and your mouth falls open, a small gasp as you reach out and grab his forearm, wide eyes meeting his amused ones.

"Alfie! Where on earth..." you whisper out, eyes returning to the book.

"France of course." he grins, entirely happy with himself as he should be.

"It's the first edition." you coos, fingertips running over the gold embossing 'A rebours by Joris-Karl Huysmans'. You turn the cover to reveal a signature by the author. "ALFIE!" you squeak, slapping his arm and he lets out a belly laugh. "I've not been able to find this."

"Ya like it?" he coos at you.

"I fucking LOVE it! My word this is...I don't even know what to say it's absolutely perfect." you clutch it your chest. "You...ugh!" you let out a frustratedly happy noise as you lean over to wrap your arms around his neck. "It's brilliant. YOU'RE brilliant!" you almost squeal in your excitement. You'd never met a man more thoughtful and observant. A man who would remember the most worn book on your shelf and seek out a rare copy just for you. In your happiness, you feel that familiar pang in your gut that you couldn't thank him in the way your mind and body were telling you to. You wanted to kiss him and not stop until the sun came up.

"Ya still got one more, luv." he laughs, returning the hug with one arm, the other hand lightly on your back.

"I don't know if I can't handle another," you say keeping the book in your lap. "But I have one left and so do you so you open yours." you say with enthusiasm.

"If you insist," he says with a charming smile, large fingers picking away at the paper around the small box. He didn't know what he expected, but not this. Inside sits a very large gold, diamond, and black ring. A thick and unmistakably masculine band of gold, a solid square of black atop it, a diamond in each corner of the square and a large S so delicately laid in thing gold outlining tiny diamonds that compose the inside of the letter. "Fuckin' 'hell Gen." he says softly. "It's...it's gorgeous, luv." his eyes swing up to find you chewing your thumb nail nervously.

"You like it? I had it made special for you." you say with a still unsure face.

"How could I not have you seen this fuckin' thing?" he grins, leaning in closer to you to emphasize his seriousness.

"I hoped you wouldn't find it too much. I know I have a flair for the dramatic in my tastes." you smile sheepishly.

"You?" he scoffs, holding up his hand that had multi rings, all large and borderline obnoxious and it makes you laugh.

"It's not just a ring though," you say, moving to your knees and scooting closer to him. "Put it on, please." you request of him so politely. You take his hand in both of yours. "You see...I had it weaponized for you."

"Weaponized?" he says with interest piqued in his voice.

"The diamonds, all of them are shaped and polished into points, they're very sharp. The little gold wires are also very thin and capable of cutting," you explain as you point out things on the ring but he keeps looking at your captivating face so close to his. "I'd been considering how to get weapons into places when we're so often told we can't bring them. So I thought that jewelry might be the answer. The corners are capable of cutting through rope with enough time and pressure and a solid hit from your strong arms to someone's face with this would easily draw blood and slice them open." you look up to see if he's following, as he'd fallen quiet but you find him already looking at you. "I thought it would ease my mind a bit...knowing that even if you get tied up or find yourself without anything else...you'd have this to get yourself out." your voice falls softer as you both look at each other.

"Genevieve you clever, clever, woman. No one else could've thought of something like this...let alone design it and bring it into existence. I should like to steal your words and say it's brilliant and so are you, luv."

Your lashes flutter at the praise and you lower your head from his gaze as you feel the heat creep into your face.

"And you have one last gift, my dear." he says motioning to the box that left sitting on the floor.

You take it without words as they've got caught in your throat as you decide to nod and smile instead. You pick open the rectangular box, a black velvet case sits in your hands as you take off the lid to reveal a necklace.

This was the look he'd been longing to see. Your eyes in awe and wide, your perfect lips in an O shape as your lashes flutter for a moment.

"Alfie," you whisper, eyes not leaving the pendant. He sees tears appear in your eyes that he does not expect, but as he considers the cause, it starts to make sense to him. Your reaction also gives way for his selfish heart to imagine what you might look like to receive such a thing as a sivlon (Jewish gift of engagement) instead of a mere gift. Inside he curses himself for having the thought at all. Why must he insist on torturing himself so?

You take the thin gold chain from its weak restraints in the display, a gold circle with a border of tiny sapphires around it, in the middle sits a large sapphire hexagon that sits inside a silver Star of David. It hangs from the chain by a teardrop shaped gemstone, inside the points lay tiny little aquamarine stones. You gulp noisily, wanting to cry but you take in a ragged breath and try to compose yourself. You'd never had anything like this. No heirlooms to wear to signify your heritage, it hadn't even occurred to you yet to do such a thing.

"Here, luv." he says softly, taking it from your hands and opening the clasp. You gulp and nod hurridly, gathering and lifting your hair and turning your back towards him, as he rests the cold amulet on your chest and the touch of his fingertips alone along your spine send waves of heat throughout your body. The feel of his breath on the back of your neck makes you sigh and close your eyes. There had been no man to light you afire in such a way before. You were afraid of what it meant and afraid of losing it and him as it felt to find someone else that could make you feel this way would take another lifetime.

You turn back towards him, pushing back tears and hoping it just read as appreciation. "I hardly have words for it Alfie." you manage to whisper out, looking down at the pendant in your fingers. "It's... breathtaking." you manage to say. "I never even thought of wearing such a thing." you shake your head subtly, raising your eyes back to his. "But you were so very right in choosing it." you give him a small smile.

"Wanted you to have one worthy of you to wear." a subtle shrug of his shoulders. "You deserve more than simple lines of silver or gold. Although there is something beautiful in the simplicity. But nothing about you could ever be simple." his voice is soft and quiet, his brow furrowed slightly in thought as he takes in how it looks so perfect against your skin. Like it was meant to be there, and he was the one meant to put it there. "You've come so far to even know it about yourself, I thought it proper you had a way to let others know without a single word uttered." his mouth hangs open slightly, his hooded eyes pensive.

"And in my favorite stone." you give him a smile that warms him down to his very soul. If he still had one at this point.

"'Course, luv." another charming smile and he wasn't even trying to be.

"I feel thank you isn't enough." you let out a huff of a laugh, uncertain about how to express how you felt. "It means the world to me that you got me this." You move again, and slower than the last time as your wrap your arms around his neck. "I really mean that. Thank you. From the bottom of my heart thank you." you hide the tears as your face is buried in his shoulder, his arms slowly encasing you back.

He can hear the pain in your words, feel the tension in your muscles as you keep a tight hold on him. "You went through hell to know it about yourself, to not hide it. You deserve a reflection of yourself as beautiful as you are." His thoughtfulness makes the tears break free from your eyes. He hears the sniffle before he feels the hot tears fall to his neck. "Oh Genevive, darling." he says in a warm and comforting way. Sweet words so quiet and said into your hair as his arms move protectively around you. A hand moves to the back of your head, the other held fast against you.

"You're right." you whimper, planting a kiss to his cheek before pulling away. "It's the best gift I've ever received." your fingers hold the pendant as you swallow loudly.

He uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe away your tears and you let out a little huff of a laugh at the gesture.

"Thank you. For being so thoughtful." you say again.

"No, thank you." your eyes ask him for what. "For reminding me that I am still capable of such a thing." his words feel strained and genuine and it hurts you both to hear them. ----- The Shelby's all file in, from Tommy to the newest of John's babies. Poor Esme looks tired but is wide-eyed at your house as you hold the new baby, taking in the new baby smell before handing it back to her. You greet everyone with hugs and kisses and holiday greetings. You show everyone to their rooms, taking Charlie and placing him on your hip as you settle everyone else in, maids scurrying about and tending to all whims.

You announce when dinner will be, and let the quiet fall across the halls as everyone rests and freshens up. You sit with Charlie in the nursery, talking to him about what he wanted for Christmas until he falls asleep on you, straddling your lap, arms limp at his sides and face planted into your chest. He snoozes away and you stroke his hair, a kiss to his baby soft hair from time to time, humming to him. You end up laying your head back just a bit too long, the boys peaceful snoozes causing you to take an impromptu nap as well.

A deep chuckle wakes you up. You flutter your eyes open, hands moving instinctually to around the boy in your lap.

"Motherhood would suit you Genny." you hear Arthur's voice as you focus in the darkening light of the room. You let out a yawn and Charlie grumbles against your chest.

"I've found myself wondering about it myself." you say after a yawn.

"That so?" he nods with a thoughtful face, like he hadn't expected the answer.

"With the passing of Elizabeth and all this with my family I'm afraid it's forced me to think about it." you say softly, not wanting to wake Charlie.

"I am sorry you're having to go through that Genny..." he says with a frown, a strong hand on your shoulder.

"Thank you sweetheart." you say patting the comforting touch.

"If you're wantin' little ones yaself ya might want to get on that ya know." he lowers his chin at you.

"Don't ruin the sweetness, Arthur." you give him a grin and push his hand off your shoulder.

"I"m just sayin' ya ain't as young as ya used to be, mum had most of us by your age."

"I'm painfully aware of how old I am Arthur." you shake your head and smile with a sigh, Arthur wasn't ever very good with words. You knew he meant well.

"I'd just like to see ya with some babes of ya own is all. You'd make a brilliant mum. Ya fierce, yer kind, no one would dare mess with 'em." he laughs, causing Charlie to stir.

You hold him close and stand, adjusting him as he whines against your chest. "Well if the opportunity arises I suppose I'll have to start considering it now, won't I?" you tilt your head at him and he shrugs.

"I ain't been his biggest fan but...watchin' him with the kids out there this evenin' I'm not entirely against Solomons as a suitor for such a thing. I know ya ain't exactly...traditional in yer ways Genny. I 'spose if you like 'im I gotta get used to the idea of 'im not being such a fucker as I've known him to be before." he shrugs, trying to be supportive and helpful with the suggestion but having someone else say it out loud, to know he's out there playing with children makes your chest hurt just a bit.

"Linda let you talk like that around Billy?" you smirk, avoiding the subject.

"Aw, fuck. Aw, hell. Aw...damn." he curses, trying to find a substituted word for his cursing as you snort and cover Charlie's ear as his other is against your body as you laugh and he follows you out of the room. ----- The next day is Christmas Eve, the children have been shaking the boxes under the tree, the older ones telling the younger ones which were and weren't theirs as the younger ones can't read and just want to guess what's in the ones meant for them.

You've been very busy and distracted between children running around the house and trying to do some of the cooking yourself. You wore your hair half up, you wore no makeup and a simple dress, the Shelby brothers looked at you differently, not really seeing you dressed down in such a way before. The women seemed to count you amongst their own, even Linda as she kept complimenting your modest dress, cooking and your clear affection for the children.

You've been in the kitchen, and you follow one of John's girls, two fists full of ribbon running into Alfie's study.

"I got more!" she shouts, feet carrying her as fast as they can as she rushes into the room.

"He's so much hairier than daddy!" you hear the younger of the two girls say and you narrow your eyes in thought as to what they were doing.

"I got a lot 'a bows!"

"He's wike a bear!" the young one giggles as you peek around the corner.

You see Alfie, lying on the couch lengthwise, feet crossed with a book in his hands, looking surprisingly unbothered for what the girls were doing to him.

"Gimmie da bwush!" the little one demands, taking it roughly to his beard, the oldest tugging his hair and putting bows in unorganized tufts.

"Eh, take it easy there little one." he laughs as he's smacked in the face with one of your hair brushes.

"Sowwy." she mumbles, holding his cheek in her little hand, tongue stuck out in concentration as she brushes his face in a much more gentle way.

"You're not doing it right." the older on says. "Switch." she demands, snagging the brush and putting it directly on his beard as the other fumbles with trying to tie another bow in his hair but her little sausage fingers just can't manage it. "Like 'is!" the one announces while she separates and ties a bow in his beard.

You can't contain the smile on your face, and your laugh is only held in as you have your hand tightly over your mouth. You'd never seen Alfie around children and the way he was letting them manhandle him was beyond hilarious. He's wearing an indifferent face, eyebrow arched as he tries to continue reading as the girls smack away at him, asking him questions as he grunts and nods and speaks to them very lovingly.

Aggie calls for afternoon tea from the main hall. The girl's heads turn towards the door, seeing you standing there.

"CAKE!" they both yell and starting tugging on Alfie's shirt.

"Yes, yes...Cake girls. There will be cake." he says with a laugh as he looks up to see you watching you watching him and he raises to a sitting position.

"You've never looked more handsome." you say with a huge smile and a hand to your chest. It would seem in jest, but it's the honest truth. Something about a good looking man letting a little girl dress him up and being so sweet to them warmed you down to your bones.

"Yay!" the older one says, fluffing his beard.

"Ya comin' girls?" you hear John come up behind you before he bends over in a laugh.

"We made da bear pwetty daddy!" the little one says hugging Alfie's neck.

"Ya look great, Solomons, I gotta say." he snorts and elbows you. You give an encouraging nod.

"Feelin' beautiful Johnny boy," he says with an equally amused face and tone. "C'mon then treacle," he says as the girl hangs from his neck, scooping her up and she continues to pet his hair. He did have much more hair than John, so it was understandable they'd want to mess around with it. "I got this little monkey." he says, giving the go-ahead to John to take the older one's hand and walk to the dining room.

Seeing the way your face was lit up, your beaming smile at him made his chest feel heavy and warm. "Never expected to see this." you shake your head and walk beside him down the hall.

"I got little nieces, yeah?" he says as an excuse. "And I just got back from having them assault me over the holidays so I'm just lettin' the little buggers have their fun." he smiles at the girl who isn't paying attention and tugging on a bow on the top of his head. He sets her down in the doorway, turning to you before he enters the room. "Little help, luv?" he asks with a charming smile.

You happily oblige him and start to untie the knotted ribbons. "Do you..." you almost hesitate to ask. "Like children?" you try to remain indifferent in expression and tone but you think your voice stuttering gives you away as you notice him look towards your face.

"I don't mind 'em. Pain's in the arse but...they're honesty is endearing." he shrugs.

"I find them to be beyond charming."

"So you..." he pauses in the same way you did. Both not asking what you meant. "Like children?"

"I love children." you say wistfully and sigh, moving to the bows in his beard.

He nods in response. You feel his eyes looking over your face and part of you hopes he's thinking the same thing you are and the other half wants to run away screaming at the insinuation.

Tommy leaves the doorway, parting the two of you "Gotta go get Charlie from a nap." he grunts.

"Don't be silly, I'll get him. He's so precious when he's sleepy." you say with honesty that Alfie notices. You were such a fierce and career driven woman he'd never stopped to consider that you might want children for yourself, or a family more like the Shelby's. Preferably with less betrayal and chaos but he stops and considers it for a moment as he sees the kind look in your eyes when speaking of your godson.

He misses the days of sleeping with you with no thought to the future. It'd been so simple. Now with more secrets known to him, more sides of you that you were exploring and showing willingly, the thoughts of a future with you had hit him hard, fast and frequently. Especially watching you with the children the past few days and coming back from time with his own family. He pushes it down and swallows it as he turns to enter the room of babbling Shelby's

"He's so good with the children isn't he?" Aggie whispers as she walks arm in arm with you to the nursery.

"He is. Surprisingly so." you nod and she sees a sadness in your eyes she doesn't understand.

"I've seen you watching him with them." she nudges you with her elbow and you give her a weak smile. "Lucky for you that there are so many clocks around." she says as you give her a puzzled look.

"Are you okay?" you huff out a laugh. "What on earth are you talking about?"

"Because they cover the sound of your biological clock ticking so loudly." she smirks.

"Oh fuck off Ag's." you say with a louder laugh. ----- He can't escape the thoughts of you he's been running from over the next day, he hears our laugh, see's you running after children during the day and drunk adults at night and he's enchanted.

He sits in his study, as to not seem like he's a part of what's going on in the house, but the seat he takes gives him a clear shot down the hallway to the nursery and you come and go all the time.

"Papa said we're going to the zoo in the spring!" he hears a little boy's voice echo down the hallway.

"My goodness! I love the zoo! Have you ever been?"

"NO!" he shouts as if he's offended by the fact.

"What's your favorite animal you'll be going to see?"

He sees you walk into frame, holding the boy's hand as he jauntily walks, a smaller child on your hip, drooling and fast asleep.

The boy roars loudly, letting go of your hand and putting up his fingers like claws. You dramatically jump back, hand to your chest and declare that there's a lion in the house and you call for help before laughing and clutching the baby to your chest and running into the nursery, the little boy growling and chasing after you. You would make a spectacular mum. ---- He's sat back with a glass of wine in the corner of the family room, the women except for you have gone to bed and the men up drinking and gabbing.

Esme appears in the doorway with the newest baby crying. "John, for fuck's sake, help me out with this one," she says in a drawn-out way. "I've fed her, changed her everything she just won't hush and I'm so bloody tired." she yawns.

"Mind if I have a go?" you ask, your dress makes you look as if you floated towards her.

""ave at it." John says with a shrug.

"Maybe she can tell mumma's at the end of her rope." you say with a smile, taking the baby from Esme. "You go get some rest, I'll deal with her." you pay her back and she drags herself out of sight. "Say goodnight to daddy." you coo and wave the babies hand to John. "And to uncle Tommy and uncle Arthur." you say with a laugh and a smile as the baby's red and angry face makes indistinguishable noises as it looks slightly confused at the new happy tone that's being used around it. "And to grumpy 'ol Alf." You laugh. "Who you resemble right now I must say." you snort and smile at him, waving the tiny hand still. He rolls his eyes, a wave, and a nod as he watches you leave, bouncing and cooing the unhappy child.

When he looks back to the rest of the men, they're all looking at him.

"Fuckin' what?" he says with an exaggerated expression of confusion.

"Fuckin' Genny that's what." Arthur says with an amused grunt.

"What about her?" he says defensively.

"Ya gonna tell me that watchin' her bein' all motherly with these babes these last days ain't stirrin' somethin' in ya?" he says with raised brows.

Tommy laughs into his glass and Alfie narrows his eyes.

"If you won't admit it I sure as fuck will." John laughs. "Certainly got the tits already dunnit she?" he snorts.

"I'm just drunk enough to agree." Arthur says with a loud laugh. They both look to Tommy.

"I'm not a part of this conversation." he says with raised brows and closed eyes, shaking his head and lighting a cigarette.

"You and me...we've had our bad blood but if Genny likes ya..." Arthur shrugs and takes another drink. "I 'spose I'll have to get used to ya, eh?"

"I think you all have a gross misunderstanding of Gen and I's relationship." Alfie with a frown that isn't angry.

"Do we?" John smirks. "I don't know no man, yeah? That could watch that pretty little thing chasin' after these babes and not want to put one in 'er." he holds his hands up in the air in enthusiasm.

"You'd send half of fuckin' London up the duff if you could John." Tommy says snarkily.

John and shrugs and takes another drink, sitting back in his seat. "They're wild when they're pregnant." he grins.

"Maybe it's 'cause I've 'ad one now, but I can certainly see she should be a mum. Make a proper woman out of her. I know she wants some babes of her own...and your the only man she's been with so I'm just sayin'...happy accidents." he gruffs out.

Hearing that you'd confided in Arthur that you indeed wanted children was the cause of his deep intake of breath but he'd play it off like it was an annoyance. "I ain't the kinda man who likes accidents." he says with pursed lips.

"So there's in a plan in place, eh?" Tommy smirks and his shoulders shake just once with laughter.

He's never been more relieved to see a pair of children as one of John's middle children come in holding Charlie's hand.

"He woke up and said he wanted auntie Genny but I can't find her." the older boy says with a yawn as he rubs his eyes.

"Fuckin' 'ell." Alfie grumbles quietly. "I'll take ya. I'm going to bed anyway." he volunteers.

"Thanks, mate." John says with a nod.

"Already a proper papa he is!" Arthur says waving his glass in his direction.

"C'mon lets go find auntie Genny." he says taking the boys hands in his. ---- You've gotten the baby to quiet by letting it suckle on your finger, you're still singing away softly, the older children in the other room fast asleep. You're looking at the tiny little potato of a babe in your arms, swaddled up and chubby-cheeked. You hold it's head under your nose and feel the softness of its skin and hair, taking in that new baby smell while you had the chance. Why did your hormones have to be so aggressive, you thought with a frown. You go back to humming and bouncing the baby, looking out the window into the tree line, trying to not think about your future.

"Quiet now, little ones are sleepin'." you hear Alfie's hushed voice as you see him carrying Charlie in his arms and guiding the older child back into the room by its hand. "Your little boy here woke up and started askin' for his Genny." he says with a half smile.

"What is it my love?" you say, moving the baby to one arm and reaching out and stroking the boys hair as Alfie held him. Alfie's eyes held steady on you and your movements.

"Bad dream." he mumbles, rubbing his face.

"Daddy not very good at helping with the bad dreams?" you say with a smile, knowing Tommy's strong suit wasn't telling someone, even Charlie that everything was perfectly fine and it always would be. Which is what he wanted to hear. He murmurs and shakes his head and it makes Alfie smile. "You need me to put you back to bed darling?"

"Pwease." he quietly asks. He could swear the words almost put tears in your eyes.

"Alright my little prince, come to your Genny now." you say as he brings his hands around your neck and you manage to hold him with one arm.

"Ya got him?"

"Don't have much of a choice." you smirk. "I'll be right back." you say with a wink.

Alfie's left with the other child, he looks down at the sleepy boy. "Time for you to go back to bed then." he says with a nod.

"Can I sleep in here?" he asks pointing to a small bed. "My sisters in here, I sleep next to her at home."

"Ah, gotta look out for little sis eh?" he says as he walks him over the bed and grabs a blanket and a stuffed animal on his way back. "You like sleepin' with 'ese?" he asks, wiggling a stuffed bear at him.

He nods and grunts, taking it to his chest. Alfie tucks him in and starts to rise.

"Could you read to me?" he asks with big blinking eyes.

"Ah, 'hell." he whispers, finding himself bending willingly to the polite boy's wishes. "Alright lad." he says moving to the shelf. He sits on the edge of the tiny bed and starts to read him a story about a dog.

You've put Charlie back down, a plush horse he'd gotten for Christmas bribing him to be a big boy and go back to sleep. You walk in with a fussy baby, and see Alfie reading to the boy and your heart flutters.

He gives you a nod as he continues reading and you move to beside the crib and bounce and hum quietly. His voice is so soft and gentle, kind and caring, all the things you'd want a father to sound like while reading his child to sleep. You get caught up in your emotions. You shut your eyes and hold the baby close, letting it hear your heartbeat. You turn your back to him, after watching him animatedly but quietly tell the story was just a bit too much for your weak heart to handle. Maybe you'd had too much wine, maybe you were more tired than you thought, but instead of warm feelings, the hurt started to ache in your stomach. Elizabeth would've been doing much the same you were right now if she'd lived. Perhaps even you could've been doing this with your own children if you'd done things a bit differently, but you push that thought aside as you know it's useless.

You're left with your thoughts of the now, and the huge questions that loomed in your future. Why were you getting so damned upset? Did you really even want to marry Alfie? It seemed like such a ridiculous notion to you. You...married. You almost scoff aloud at it. And to have children? With him? Even more asinine.

But a little voice comes forward in your head. Why is that so crazy to want? What made you think you didn't deserve to expect those things out of life? You're hit with anger as you realize your father keeps haunting your thoughts even when you don't realize it. Just because you'd left and refused all your suitors, citing you'd never give him want he wanted from you, a married and obedient daughter and grandchildren to carry on his line. But it wasn't about him now, was it? It was your life, your decisions and you clearly had some big ones to make for yourself. You weren't old by any stretch, but you weren't getting any younger either. You knew you should be primed for marriage and children, having built a business for yourself, taken care of yourself and your money. But was the next chapter really this close? And was it really marriage and children? There was so much left that you wanted to do, and could you do those things if you had children? You'd thought romance dead until Alfie snuck his way into your heart and mind. You would've proudly proclaimed it from the rooftops that it was decaying and buried in a moor somewhere to never be heard from again. But it seemed Solomons had done the unthinkable and raised the dead for you. You don't know why you felt so foolish for wanting romance in your life. Perhaps it was because you'd thought it a childish notion, a girlish fantasy that could never live up to reality so you'd shunned it entirely after finding that everyone always let you down in that department.

He's finished the story, the boy now asleep as his eyes turn to you. You're swaying back and forth, humming with eyes shut, giving little pecks of kisses to the baby that rests on your chest. It's little hands grasp at your breasts and smack as it fuss's and you remain perfectly poised and patient. You do look a bit tired, your shoulders low, more than a few strands of hair had fallen, but he doesn't know if you've ever looked more lovely. It could be the way the moonlight hits you, the troubled but stoic expression looking like a statue of Madonna and child. He knew the Shelby brothers were right. If you wanted to be a mum, you more than deserved it. You looked born for the role as he watched you with a baby small enough to let him have the outlandish thought that it could've been yours.

You're so caught up in your own thoughts you don't notice that Alfie's stopped reading, the boy fast asleep and is now shushing another young one in the crib next to you. You wipe a tear that had gotten loose and realize the baby in your arms in asleep. You watch him coo and whisper, lips pouted as he speaks softly and rubs the baby's cheek with a thumb that looks so gigantic next to the wee babe's head. He hums quietly as it smacks its lips and gurgles, he lets out a soft amused laugh, smiling down at it. The way the moon came through the windows, the blue light reflecting off the snow outside, the warm feelings from being surrounded by your what felt like, extended family, everything hits you so hard and so fast. You can't stop the tightness in your jaw or the tears in your eyes. You realize you do want to look at someone doing exactly what he is but have it be all yours. The man doing it, the baby sleeping. Perhaps you can even imagine the glint of a wedding band on your finger as you wipe away a tear. You never thought admitting that you truly wanted such a thing for yourself would hurt so damn much.

His smile fades quickly as he turns his head when he hears you let out a sniffle. "Genevieve, darling, what's wrong?" he whispers, eyes wide and honest, finding yours the opposite. His warm hand brushes a strand of hair out of your face, those rough padded fingertips wiping away the tears that come.

"Can-." you gulp noisily and grit your teeth. "Can you take her?" you choke out, not meeting his eyes. You move closer to him, holding the baby by the head and bum. When he does nothing but look at you as if you were speaking a language he didn't understand you finally look into your eyes and all he can register is pain and question. "Please?" you say with a furrowed brow.

He nods silently, eyes darting over your face for answers as you move your sleeve to wipe away more tears and move quickly out of the room, your body language reading like that of a scolded dogs, leaving with low shoulders and your tail tucked between your legs.

He watches you leave, holding the baby close, mouth open and the heat of confusion in his face, the sting of uncomfortable tears comes after he lays the baby down, standing in the middle of the room, eyes moving to nothing in particular as he wrings his hands. This was his fault, wasn't it? He fights the tears, he feels his eyes burn and turn red. He grits his jaw and squeezes his eyes shut tightly. He clears his throat and takes a deep breath and tries to not feel all the guilt that's washing over him in heavy, suffocating waves. ---- It's the night before the Shelby's are going to leave. You're tired and doing one last round of the halls before going to your room. You're crossing the entryway, passing through the beams of moonlight that are coming through the window in the top of the domed ceiling under the stairs, strips coming from the tall windows around the front door.

You hear the family sound of Alfie clearing his throat as you stop in a shadow and don't turn right away. You hadn't talked about you crying and leaving, of course, and it was all building up and hurting you inside.

"Geneveive." he says your name as the sound beckons you to turn slowly to face him.

You say nothing but blink rapidly before meeting his eyes. He walks into a beam of moonlight, his face cast partially in shadow as it tilts to reveal an expression that's warm and not confrontational and the tension in your body lessens.

"There's one tradition I've always liked about Christmas, ya know." he says with narrowed eyes that read as playful now. You walk towards him slowly, passing in and out of the light.

"What would that be?" you ask standing away from him still. He points up, and your eyes move to obey the directional instruction and you see mistletoe hanging from the chandelier. You let out an involuntary soft laugh that he's never been gladder to hear. You both knew this was just a thinly veiled excuse to do what both of you wanted, but for some reason unknown to you, couldn't.

His eyes are softer when yours return to his. He extends his hand out to you and you stare at it for a few seconds before moving towards him against your better judgment. He feels so warm as soon as your skin touches his. He puts your hand, fingers laced with his against his chest to pull you as close to him as he can. You almost felt ashamed with the thoughtless compulsion that drew you towards him. You'd had too many deep thoughts the past few days, too many emotions and hormones mixing in a dangerous cocktail that made you willing to turn into something desperate and pliable under his strong hands.

Neither of you speak, only each others breathing being spoken. His other hand moving to the side of your face and he's as gentle with you as he had been with the baby in the nursery. You look at each other for a few heavy moments, eyes blinking and moving across the others face as if you might've forgotten what they look like as they mist over and glance at lips and pained expressions.

Without a word, he kisses you. And you welcome it. He leads you gently to him, a kiss of the same nature. He feels your body melt at his touch, your chest pushing against his. You don't pull away or stop him, your lips giving way to what his wanted as they keep moving slowly against yours. You feel his chest rise, putting the hand he held up around his neck as he lets his arm wrap around your lower back and pulls him tightly towards you with both arms. He let's go of your face and a splayed hand rests between your shoulder blades. The kiss goes on longer than either of you intended, but wasn't that always the case when you would give in and let yourself show what you truly wanted with things besides words?

It's not rushed, it doesn't hurt either of you as you expected it to, it just felt so satisfying. He could feel your pulse and knew your skin must've felt as sensitive and set aflame as his own. It was hard to want to stop, but he knew it couldn't go on forever, so instead, he rests his hand on the back of your head and dips you, your foot popping out as you smile and laugh into his mouth. He kisses your cheek as he lifts you back up, one hand rested on your hip.

You stand with your hands on his chest a moment, feeling his heartbeat, the rise, and fall of his chest, the hum of his breathing you longed to fall asleep to. You look up to him and find he's already studying you. He's so thankful to find your face now happier than when he found it. He hated having this power over you now, something he'd longed for for so long. You shouldn't let a man like him influence your emotions, you were better than that.

"I find myself rather fond of the tradition as well." you give him a sweet smile that warms him to his bones. You open your mouth and close it, not knowing what to say. There was no reason to be demanding, or ask for more. "Goodnight 'Fie." you whisper. It was the first he'd heard the pet name in weeks. Thankful you'd broken the silence with the heavenly sound as you pull away from him.

"It is, my luv, it is." he says with a small shake of his head, fingers laced and not letting go as you pulled and turned, staying clasped together as long as they could until they broke apart and you turn to walk to your room.

Pt. 50 Make Up Your Mind

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