#sweet baby jewish bad boy alfie solomons will show up eventually

[survivingthejungle]

little lies v

FINE I FINALLY DID IT.

also god he’s so pretty. i think id let him do anything to me

“Tommy. You never want to be with me anymore,” you sighed, a pout on your lips. He was leaving that morning to go to a meeting of the board of Shelby Company Limited, and refused to let you accompany him. “It’s business, little bird. You don’t need to worry yourself about my business. You just stay here and do what you do best.” He was buttoning his vest on over his shirt, followed shortly after by his jacket. Once he was by the door slipping his shoes on, you knew there was no way you’d convince him to take you with him. “What do I do best?” you wondered, genuinely interested. You were bundled up under the covers, only your face being visible since the room was too cold for you to want to leave your warm cocoon. You had clung to Tommy all night, like a sloth or a koala to a tree branch, and you dearly missed his warmth. He looked at you and winked quickly. “Look pretty and steal hearts.” You frowned at him, creasing your eyebrows before throwing the covers back over your head and turning your back to him. “What’s that attitude about, eh?” “You don’t take me seriously,” you grumbled. “I don’t wanna talk to you anymore.”

He silently sat down on the edge of the bed, causing it to dip and roll you next to his side. He put his arm on your other side, effectively trapping you, and pulled the cover down from your face. You were glaring mad at him. “Go away and do your stupid job.” “My, you’re feeling quite brave today, is that it? Givin’ me orders, bein’ a brat.” His face got closer to your own and your breath hitched. His eyes were so intense and demanding that you almost felt as if your resolve was just vanishing away. He leaned closer and kissed your cheek, but when he pulled away, he didn’t move far. “I just hate when you leave me alone.” You got a sad look in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” “Oh, my sweet girl.” He sat up and pulled you to sit up with him, cradling you to his chest. You clung to him tightly and pressed your face to his chest. “Don’t cry, eh? Too pretty to be cryin’ over this old man.” “You’re not that old,” you noted, seriously, and he chuckled. You felt his chest rumble and your heart leapt. “Aye, whatever you say.” He tilted your chin up to look at him. “I’ll be back here before you know it. I promise.” “Pinky promise?” you asked, eyes wide and genuine. You were so innocent, so delicate, he thought, that at times he was afraid to touch you; afraid you might shatter like a glass doll. But your doe-eyes made him weak, and when you looked at him like that you could convince him to do almost anything. It was a wonder than you hadn’t realized that yet. He kissed your nose. “Pinky promise.” You locked fingers and grinned, and his heart swelled. — “You know, when this business began I did some research on you,” Jessie Eden spoke. She was calm, cool, and collected, as always. “It turns out I know someone who used to know you very well. Kitty Jurossi.” When Tommy remained silent and stoic, she continued. “You were in love with Kitty’s sister, Greta Jurossi, before the war. Do you remember Greta Jurossi? Her parents were Italian. They didn’t approve of a Watery Lane Gypsy, but you won them over. With your charm. Sweetness.” Tommy scoffed lightly. “Very, very thorough research.” “Greta died at the age of 19. Of consumption. And Kitty said you were at her bedside for three months. Every day, holding her hand. And after she died, you went away to war. Kitty said that the sweet boy who left never came back.” “No one came back.” “Here’s the funniest thing— I’ve heard from people around that there’s another young girl you’re involved with. Say she’s 19 as well. Doesn’t look much like Greta, but she’s very young, very impressionable, very trusting. And I worry for that young girl, Thomas. I worry that she thinks she’s hanging around the Tommy before the war, and that she doesn’t realize all the shit that you’ve gotten yourself — and her — into. And it seems to me like that’s something you’re trying to keep from her.” Tommy stood up from his seat abruptly. “Is that true?” He strolled over to the gramophone and put the record on, faint music breaking up the tense silence. If Ms. Eden was threatening to reveal information about him to you — things you didn’t already know, things he didn’t want you to know — it was going to be a difficult night. — Tommy returned later than usual that night— in fact, he returned quite early in the morning. You were sound asleep in his bed. He noted that you had been sleeping in his room nearly every night since he had moved your family from the quaint little cottage you’d been in. You had donned one of his shirts in lieu of your nightdress, because it smelled like him and he still hadn’t come home and you were so tired and you missed him so much but you didn’t have the energy to keep your eyes open any longer… Your mouth was hanging open slightly, and Tommy’s eyes were drawn immediately to your lips. Your breathing was full and steady and he watched as your chest rose and fell, rose and fell, rose and fell. He shrugged his jacket, vest, and shirt off, leaving himself only in his undershirt and dress pants. On second thought, and after removing his shoes, he changed into a pair of sleep pants, as well. He slipped into bed behind you, trying carefully not to stir you, and laid over the covers as well, hoping that he wasn’t disturbing you so much that you’d be woken up. Unfortunately, it was in vain, because the second he was beside you, you were awake. “Tommy?” “Get back to sleep, love. I’m right here.” “What time is it?” “About three.” You flipped around to face him and his arm cradled you to him, the other one coming around behind you to hold you close. “You keep lying to me.” “Alright. You caught me. It’s quarter past.” “No, Tommy. I’m being serious. You promised me you’d be back tonight and now it’s three in the morning and you just got back. And you’re never here. I never see you anymore. I miss you and you’re always gone.” He sighed heavily and pressed his nose to yours. “You’re right, dove. I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with work and with the Italians. I’m trying my best to keep you and my family safe, and sometimes, that means I’m not gonna be around often, eh?” You tucked your head under his chin. “I know. I know. But I miss you. I’m all alone all the time and there’s nothing to do.” “I’ll try to fix that. Yeah? But you’ve gotta be patient, alright? Now, I’m sorry I didn’t come home earlier tonight. I had a lot to take care of, but I made you a promise, and I didn’t follow through.” “And it was a pinky promise,” you reminded him. You took pinky promises very seriously. “And it was a pinky promise. You’re right. And I let you down. I’m sorry.” “It’s okay, Tommy. You didn’t mean to.” You nuzzled into his chest and smiled softly. “And you’re here now. So I don’t have to worry about you for now.” “Don’t you worry about me, little bird. It’s my job to worry about you. Not the other way around, eh? Now go back to sleep, silly girl.” “Don’t call me girl,” you protested. “Old man.” Tommy smirked at your sass and pinched your backside in response, causing you to squeal and jerk in response. This rose a chuckle from him. “Stop being mean to me,” you demanded. “Or I’ll go back to my room forever.” His arms came back to sneak around you as he tugged you tighter to him, effectively trapping you. “No you won’t, brat. Now go back to sleep.” “Goodnight Tommy.” You leaned up to kiss his cheek. He kissed your forehead in return and let his mouth rest on the crown of your head. “Goodnight, my (Y/N). Goodnight,” he whispered. — The next morning, not long after the sun rose, so did Tommy. Once he was mostly dressed he took a moment to relax, standing next to his window and watching the lifeless street down below. You hadn’t woken up yet; unless you decided you wanted to watch a sunrise, you never woke up before nine in the morning. He hated to leave you and your warmth, but there was always business to attend to. Suddenly, interrupting the silence, came a single gunshot. You woke up. “What was that?” you asked, still sleepy but very exasperated. You looked intently at Tommy. Tommy, who had all the answers. Tommy, who you thought knew everything. “I dunno,” he mumbled, peeking out the window to see if he could make out where it had come from. “Stay here.” With that he rushed out of the room and into the street, where he saw his youngest brother Finn coming to search for the source of the shot as well. You pulled up a chair by the window and watched as they both entered into the neighboring house, which belonged to the oldest Shelby, Arthur. You had been over there your fair share of times, keeping his wife Linda company and babysitting their sweet little son. After what felt like hours, but was really only minutes, Tommy returned upstairs, seemingly exhausted and done with the world. He sat down on the edge of the bed and you came over to him, tucking your legs underneath you and linking your arms around his left. You rested your head on his shoulder and his right hand came up to stroke your hair. “Is everything okay?” you wondered, genuinely concerned. He let out a frustrated sigh. “My fuckin’ brother’s losin’ his mind.” Your heart broke; you really liked the Shelby family and you knew that he was very close with his siblings. For him to admit that and have to deal with it so directly couldn’t have been easy for him. “I’m sorry, Tommy. I wish I could help,” you told him. “I wish I could, too, little bird. But I’ve got bigger problems to worry about at the moment.” He paused for a split second. “Like getting rid of these fuckin’ Italians.” “I like Italians,” you admitted absentmindedly. “They have good food.” Leave it to you to brighten Tommy’s mood when he was in such a dark place just a moment before. He let out a faint chuckle. “Why don’t you go down to the shop today with Finn, eh?” he suggested. “Get yourself out of this house for a bit.” Your eyes lit up. “Yes!” You disappeared from Tommy’s side and rushed to your room to get dressed, returning to him almost no sooner than you’d left. “I like hanging out with Finn. He’s fun to mess with,” you grinned. You seemed like a fae to him in the moment, getting worked up about being able to tease and taunt someone all day. “Ah, well, don’t mess with him too much. He’s in charge of you today ‘till I get back.” “Boo,” you pouted. “Does he know?” He stood up from the edge of the bed and walked over to you, grabbing your chin while you were in the middle of slipping a shoe on. “Yes; so don’t piss ‘im off. ‘Cause then you’ll have to deal with me.” Your heart fluttered with the butterflies in your stomach. “Be good for me today, little bird. D’you understand?” “Yes Tommy,” you spoke softly, staring into his lovely eyes. There was something about them that was enchanting. When he asked or told you to do something, you had a difficult time even trying to disobey. “That’s my girl.” He leaned down and kissed your nose and you smiled big for him in response. “Now get out of here, you’re gonna make him late.” — You followed Finn into the shop, nearly jogging to keep up with his fast pace. “Slow down, Finn!” “Walk faster, (Y/N),” he retorted. You stuck your tongue out at him and he mockingly did the same. He swung the door open and led you both inside. Once he caught sight of Polly, he spoke up again. “The rule is that the door should always remain locked until nine A.M.” You rolled your eyes. “Stick in the mud,” you mumbled. Polly rolled her eyes as well and stopped him before you could go to Arthur’s office. “Right. Boy. Boy, where are you going? And why’s the girl here?” “Well Arthur’s not coming in today. He’s taking the day off. So…” “So what?” Lizzie goaded. “So, today, Tommy said that I’m in charge. And that I had to keep an eye on (Y/N) today, too.” “Sorry,” Pol said, though she definitely wasn’t, “You’re in charge?” “Yeah. That’s what he said.” She stood up, yanking the phone plug out of the socket and placing it at Linda’s temporary desk. “Alright, sweetheart. Ladies, let’s give our boss a first day that he’ll never forget.” You grinned mischievously at Polly and she gave you a knowing wink. — Three hours later and you were being dropped off at Tommy's office by a driver that Lizzie had called for. Finn was being eaten alive by his aunt and sister-in-law, and she knew that Tommy'd listen to whatever you had to say. You didn't even stop to greet him properly when you walked in. "Lizzie wanted me to tell you that sending Finn to the shop was a mistake." His concentration was broken and he looked up at you, slightly startled that you'd shown up out of nowhere. "They found out he was a virgin and are 'arranging a girl' for him this afternoon," you admitted, only blushing faintly. "She wanted me to get out and come tell you before they could start picking on me, too." "Oh, Christ," he mumbled. You came around his desk and sat on the edge, facing him. "I don't have the fuckin' time for this today." "I'm sorry. She just wanted me to deliver the message." "Don't be sorry, bird. Not too busy for you, eh?" He stood up and grabbed your hand, leading you toward the door while he slipped his coat on. "Come on." "Where we goin'?" you asked up at him. "Somewhere I've not been in a long time," he answered cryptically. — It was some sort of creek, or very backwoods river. There were a series of arched tunnels leading out to it, and you sat on a haystack under one as Tommy stood at the edge of the water. You were swinging your feet and kicking at the pebbles on the ground, shivering slightly. There was a croaky-sounding bird that kept chirping across the water as fog drifted downstream swiftly. Before you could speak up and ask where you were, he broke the silence. "We used to come here. She'd wait for hours, for me. When I couldn't make it. And I'd wait for her when her family kept her in." There was a sad, melancholic tone to his voice, and he was almost whispering. "Who?" you wondered. "Some girl," he admitted. "Some girl before France." You had almost forgotten that Tommy had fought in the Great War. That was a long time ago, you figured, when you were still little. And Tommy was there in France, thousands of miles away, nearly getting killed every time he breathed or took a single step. He turned around to you and walked towards you, taking a final drag of his cigarette and throwing it to the ground. "I've not been back here since." He rested his hand on your arm and stood in front of you, looking down. "Wanted to come back here with you." Then his hand was pushing the stray hairs back from your face, tilting your chin up, and kissing you softly. Your head went fuzzy for a moment before your senses came back to you. You pulled away. "Are you kissing her or me?" you asked sadly. His hands rubbed up the sides of your arms which felt as if they were about to freeze off. "You," he whispered. Then he grabbed your face in both of his hands again and kissed you once more. "Always you." — After you'd been returned home by Tommy, he had a list of demands for the company to take care of at the shop. "I want Shelby Company Limited to increase non-taxable charitable contributions to local charities by twenty five percent. As of now," he announced. Lizzie took note as Polly, Linda, and Finn just stared. "I'm gonna build two new institutes for destitute children. One in Saltley, one in Digbeth. I've already identified the buildings. Two former workhouses. Lizzie?" She looked up at him. "I want you to be in charge of the project." "Why?" she asked, dead-faced. "Because… I promised someone I'd change the world." — Later in the night, Polly Gray decided to go to a bar by herself with plans to meet someone; plans of which her family could never learn. When the mystery gentleman in question appeared, they kept their interaction civil and inconspicuous. "This is public enough, no?" he drawled, thick New York accent making him stand out among the crowd. "Yes." "So?" he chided. "The boy in the hospital is out of bounds." Her son. Michael. The one they'd almost lost again. "And I will ask you to spare Finn and Arthur." He looked displeased but was not averse to cooperating. "In return for what?" "Tommy Shelby. And the girl, by association." "What makes you think I want that girl?" "Oh, please, Luca," she scoffed. "Men like you and Tommy always want girls like her." This arrangement clearly struck his fancy, but he was not trusting of any of these Birmingham folk. "And, uh, why should I trust you?" "Because you know our history," she responded cryptically. "You know what happened between us." "You are an unlikely Cassius," he muttered, taking a sip of his drink. "John was a good boy," she started. "Arthur tries. Tommy's different. You take Tommy. Spare the rest. I don't care what you do with that girl, but it seems to me as if you've taken an interest in her." — The next morning, the hospital was ambushed by Luca Changretta and a few of his gang. There was a dramatic scuffle between him and Michael, but he fled the scene before Tommy finally rushed in. "Tell your mother… we have a deal," he instructed Michael before he left. "Michael? What happened, eh!? What happened?" Tommy hounded his younger cousin. Michael was sitting on his bedside, still visibly shaken up. "They heard you. Uh, they heard you coming," he panted. "Look, the gun misfired! They ran away." "Johnny!" Arthur growled. The two of them and Finn left to keep searching for the Italians while Tommy stayed behind. "You came just in time," Michael stuttered. "You alright? You alright?" "I'm fine," he whispered. "Fine." Tommy nodded haphazardly and put his fist to his mouth, contemplating whatever it was that was going through his mind. His gaze was locked on the window and he seemed to be in a trance for a moment. Then he looked up having a sudden realization and raced out again, heading down to the betting shop. — You were out on your own that morning, getting produce from the market to bring back to the Shelby home. You and your mother wanted to make them dinner as a thank you for taking care of you all in their difficult situation. She stayed home at your request, because you missed having your alone time; and also because she hated going to markets. She was the type of woman that would always prefer to grow her own at a fraction of the cost it took to buy it. The streets were busy, dark, cold and dirty, but you paid it no mind. You were certainly standing out among the crowd of people flooding the market. The people who lived in this dull, gloomy town wore dull, gloomy clothes— there was a lack of color, of spirit, of life. That sort of thing never appealed to you or matched your personality, so you had gotten dressed that morning and gone out in a long purple skirt adorned with blue, green, pink, and white embroidered designs all along the bottom and moving upwards. Your shirt was a simple white long sleeve, with lace across the chest and at the hem. You covered your back and arms with a maroon cotton shawl, with a few purposefully placed holes to create patterns. It had long fringes on the end and you found yourself swinging them often. You'd also slipped on a pair of thick socks underneath your old, battered, lace-up brown boots that you would usually wear when you helped your parents do outdoor work. You grabbed your mother's coin purse — she had insisted — and were soon in the midst of all the hustle and bustle of Small Heath life. After about an hour or so, you had a decent amount of groceries to show for it. That was when a hand tapped your shoulder. "'Scuze me, bella, couldn't help but notice your hands were a little full, there." You whipped your head around to find the source of the voice, and were met face to face with a tall man who had a prominent nose, sharp features, and a toothpick sticking out of his mouth. He had a cross tattoo on his neck that half stuck out from his shirt collar. He was very handsome, very tan, and very American. He seemed very familiar to you, but you just accredited that to the fact that his accent was similar to your own. “Mind if I give you a hand?” "Oh my God," you responded, "You're from America?" He smirked. "New York, sweetheart. What part of the states do you hail from?" Virginia. "My family and I are from Virginia." At that moment, your senses caught up to you. You were in Small Heath, Birmingham, on Tommy Shelby's turf; Tommy Shelby, who was in the middle of a vendetta against the Italian Mafia. The Italian Mafia that came over from New York. Then you realized: he was the man from Tommy’s office the other day. He was the one leading the vendetta against the Shelbys. Your throat constricted and your breath got caught, and suddenly you couldn’t breathe. "Um, thank you for the offer," you stuttered out, walking away from him quickly enough that you could get away, but not so quick that you'd be considered rude. "But I really have to get back home. My mom's waiting for me. It was nice meeting you." "What, don't you have a name, bella?" he called after you. Of course, he was already well aware of your name, but he wanted you to give it to him yourself. If you had heard his question, (which you did,) you wouldn't have let on that you did. You were out of the market in a heartbeat and nearly ran all the way back to the house on Watery Lane. Not a moment after you'd put the groceries down, a ringing came from the telephone in the kitchen. You picked it up since no one else was around to answer it. "Hello?" It was Tommy. Thank God. Apparently the Italians had paid his cousin in the hospital, Michael, a visit, and he was worried that they might have been targeting you next as well. "Are you alright?" "Yeah," you gulped. "Um, but I think I just met one of your Italian friends."