Thomas Shelby X Oc - Tumblr Posts

There’s A Woman…

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader (sort of), Arthur Shelby x Reader (sort of)

Warning: Mentions of loss and abuse

See below for additional chapters

Gif Credit: @peakypeaky & @kendaspntwd Thank you for letting me use your beautiful gifs for my crazy stories.

Note: Please Read – As some of you know I had a bout of insomnia last night and this is what I wrote at 4am. I debated not posting it at all. It’s just a one-shot, Imagine style. I’m not sure what this is. It’s probably garbage, but this is what happens when you can’t sleep… Just the deranged ramblings of an exhausted mind. 

I have no idea if any of this is factually accurate for the time period. Again, written in the haze of no sleep. I tried to verify my assumptions of girls getting married in their teens to avoid going into the system, I’ve heard of it happening in the US, but I couldn’t verify it for 1920′s UK. Oh and I feel like the reader is young in this, somewhere like 19-20.

If you enjoy it, like, comments, and reblogs are always appreciate.

Wrapped in your quiet cocoon, the fabric’s soft like a distant memory of better days as it envelopes you. The heat of your body held tight beneath the blanket, warming your skin from the inside out. The room is cold, the air around your face frigid as you burrow your nose deeper against the blanket. The sound of rain on the window lulls your mind as you dose in and out, unsure if it’s sleep or the whiskey that keeps pulling your under.

With a shift and creak, the heat changes around you, filling on one side, escaping from another. The chill from the wall reaches out for you back, poking and prodding at your spine as you reach for the warmth in front of you, seeking it out unconsciously. It’s warm and toasty, soft to the touch as you nuzzle your nose against it. The musky scent of whiskey and gun power winds tendrils up your nose as your lips part and you breathe it in.

“Vera,” The sound of your name fills the room, off a breath that’s low and gritty and muffled from sleep.

But you recognize it even in the haze of your own mind as the softness bleeds to subtle as he turns in towards you.

Your eyes flutter open and meet the most startling blue eyes you’ve ever gazed upon lying beside you. Even now, after years of seeing them, sometimes they can be so enchanting, so bewitching, they leave you frozen under their spell as you gaze into their mighty grip. He stares back you, barely blinking as if you’re all he can see in the dark.

“I did it again?” You whisper softly to him. No need for volume when he’s lying this close.

You squeeze your eyes tightly shut, trying to remember how you got here as Tommy’s heavy breath fills the air around you once again, only further away this time as he turns from you.

“Yeah, ya did.” He states flatly. You’re eyes shoot back open as you hear a knock on the wall above your head.

You stare at the sharp line of his jaw as Tommy stares up at the ceiling lying beside you, thinking the line of it looks as dangerous as the razors on his cap.

“Found her, Arthur!” Tommy hollers to the room over as he gives the wall one more steady knock, the sound echoing against your face as you cringe from the sheer volume of it.

Resigned to leaving your warm safe place, you kick back the blankets as the feel of cold frigid air assaults you on contact, sending gooseflesh forming against your skin, hair standing on end, your breasts tingling against the chill as a shiver runs down your spine. Your night gown offering little in the form of resistance against the brutal winter nights.

Your head still feels foggy, swaying and shifting like a boat on rocky seas. Surely, it’s the whiskey. A Shelby now, you drink often and plenty, but tonight seemed especially plentiful. You lost track after your fifth glass of whiskey.

You’re not even sure what drew you in here this time, the urge unclear and hazy in your mind. You spot a glass of water on the table beside Tommy’s bed and think perhaps you had gotten up for it only to return to the wrong spot. Poised to move and return to your bed, you place your hands unceremoniously on Tommy’s chest to balance yourself before swinging your leg over him as he lets out a groan in protest. 

You could have climbed off at the end of the bed you suppose, but this was the fastest way out, and at this time of night and whiskey on your brain, added work just seemed unnecessary. You aim to brace your knee against the mattress on the other side of Tommy as you climb off, but the bed’s smaller than you considered and he’s lying against the edge.

You’re clumsy from sleep and had far too much whiskey, and you realize your miscalculation a little too late, as your leg falls off the side of the bed, toes landing on the icy floorboard as you sink down on top of Tommy’s waist.

“Fuck sake, Vera!” Tommy growls through clenched teeth, shooting up in bed with the feel of you on top of him, but as he rises, you slip down his body and settle across his lap. 

The sudden jerk in position throws you off balance as you try to climb off him. Too quick for the whiskey to catch up with as you sway, about to topple onto the floor in a heap before Tommy snatches your waist and you quickly clutch at his shoulders trying to steady yourself and not land face first on the frigid hardwood floor.

Your eyes meet and for a second your swallowed up by endless blue. Your hearts racing though you’re not sure if it’s from the near fall or the depths of Tommy’s eyes staring into your soul. A shiver runs down your spine, but you can’t be sure whether it stirs from the chill in the air or your precarious position. 

Hands clutching at his shoulders as his arms wrap around your waist, breasts pressed against the heat of his chest, your night gown pooled high around your thighs as you teeter straddled across his lap. Stuck between the chill of the room and the heat between your bodies, holding you captive with the grip of his eyes as the steady rhythm of his breath against your lips calms your rattle.

You search his eyes boldly in the near darkness. Searching for the young man he had been before. Always laughing about something, talking on about his dream to race horses, and always getting into mischief of one kind or another. But you can’t find that young man in the eyes staring back at you, not anymore. Sliced open and bleeding after Greta, all traces ripped clean from his bones after the war. He looks at you in a way that’s hard to read. 

So guarded and trained in neutrality, he’s hard to define. But you see something in his eyes that reminds you of yourself. Of loss, anger, and transformation, from the girl before her mother passed to the one you are today. You swear you see a piece of yourself in him, like looking in a mirror. Everyone’s intimidated by Tommy these days, but not you – you know what real monsters look like. He’s like a riddle waiting to be solved, though you’re quite certain it’s not yours to unravel. And for all his sharp edges and unpredictable moods, you still trust him, even now.

The sound of a throat clearing catches both your attention as your gaze shoots to the sound, you find Arthur leaning against the doorframe watching you and Tommy silently. There’s something in his eyes, something you almost never see and it’s not aimed at you, it’s aimed squarely at Tommy, but you recognize it just the same, tangled up as you are… Men and their cocks never cease to amaze you.

“Don’ be fuckin’ ridiculous,” you scoff, pushing off Tommy to swing your other leg over and climb off him. You know what it looks like, you’re not a fucking fool, but the idea it could be anything other than a misunderstanding was absurd to you.

“Get your wife, Arthur.” Tommy insists as he practically lifts you off him. Unable to get rid of you fast enough as you nearly trip again from the momentum and whiskey, falling against Arthur’s waiting arms.

Wife – the word is always jarring when you hear it. No one in the Shelby home calls you that, but Thomas and you still haven’t figure out why. Arthur’s wife, but only in name. Anyone sensible knows that. He married you at fifteen in a hasty ceremony done only to save your life. Arthur is many things to you - hero, protector, confidant, friend, but husband still isn’t one that fits, and luckily for you, he doesn’t expect it to.

Your father died in a factory accident when you were ten. Your mother was a good friend of Polly’s, you grew about around the Shelby’s. After she passed of consumption, Polly took you under her wing. Until the parish authorities came calling shortly after the funeral, taking to you stay with the fathers until they could locate your next of kin. 

You lasted a month there, before you managed to run away. Returning to the only place you felt safe anymore. You had been frantic and desperate, you couldn’t go back. They would come for you, Polly knew they would as they had her own children, but she had no legal claim to you. So she devised the only plan she could muster on such little time, in the whirlwind of your desperation… Marriage.

If you were married they’d have no way to take you. You’d be property of your husband. While John was the closest in age, he was already married to Martha. Tommy was out of the question as he languished at Greta dying bedside. That left only Arthur. A man thirteen years your senior, he refused at first, but when confronted with what they had done, what they would continue to do, and Polly’s word they’d figure something out later, he agreed. You weren’t easily convinced either, but Polly told you it was the only way and you couldn’t go back there.

You got lucky with Arthur. He let you know right away he had no desire for you and after leaving the care of the father’s, you needed to hear that. He said he’d appreciate if you helped Polly out around the house, but he no expectation of you ever entering his bed. You never even shared a room before he left for the war, bunking with Ada instead. 

That’s how you ended up falling in love with Tommy’s bed. Having free reign of the rooms once the men left, you and Ada tried them all, and Tommy’s fit just right. It had this little divot in the old tick mattress that fit you just right. You could wrap the blankets around yourself and curl into it like a swaddled baby. You felt safe and warm there. You freely relinquished it when the men came home, but it still calls to you from time to time.

When the men came back from war, you were a woman - a young woman, but a woman just the same. And things felt different between you and the Shelby brothers. Different then the way they saw and treated the scared girl left behind. Still Arthur never pressed you, keeping his word. It was unspoken he could get his needs met anywhere he pleased as long he kept you safe and taken care of. After the war, you shared a bed, but he never touched you unless you reached for him first. 

And nearly five years married, home from the war almost six months, you had never consummated the vow. Arthur Shelby was many things to you, but husband never quite seemed like one of them. But you did love him. You loved them all, even Tommy and his unpredictable moods and antagonistic jabs. So when Arthur offered to let you go, you declined. This was your family, where you wanted to be. You think maybe one day you’d like to give him a baby. You know he wants one and he certainly deserves it, but you don’t desire any of that now. Not sure you ever will. You still feel like damaged goods. You don’t know what the future holds, but you feel certain this is where you belong.

“Easy there, I got ‘cha.” Arthur tells you, slipping an arm under your legs to scoop you up like a bride.

“I got lost. Think I had too much whiskey.” You explain to him, leaning into the warmth of his chest, your face burrowing into the curve of his neck.

“That’s a’right. Let’s get ya back to bed, little lady.” Arthur tells you, holding you close with care. That’s what he calls you, not wife, sometimes Vera, but mostly ‘little lady’, has since you were small.

“Gotta stop doin this, Vera.” Tommy’s calls with impatience as Arthur carries you back to your bed.

“Night Tommy.” You answer, already half lost to the throws of sleep.

Once you’re gone, Tommy turns to his dresser to retrieve his pipe, unrolling it carefully. He plucks a bit of tar between his fingers, rolling and pinching until he has it just right. He burns just the outer edge of it, the sweet medicine crackling lightly under the flame, before he places it at the edge of his pipe. Drawing his lips to one end, he brings the other to the flame, letting it crackle and burn as he breathes in relief. 

Just enough to quiet the nerves and endlessness of his mind. Placing the pipe down carefully on the desk beside his bed, Tommy rolls against the mattress, his body seeking out the heated spot you left under the blanket. His face burying against the pillow that had rested beneath your head as he breathes you in deeply, letting images of you mix and dance with the opium as he closes his eyes to drift away.

Part 2 part 5

Series - Tommy Shelby x OC

Summary

Emilia Hornby, lives a perfectly ordinary, boring life as a librarian in London, with her husband, George. But when Tommy Shelby unexpectedly walks back into her life one evening, seven years after she broke off their engagement, making declarations and accusations, he seems intent on turning her orderly world upside down.

Or does he? Is her quiet life, her perfect marriage, really as it seems? And how much does Tommy really know about the woman he once promised to spend forever with?

Warnings

Each chapter heading contains its own warnings. Story will include smut, infidelity, bad language, references to canon typical violence/ethnic slurs. However it will also include dark themes including limited reference sexual violence and pregnancy loss. Your content consumption is your own responsibility but do let me know if I miss anything (nicely).

Story

Part 1: The Reading Room

Part 2: The Star of Kings

Part 3: Fragile. Do Not Bend.

Part 4: Pretty Little Liar

Part 5: coming soon!

Credit

I claim no credit for the characters of Peaky Blinders or any dialogue from the show used in the story. But the story and everything else is my of own creation.

I do not give permission for this to be reposted, transposed or otherwise reproduced without my consent.

Dividers used throughout by @saradika

To Be Alone | Tommy Shelby x OC | Masterlist

Summary: Celia Farraday and her family had to return to England to say goodbye to her dying grandfather. Misfortune falls upon her family soon after, and now she has to find work on the streets of Birmingham to help her parents afford rent. These are the same streets controlled by the Peaky Blinders, and Celia soon finds herself in the line of fire of said gang’s leader, Tommy Shelby.

Warnings: language, violence (typical to the series), mentions of death and child illness, familial arguing, smoking, drinking, talks of war/PTSD, mentions of prostitution, brief descriptions of assault, descriptions of a panic attack, weapons, sexual situations (PG-13 rated), murder, mentions of prostitution, minor character death, hospitals

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Peaky Blinders characters, just the main OC, and other original characters that will be introduced throughout this fic.

———

Chapters:

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16

17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29

30 Epilogue

To Be Alone Shorts:

Snapshots into Tommy and Celia’s life.

-> In Secret: It's only been two months since Tommy asked Celia to marry him, but he can't wait any longer. This on the whim decision angers some family members once they find out it's been done. Then, Tommy honors a promise he made to Celia back in America.

-> A Sunny Spring Day: a moodboard and blurb of Celia and Eden’s day out on the grounds of Arrow House

There’s A Woman || Part 2

Part 1 part 5

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Drunken shenanigans 

Gif Credit:@peakypeaky  @peakyblindersdaily  @themiseducationofb

Note: I don’t know how often I will update this or if I will ever update it again. But the support I got for part 1 was unbelievable. Thank you for that!!! A lot of you asked for a part 2, so here it is.

As always, Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are the cheese to my macaroni writing soul and make my fuckin day!

“You got a wild one ‘ere, Arthur. Best keep an eye on her.” John’s joking voice storms through the door, filling the home on Watery Lane as Polly unlocks it and everyone funnels inside after a long night at the Garrison. John spins you out on his arm into the entry way, having practically danced the whole way home.

“I can’t be tamed, Trouble.” You tell him with a playful wink as you call him by your favorite pet name, planting a quick kiss of thanks on his cheek for the good time before he heads home to his herd of kids.

You shoot a pointed glance at Tommy as you pass to make sure he heard your words too. He’s been hovering around you all night, sighing and trying to get you to have a seat and calm down. You’ll have none of it though, instead you take off for Ada standing near the fireplace, hooking your arm through hers as you both giggle and begin to spin around the room in dizzying circles. 

The whiskey rich in your veins, leaving you both hollering and carrying on as you folic clumsily around the small sitting room, until one of you trips and you both tumble to the floor in a heap of laughter against the old rug.

“Christ sakes,” Polly sighs “A’right, off to bed with the both of you before you break everything in the house.” She orders, like a good mother looking after her flock as she pulls the pin from her hat and places it down on the coffee table.

“A’right, you got the word.” Arthur tells you, coming up to you with a slow labored step of his own, reaching for your hand to help you back on your feet.

“Dance with me, Arthur.” You giggle as he helps you stand, wrapping your arms around his neck as a snort gets caught up in your fit, the sound only making you laugh harder. In one swift move, Arthur pulls your arms from his neck and bends down to swing you over his shoulder as you squeal in surprise and excitement.

“It’s off to bed for you, lil’ lady.” Arthur says, moving for the stairs, his uneven drunken steps jostling you about on his shoulder, making you laugh harder as you hang down like a rag doll.

“Fuck sake Arthur, put her down.” You hear Tommy’s frustrated voice fill your ears, watching his black leather shoes come into view from where you hang down near the floor, drunken giggles spilling free with the bounce from every labored step Arthur takes.

Keep reading

In The Bleak Midwinter

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6 Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11,  Part 12 & Part 13

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warning: Mentions of death

Gif Credit: @peakymurphy​ & @peakyblinders1919​ Thank you for letting me use your beautiful gifs!

Tag: If you want to be tagged let me know.

My Intent: Alright, I’m attempting to purge this from my soul. So this is sort of a hybrid. It’s first person, because I love how that makes it feel, but you are also a character, with a name and backstory. So hopefully you don’t hate it.

Also, it should be noted I love Grace and Tommy. So Grace will be held in high regard in this story. This story takes place in season 3, I think. And this is my first Peaky Blinders story, so go easy on me. I’m full newb.

My other stories are not forgotten, but this idea gave me no peace.

As the car takes the long drive up to the manor, you can hardly believe your eyes. 

It’s far bigger than anything you’ve seen in a long time, but you expect nothing less for Mr. Thomas Shelby.

The manor is a rich red color that reminds you of the clay that sticks to your boots after a heavy rain has washed away the top soil. 

The windows stare back you like blinking eyes - tall and plentiful, like gatekeepers for the secrets inside. 

With a grand stone archway entrance that announces you’ve arrived.  

It’s more than you ever hoped to offer Finn, compared to that tiny shoebox room you were squeezed in before in Small Heath. 

It’s quiet out here in the country too. No drunken men hollering in the streets, fornicating and fighting before your son’s eyes at every turn. 

The idea of working for Thomas Shelby is an intimidating one, as it should be, but it’s a chance for Finn. A chance for something more, so you had to take it.

Finn gawks in wonder as the car pulls up the drive. 

His jaw slack, eyes wide, and you have to tell him more than once to return to his seat while the car is still moving, as he fidgets about the vehicle in amazement at what’s before him. 

You catch the smile that edges at Polly’s face as she watches your son. And you get the sense you or Finn remind her of someone, someone she lost or maybe a former version of herself, and that’s why she’s extended this offer so graciously to you.

“Who’s this? Tommy said no more visitors.” A young woman asks as Polly leads you and Finn in through the entrance, ceiling so tall you have to crane your neck back to see the top.

With dark curly hair swaying around her shoulders, deep features, and fire in her eyes, surely, she’s a Shelby. 

And judging by the way she looks only a few years older than you, you guess she’s Thomas’s sister, Ada. 

You’ve heard of her too, you’ve heard of them all, but who hasn’t in these parts.

“I brought her here to help with Charlie, Ada. Tommy is going to need a hand.” Polly says with ease, as if she’s got it all already figured out. 

A beautiful woman for her age. With dark curly locks and skin pale like the full moon. There’s something bewitching about Polly’s eyes and the curl of her mouth that makes you think she knows everything, capable of anything, and probably both.

But the weary look Ada sends her way makes you feel less confident about the whole arrangement. Like maybe things aren’t as settled as Polly made them seem.

Turning your way, Ada looks you over. 

“And the boy?” She inquires with a tilt of her head, glancing at your son who stands nervously at your side, trying to look taller than his tender years.

“Her son.” Polly answers before you can.

That answer seems to soften Ada a bit. Her eyes easing off their edge as a small almost indiscernible smile curls at the corner of her mouth.

“A widow, good.” She says, mostly to herself. 

And the way she eyes you, as you stand silently hoping to be approved, you can see the idea of your loss eases something inside her.

“Very well, Tommy’s in the parlor.” You hear her say, as you turn back to Finn with the feel of his tug on the length of your coat.

Your eyes meet your boy’s baby blues as he gazes up at you as if he’s torn between sheer excitement and intimation being surrounded by all this.

“What’s a widow, mum?” His young voice asks you as he stays close around your legs.

Finn’s never seen a place like this and certainly never stepped foot inside one. 

You want things for your boy, good things, better than you have, but you’ve only ever been able to scrape by. 

But this is your chance to change all that, your chance to give him what you never could before.

“Your mum apparently.” You say with a small laugh, smiling down at him with reassurance as you pinch playfully at the apple of his cheek.

“This way,” You hear Polly say as you glance back up with the sound of her heels clicking on the wooden floors. 

Taking Finn’s hand as your lead through the house. Deep mahogany walls greet you at every turn, ornately carved and shining. 

Beautiful things fill every space your eyes can reach. Things you’ve only seen in the pictures and could never imagine lying before you in full color.

Finn’s hand reaches out in curiosity before you quickly slap it away.

“Touch nothing.” You scold him gently as fear speeds up your heart. This place like one giant bomb, set anything off and this opportunity could blow up around you.

Entering the parlor, you take in the sight of the walls filled with books as you follow Polly near his desk. 

Mr. Shelby’s seated behind it, only glancing up as you approach. 

He eyes you, your eyes catching as you feel Finn dart behind your coat. You don’t look away, don’t blink, you’re not even sure you breathe, it feels like a test and you’ll be damned if you fail it.

Polly starts in, pulling his attention as you suck in a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

He’s not as tall as you expected, Mr. Shelby. The myth larger than the man, but he has an energy about him. Bigger than life. Like a vortex, pulling all the energy from the room and pointing it squarely upon him. 

It’s in that moment you realize the mess you’ve gotten yourself into. Comin’ into the home of a man who’s just lost his wife, offerin’ to help with his now motherless child, the situation couldn’t be more bleak.

You try and smooth down Finn’s hair, drawing him out from behind you as Polly tries to seal the deal. Their words filling your ears as you turn back.

“Fuckin hell Pol, he has one. Just cause she’s- doesn’t mean-“ Mr. Shelby stumbles over his own words and you can see he’s growing agitated.

“I know, Tommy, I know, but you need help. Children require a lot of time. You have the business to think about and she needs a job. It solves both your problems.” Polly says diplomatically, and you get the sense she probably knows how to talk to him better than anyone.

“She looks weak, Pol. Skin and bone the best you can find.” He insults, his eyes surveying you briefly like an item he’s considering for purchase, but never meets your eyes.

It’s true, you could use a few pounds, but you’ve barely eaten. What little you have mostly goes to Finn. 

You take just enough to get by, keep going. You don’t have the luxuries of more, but circumstance hasn’t dampened your spirit. 

If anything, it’s made you more strong willed, you have no doubts what you’re fighting for.

“That may be, but I’m strong and good with children.” You speak up suddenly before Polly gets a chance and all eyes turn on you instantly. 

Polly looks surprised, but Mr. Shelby, his gaze is to vacant to warrant anything worth counting.

“We’ll see about that.” He answers before rising from his chair and calling for the help.

“Mary!” An old woman appears in the doorway behind you before Mr. Shelby summons her to retrieve his son. 

When she returns with the boy, Mr. Shelby is quick to take him. Holding him close as he walks over to you, his gaze cautious as he stands before you.

The boy is precious to say the least. With big round cheeks, sky blue eyes, and straight rust colored hair. 

He looks like his father, but the color reminds you of Finn’s when he was just a baby.

“Hi Charlie, I’m miss Fiona.” You tell him softly, smiling over at him as your fingertips dance along his hair, the apples of his cheeks, settling on his plump little hand as he wraps it around your finger.

You catch the little boy’s eyes on Finn with curiosity.

“This my son, Finn. He’s just a little older than you.” You tell him, explaining matters most would think are too advanced for a child of his age, but you always felt children understood far more than we gave them credit for.

Charlie glances back up at you and you greet him with a smile as you reach for him, praying he’ll trust you enough to let you hold him.

You let out a quiet sigh of relief when Charlie reaches for you in return and lets you pick him up. 

Placing him on your hip, you give him a gentle hug.

“Hello sweet boy.” You whisper into his hair as your hand runs down along it.

Charlie reaches for Finn and a smile breaks out wide on your face as Finn takes his hand, the boys enamored with each other.

Your face shoots back up to Mr. Shelby as he clears his throat. 

His eyes are hollow deep pits filled with raw madness that’s barely contained. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks. 

Perhaps he hasn’t. You wouldn’t know, you don’t know this man, but you need this job, so you stare back into his eyes as if the sight of them didn’t break your heart.

“Alright then,” He says simply on a low gritty breath, giving his approval as he sparks a cigarette.

“But don’ touch anything in the house. Not a fuckin’ thing.” He practically spits out at you, his words shivering down your spine as you take it, because he isn’t the first man to send a blow your way.

“Mary prepare a room for Miss Fiona and her boy.” Mr. Shelby orders. And just like that, you’ve changed your son’s world.

 Mr. Shelby is cold and distant, and you expect nothing less of a man who’s lost his heart. So you keep your distance and attend to the little one. 

Charlie is easy to care for, easy to love. He’s sweet and joyful, and the boys have taken to each other easily. 

The only hardship is the way he breaks your heart every time he calls for his mum. You wish you knew her. Knew how to bring her to life for him.

The house is bigger than any you’ve ever stayed in, but still Mr. Shelby and his moods manage to find you even inside these many rooms. 

You know you shouldn’t be surprised. Not after the way you heard his family talking about his current state earlier in the morning. 

But still, the way he comes at you, almost as if on attack, as if he needs to bite at something to lick his own wounds, and you’re the nearest one in sight, takes even you by surprise.

You’re preparing a picnic for the children since the sun has decided to come out from its hiding place, when Mr. Shelby thinks it’s time to a have a word.

“I asked around about yeah…” He starts as he appears suddenly, standing across from you in the white tiled kitchen. 

You’re unsure if his interlude is supposed to stir a response, but you pay it no mind, barely glancing over his way as you await him to continue.

“Thought I hired a good catholic widow.” He says, his words low and full of innuendo as he pulls at a cigarette on his lips.

Your hands settle from the basket you’re tending to and offer him the undivided attention he seems insistent on having.

“I am a good catholic.” You tell him, looking him square in the eye, unflinching, because you’ve heard worse, from worse and you decided long ago others weren’t going to define you.

“Aye, a good fucking catholic girl who got herself pregnant outside of marriage.” He says, with that unflinching stare you can sense has a way of riling people up.

And it’s good, he’s good at pushing all the right buttons, because the indignant way he speaks to you easily serves its purpose and instantly you’re defensive of his claim.

“He loved me.” You defiantly tell him and anyone else who will listen. 

How dare he take the moral high ground. He may have friends, and those with loose lips who are quick to pass judgement upon you, but you’re no fool to Mr. Shelby’s doings either. 

You know about the Peak Blinders, everyone in these parts does. How dare he think he has a leg to stand on talking to you about morality.

“That why he ran off to the war stead of makin’ an honest woman of you?” He carries on, undiminished by the fire on your tongue. 

And you know you should shut up, leave it be. This man has given you a job, given you and your child room and board, food in your bellies, living in a place far more grand than any you ever could have imagined. But even now, all these years later, you can’t rest when others presume to know how your son came to be a bastard, as they are so quick to call him to your face and behind your back.

“He didn’t know about the baby and when I sent word, he gave me his. Even from the pits of hell over there he promised we’d marry once he came home, but he never made it back. Swallowed up like the rest of ‘em to slaughter.” Tears biting at your eyes as you push them down and tighten your jaw.

“So you Mr. Shelby, you and all the others, you know nothing of it. Not a thing.” You unleash upon him. 

You know the sins you committed. Know the price you and your son will pay for the rest of your lives, but you weren’t some foolish girl who got taken for a ride. And you’re tired of the world pretending as if you were.

Mr. Shelby’s goes silent with your confession, his face expressionless, but his eyes hold upon you, steady with you. 

You get the sense you’ve taken him by surprise. Maybe he wasn’t expecting such a fervent response, maybe he didn’t think you had fire in your belly, or maybe what Polly had told you was true, he knows a little something about the prices of war. 

Whatever the reason, Mr. Shelby doesn’t speak again and as your burners cool, you begin to feel the need to backtrack before you ruin a good thing for your son.

“I apologize Mr. Shelby. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.” You say formally, cordially, albeit forced, before you scoop up the biscuits and jam, placing them into the open basket resting on the butcher block before you.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m taking the children for a picnic while the weather still permits.” You say softly before making a hasty escape.

You’re nearly free, basket in hand, eyes staying steady down around your hands as you try to slip past him, but his arm drops down, blocking your passage, and you’re forced to look up at him, awaiting his word.

In your short time there you’ve learned Mr. Shelby has a way of taking up space, filling even the largest of rooms when he stands in them. 

You find Mr. Shelby’s gaze waiting for you, and you brace yourself for the repercussion of your quick temper, but they never come.

“I didn’t…” He starts, his words stalling as he pulls at the cigarette on his lips.

You can feel he’s struggling, fighting with an apology of some sort. So you set him free.

“No need. You’re entitled to your opinions, Mr. Shelby. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me and my son. Given me a job in all.” You say, the blue of his eyes holding you captive. 

The depth of them like a pit that could swallow you up if you stand too close to its edge.

“Charlie likes you.” He notes on a long breath, his words easing the tension thick between you.

“And I adore him.” You say simply.

Your answer pleases him and seems to diffuse the moment as he offers you a quick nod and lets you pass.

Gun metal and daisies (Thomas Shelby)

Description

Dorothy Monroe is a petite woman with a heart too big for her chest. She's pure, kind, she looked at the world and determined all the colours of nature were miracles and needed to be remembered.

She's loved photography ever since her father brought a camera home and even had a gift with the newly designed lenses ever since she could wrap her small hands around the clunks of metal.

Thomas Shelby: gangster; and war hero; he reads the devils script as if it were the morning newspaper - the list will go on. I don't need to say much more, you already know him.

The Shelby family, as part of Tommy's expansion plan, bought a large area of the woods on the outskirts of Small Heath, far away from the Birmingham smog, there they built safe houses and kept heavy machinery; maybe even once they kept a large crate of stolen guns, supposedly belonging to the Government.

Unbeknownst to Dorothy, who stumbled around the woods (a bulky camera in hand), she had explored the woods many times, taking photos of all the things that shined bright enough, but had never come across the peculiar buildings that held many dangers.

That is, of course, until she knocks upon one of the doors, ready to give an earful to whoever had built over this precious patch of land, only to come face to face with one Thomas Shelby.

-loosely follows the plot of season 1-

*disclaimer* I do not own the Peaky Blinders or any of Steven Knights characters, only the story of Dorothy and her own plot line.

This trope is cliche and overused, but idc, I like it.

Peaky Blinders Masterlist

(wattpad: wordless-writing).

Also, if for some reason some links look odd or are missing, then please notify me because for some reason they keep deleting.

Requests are open!

Thomas Shelby

Gun Metal and Daisies (full story on Wattpad)

The Anya-Margaret (coming soon)

One shots

Ozymandius (x femm!reader)

Polly Gray

One shots

“In the garden I will die. In the roses, they will kill me. I was going, mother, to pick roses, to find death.”

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 4

A second encounter that was not any better.

Masterlist

For a star to be born, there is one thing that must happen: a gaseous nebula must collapse.

So collapse.

Crumble.

This is not your destruction.

This is your birth.

Dorothy awoke with a snap. Quite literally, a snap. As her head twisted out of it's awkward position resting on her hand, her neck made a rather painful and wince-worthy crack. Bringing her hand up to the side of her neck, she softly caressed the tender spot.

It was only when her eyes stammered open did she remember the events of the night prior. If she was being honest, she didn't know how to describe what had happened.

Strange?

Despite the small panic that settled in her stomach, she shrugged off the fog that clouded her brain and stretched her limbs, flinching at the sound of the joints popping and cracking.

"Note to self to never sleep sitting up ever again."

Looking around the room she was in again, she noted that the man from the night prior was no longer there. No traces of him except the now half empty bottle of whiskey in the liquor cabinet.

Eyeing her camera on the table, she picked up the awkward contraption, inspecting it in her palms. By the looks of it, it had been fixed, she admired the handy work of who she could only assume was the rude man she had met.

The panic that had only been dormant a few seconds prior, now bubbled to the surface as she remembered this was not her home and her father did not know where she was.

Deciding to not dwell any longer in this strange house that she didn't like, she slipped her wellie boots on and strolled to the door, not glancing back as she left the confines of the -in her words- offensive building.

——

Thomas Shelby was not a man to dwell on the past. Deciding the moment he stepped back in the Garrison, the day he returned from France, that the past, could only affect the future; dare he cared for the future. The past was not his concern, nor was the future.

So it was no wonder that as soon as he stepped out of the small confines of the safe house that Thomas Shelby forgot of the woman he spent the night in the same room with.

He didn't think about the curves of her face or the way the hair fell in front of her eyes; he didn't think of the way she pulled the front of her fringe back together every time it set out of place; he didn't think of the way the woman seemed so infatuated by the woods and the prospect of him having a house on the outskirts of which offended her to the point she threatened him -even if the threat was pathetic-.

No, he didn't think about any of those things.

Walking into the betting shop, he pulled his mind away from not thinking about her.

He stomped into his office, taking a look at his paper work, stacked higher than he would have liked but when legitimate business settles nicely into the company, he realises this will be easy weekend work compared to what's to come.

He rubbed the need for sleep from his eyes and sat down slowly. Taking a deep breath, he picked up his pen and began writing.

——

About a week had passed since the curious encounter the two individuals had.

It was now Saturday, Dorothy's last day of the long week before she can spend the day off tomorrow, once again prancing around with her camera.

Dorothy worked in a bakery, you see. She worked for a lovely slightly older lady who was almost sweeter than some of Dorothy's baked sweets. She hired Dorothy after she found it harder to work in the bakery all on her own. Dorothy would be lying if she said it was her dream job, but she couldn't deny that she loved the job with all her heart.

Today was clear-out day. Saturday was the day when Dorothy and Ms. P, the lovely ladies name, would work their hardest. While Ms. P spent most of the day inside the bakery, cooking up the more savoury and bulky produce; Dorothy was outside on the streets selling all of the baked goods that were left over from the week prior, before having to throw the food away.

Then, once Ms. P had finished her work, she left the keys for Dorothy and she baked all the sweets for the week. It was a good system and benefitted the bakery greatly.

The bakery was located in some of the more populated and nicer -if there is one- places in Small Heath. Dorothy never encountered any trouble, in fact, quite the opposite.

Dorothy had earned a small reputation among frequent market goers. Her sweets and sweeter smiles attracted all kinds of customers. Famous for her cute and creative names, she'd coined names such as: 'Pookie bears'-baked sweet bread, shaped like a bear; 'sweet circles'- doughnuts with a special added ingredient that no one had yet worked out; and finally the one she was most famous for, 'Bonny bunnies'- a small cake that stood upright in the shape of a rabbit, with a filling of chocolate or jam in the middle.

As well as being an adoring girl, she was also very caring. She found herself during the week, often leaning over the counter to give her buyers sweet and caring words as they explained to her their woes. She was deeply empathetic, and even though it got her down sometimes, she carried on, knowing that the world will keep moving forward and she had to keep up.

——

Thomas marched through the streets of Small Heath. People seemed to fly out of the way of his path, pushing their young children to the side.

The market becoming a bit quieter as he walked past. Thomas didn't bat an eye. At least he didn't until he heard the screams of a woman and the running group of boys charging in his direction. They were sniggering to each other as they tossed around a bag of what looked to be bread and an assortment of other items.

He would have just kept marching if one of the bodies of the boys hadn't crashed  into his.

'Oh shit' everyone thought, probably.

The boy stumbled back, clutching the clearly stolen bag of food to his chest.

His friends scampered off, fearful of the events about to take place.

The boy stammered out, "uh-uhm, Mr Shelby, s-sir. I'm so sorry -uhm- I, um."

Thomas hated petty criminals. These boys clearly did not need to steal, not at all, but did it anyway for the supposed thrill.

Thomas was about to make a move, when very quickly, a woman came tumbling through of the crowd, out of breath.

"Hey!" She panted, "that's not very nice!"

The statement itself did not seem very intimidating, but with the heartbreak and disbelief apparent in her voice made you feel as though you had kicked a puppy. The boy might as well have with the way she saw it.

The woman stepped forward, ignoring the Shelby man and standing next to the boy.

"If you would be so kind as to give back my sweets, that would be highly appreciated, thank you very much" she held out her hand expectingly as the boy meekly placed the bag back in her hand.

"Now I don't want to see you stealing from me or anyone else again, you hear me mister? It's very rude and there are many better ways of spending your day." Her tone like a disappointed mother, scolding a child. Usually petty crimes like this were dealt with in a harsher way than this, but by the look in the boys face, it seemed to do just the job. "Now go on, run along, I don't want to see you or your friends faces unless you are buying from my shop." She put a hand on his shoulder, "Most are only 2 pence, you'd enjoy them more if it was honest earned food."

She patted his shoulder and he scampered away, avoiding the Shelby man who had watched the whole encounter silently.

It was only now that she looked up and noticed the man. Her eyes glaring up at him as he scrutinised her under his gaze.

"Oh. Hello again." Her voice seemingly cheery but the look on her face said otherwise to the man she wasn't too fond of, standing in front of her.

Without so much as a hello back, the Shelby man inquired, "so you're just going to let him go? Eh?"

"Well yes. He is only young and will learn that bad things will always come to bite him back." She stated stiffly.

Those words somehow sent a shiver up Thomas' spine. Recollecting all of the horrible things he had done.

Nodding in agreement, he said nothing else.

The movement in the streets seemed to have resumed as the two stood there in the streets, just gazing at each other.

A weird crossover, but not an unwelcome one.

——

AND ANOTHER ONE!

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 5

Intrigue and like are two very different things

Masterlist

No one expects an angel to set the world on fire.

Maybe it was the way she looked him in the eye and didn't back down. Maybe it was the way she smiled at him that made him think it was more addictive than all the whiskey in the world. Or maybe it was the way she rocked from side to side as she stood there, almost like she was dancing in the wind.

Whatever it was, he decided that he liked it. It maybe being her or just the air around her, but he liked it.

See intrigue is a funny thing to feel. It's stepping onto thick ice and expecting to fall through, and maybe you might. But oh, the things you find under the water.

So when she asked him if she could help with anything, Thomas quicker than a fiddle told a lie like it was his mother tongue.

"Do you know where I can find some bread?" Of course he knew, but she didn't need to know that.

A smile spread on her face, "I know just the place! If you would follow me!"

She led the way with a bounce in her step, the ribbons in her hair flowing out behind her, her pumps tapping against the floor like the snapping of fingers in a jazz club. Her curls sitting perfectly on her back.

Ahem. But he didn't notice any of that, no...

She flitted over to a stall that sat outside of the bakery, she looked back at the rude man.

His eyes were glancing around the streets, noticing that the people around the market had started to disperse, family's now going to sit down and eat whatever evening meals they could.

After a minute of watching the world go by, the last person to step out was Ms. P, the lady who owned the bakery.

"Hello Deary, I've just finished up in there so it's all ready for when you ne- oh!" The cheery smile on Ms. P's face vanished when she caught sight of the man standing opposite Dorothy,

"I uh- well i best be heading off now. See you on Monday, love!" The woman abruptly marched off.

Dorothy, seemingly clueless to the woman's distress shouted after her, "goodbye Ms. P, say hi to Bella for me!" Her cheerful smile staying on her face as she turned back to the rude man.

She still didn't like him, but that didn't mean she should be unkind.

"I'm afraid nothing I can sell you is fresh, but it's still good! I promise!" She leant on the stand as he examined the items in front of him. He wasn't really looking, he was actually trying to think of a conversation starter.

"What have you got against houses in the woods?" She minded his tone to be rather rude. The smile on her face faltering a bit.

She shrugged, "I just think that those kind of structures don't belong in the last patch of Mother Nature near us. This city is smog and brick, the woodlands is the only place you can breath and not blacken your lungs."

He nodded his head. Not agreeing with her, just accepting the answer.

Dorothy clapped her hands, "But never mind that, what tickles your fancy here?" She pointed to the display.

Before Thomas could speak, he was interrupted by a rain drop falling on his nose, then another in his hair, then on the ground in front of him. And soon enough, the sky was chucking it down.

"Oh crumbs!" She flailed her arms frantically as if she could stop the rain with sheer will power.

She grabbed as many of the produce she could off the stall and rushed into action, chucking them inside on the nearest counter top.

It was only the second time that she came back that Thomas even thought of helping.

He, having much larger hands and arms, picked up the remaining baked goods before they could get soggy.

When he entered the bakery, he instantly was invaded with the smell of fresh bread. The warmth surrounding his body completely from the furnace.

She sighed when he dumped the remaining items on the table; inspecting the loafs and the sweets, she decided they were still fit to sell and not too soggy.

"You still want the bread?" She laughed quietly.

"Maybe not" he found himself with a small smile on his face.

The silence they fell into was nice, it was comforting in a sense.

He slid into a chair off to the side that they kept for waiting customers.

"Still waiting for more customers?" He raised a brow.

She shook her head no.

"So what are you waiting for?" He inquired.

"Just a few friends need to pop by before I get going on the sweets."

"You've got company coming? Should I leave?" The way that Thomas was acting right now was very out of character. He never waited around this long with one person; he never considered anyone else's feelings that weren't family, least of all a stranger.

Before anymore conversation could ensue, the bell on the front door of the bakery chimed.

The pitter-patter of a few pairs of small feet filled the air as a group of small children ran in.

They were dressed in uncomfortable fabrics, and tattered trousers and skirts. One of the slightly older kids was carrying a baby or toddler that was wearing what looked to be a potato sack.

Thomas was even more confused. He didn't like being confused. He needed to know everything and right now, he had nothing.

Assuming they were her children, his curiosity stemmed out. He was even more confused when they all shouted choruses of 'evenin' Miss!' And 'it's yucky out there Miss Dotty-Anne!'

She only smiled at their greetings and gestured to the table next to her that had piles of produce and baked goods on them, "you kids must be starving! You're lucky that today was slow, I still have some Pookies left!"

Pookies? The fuck were they? Who are these children? Why is she giving them food?

Thomas' head was spinning.

The kids immediately dove for the table, she smiled at their antics and told them to slow down.

She only seemed to snap out of her dazed smile when she heard shuffling on the other side of the room.

She looked over the rude man and he was pulling a cigarette out.

"Oi! No smoking in the bakery! Ms. P would kill me if she found out!"

Her abrupt statement stopped the children's feasting, they turned their heads to the man in the corner, who they did not notice before.

They gasped when they saw who it was.

"You're- you're" one of the children started, stammering in fear.

"You're not smoking in this building is what you are." Dorothy squinted at him, he sighed and put the cigarette away, deciding best not to argue.

She turned back to the children who were trembling in fear. 'Poor kids. They were terrified of any men they came into contact with, fearing they are like their fathers.' She sighed at the thought.

"Now don't you worry about him." She smiled. "By the looks of it, you've filled yourselves up, I'll go get a bag for you all so you can have something for the next few days."

She rushed out of the room, leaving the kids with the Shelby man.

The children stood stock still, not moving an inch. They weren't scared of men, they were scared of him. Everyone knew the Shelbys, and he was just sitting there, in Miss Dorothy's bakery - the most sweetest woman in Birmingham's bakery.

The Shelby man simply put his fingers to his lips and winked at the kids, "don't tell her I already smoked one" he whispered.

The silence was tense until one of the younger kids burst into a fit of giggles, quickly followed by the rest.

When Dorothy returned with a brown paper bag in hand, she too giggled herself. Not knowing what they were laughing at, but she was happy that they were happy.

"What's so funny? Huh?" She playfully put her hands on her hips, eyebrow raised at the kids in front of her.

"Oh no, nothing at all, ignore them" the low voice of the rude man came from the corner.

She simply shook her head and smiled before taking the left overs and shovelling them into the bag. She put the bag in one of the kids hands who hugged it to their chest like a lifeline.

Dorothy gasped and put a finger up, tapping herself on the head, "I almost forgot!"

She rushed out of the room again, returning with a glass full of warm milk.

She took the baby in the sack that was far too big for its body and cradled it in her arms, she smiled sheepishly at the older children, "I don't have a bottle, but this is the best I can do. Tammy needs to eat and I'll be damned if she doesn't eat today." The kids all crowded around her as she tried her best to feed the baby with a glass, most of it spilling around the baby's mouth but after a while it seemed the baby understood and started accepting the milk.

The gesture was beautiful, it was truly heartwarming to anyone who could see it. Thomas found himself gaping at the woman in front of him.

He was so confused.

After a few minutes she handed the baby back the the eldest child and she sent them on their way, "be careful now! Find somewhere warm and stay safe, I'll see you next week! Keep Tammy safe!" She waves as the children toddled out of the door.

The room was silent as she smiled at the fleeing children in the rain.

"What the fuck just happened?"

——

I hope you've enjoyed the chapters I've released so far! Soon we can start delving into the larger plot lines other than Tommy pining over Dorothy, but you didn't hear that from me.

Thanks for the love

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 6

“I never called you Bonny, Bonny.”

Masterlist

So many people have told me I need to open up

But not a single person understands that every time

I pry my apart my ribcage, releasing all of the butterflies

That have been hiding there for years,

People are too busy swatting them away

To realise what I have done for them.

"What do you mean?", she stared back just as curiously.

"Those kids... the food... the child... you. You. Who are you?" It was a rare occasion when the Thomas Shelby found himself in the unknown. He hated the feeling of being uninformed, it made him feel like he was on the outside of an inside joke that he was the punchline to.

Dorothy only smiled, thinking of the children again, "those kids have no home. Every evening on clear out day, I give them the last of the produce for free as they struggle to find food in other places, doing odd jobs for a quick coin."

She frowned at her words, "the baby, Tammy, poor girl was thrown out when she was only a few months old, left in a box. The children found her and try their best to look after her. We always have milk lying about, this being a bakery and all, so I heat it up a bit and feed her the best I can on days they pop in."

Dorothy had zoned out by this point, she was staring out the window looking into the torrential rain pouring down outside.

"Sounds like it might be bad for business." Thomas raised a brow.

Dorothy only shrugged, "those children need help, I don't care if it's bad for business, I'm not going to throw them out to the dogs or factories. I've known then all now for a year and I'd be heartbroken to hear if anything happened to them."

A tear slipped down her cheek, she made no move to wipe it away, seemingly lost in her own world.

"You're a very kind lady, Miss Bonny." Thomas stated.

Dorothy was startled by his comment, for two reasons:

1) he's never said anything remotely nice to her since they first met - well, 'met' might be a strong word. They were still strangers.

2)Bonny was not her first name, nor her last name.

She furrowed her eyebrows at him. "I'm not Bonny."

Thomas chuckled, "I never called you Bonny, Bonny."

"Yes you did! You did it just then. My name's not Bonny." She stood up, hands on her hips.

"Well what is your name then?" Thomas mused.

"What's yours?"

It was in that moment that the conversation came to a holt. Neither saying anything, just staring challengingly at each other.

They seemed to be doing a lot of this recently.

"Bonny it is then."

Dorothy huffed at his words and sat down again, only to spring back up and head behind the counter to what Thomas assumed was the kitchen.

Thomas found himself following her, leaning against the archway to the entrance.

The furnace was blasting heat out, the crackling of the fire allowing a sense of comfort to wash over Thomas.

The quiet room was all of a sudden filled with the static sound of a gramophone in the corner. A beautiful classical piece played as Dorothy came strolling back around the corner. She jumped slightly when she saw Thomas leaning in the archway. Smiling sheepishly she turned towards a larder off to the side.

"Strauss, eh? Bit old school." Thomas called out from the doorway, now wondering into the kitchen.

"Few years off, it's Offenbach." Dorothy corrected.

Thomas' plan of trying to seem knowledgeable in romantic classical music backfired horribly.

"Yes, yes, of course." He tried to sound nonchalant, he was actually kicking himself at the slip up.

After 5 minutes of shuffling in the larder, she had all her ingredients in front of her.

Dorothy took a deep breath and got to work.

——

Dorothy was truly in her element.

Covered in flour, sugar, chocolate and jam, she shovelled sweet treats into the furnace.

Thomas had found a place to sit an hour ago. Just lost in his own head. He wasn't calculating or scheming. He was just thinking.

Thomas felt at peace in the kitchen of the bakery.

The sun had surely set long ago, the sheer heat radiating off the furnaces invading his mind and melting his worries. The aromas surrounding his senses, reminding him of that of his childhood, stepping into the kitchen, the smell of his mothers Chelsea Buns leaving his mouth watering.

But the best and most mind numbing sensation was the hum of Dorothy's voice as she swept around the kitchen occasionally chipping in the words she knew to 'Billy Murray - by the light of the silvery moon'.

The two not speaking to each other, but enjoying each other's company.

They were technically strangers to each other. Really, they had no idea who the other was.

But they were completely relaxed, no words had to be exchanged to feel the pure comfort that came with each other's presence.

Not that they knew that yet.

Dorothy found herself glancing over at the man - the rude man - in the corner of the room every now and again. She liked the atmosphere that came with him. She liked him a lot more than she did an hour ago.

She decided that this was nice. This was good.

Taking out the rest of the baked goods, she set them on a cooling tray, then turning to clean up the rest of the kitchen.

She looked back at the end furnace and realised there was one last batch of 'billion dollar bubs'. They were her personal favourite.

They were made up of syrup drenched oats, coated with dark chocolate, which was hard to come by. This meant they were the most expensive sweet she sold, coming at a price of 2 pence.

Rushing over to the furnace, she took them out, "they aren't burnt, but I can't sell anymore than what I've already baked."

Dorothy sighed as she plucked the tray on the counter.

She rubbed her eyes, "it must be the stress" she thought.

"Everything alright there, Bonny?"

Dorothy was startled by his slightly husky voice, it wasn't unwelcome, it just surprised her.

Nodding her head, "I by accidentally made an extra batch of Billion Dollar Bubs and I can't sell them."

Thomas raised an eyebrow at the peculiar name but didn't say anything. Thomas knew how to run a business but was clueless to the ins and outs of food produce.

"Say, would you like to try some of the Bubs?" She smiled as sweetly as she could, hoping he would accept so she wouldn't have to throw them away.

"I'm not really a sweet person myself. Never had much of a sweet tooth." Thomas shrugged.

"They aren't that sweet! It's dark chocolate, you see! They're really lovely!" She encouraged and prodded again.

"No I couldn't, besides, dark chocolate isn't exactly cheap, don't waste it."

Dorothy thought for a moment, she clapped her hands together; "well, would you say no to a thank you gift, for fixing my camera? It was very kind of you and I have nothing else but these sweets to repay you!" She smiled smugly at him. Only a monster would turn down a gift like these!

Thomas Shelby may have been a monster.

But maybe for just a second, he wasn't.

"Oh go on then..." he continued, "ill only eat a few if you eat some as well." He smirked a smile that would raise hell and trample heaven.

Always business and negotiating with Thomas.

Dorothy had no problem with this at all. She smiled even wider at the thought of eating some of her favourite sweets.

She picked up the tray and scurried over to where he was sitting by a counter. She placed the tray down and sat on the counter just by his knees.

"These are actually my favourite ones!" She gushed.

Thomas looked at the sweets to his left and picked one up, the slightly sticky sweet was warm in his fingers.

Looking back at Dorothy, she seemed more excited than he did that he would try one of her sweets.

"Well go on then! Give it a try!" She encouraged.

He squinted his eyes at her, not one to take orders. But what can he say, he was curious.

Popping the sweet in his mouth, his mind practically exploded.

Thomas all of a sudden knew why they were called 'baked goods' because it was fucking phenomenal.

Thomas has to stop a groan from escaping his lips as he threw his head back, savouring the bitter but sweet taste that invaded his taste buds.

Snapping him out of his euphoria, Dorothy questioned, "whaddya think?" She giggled.

Thomas' head darted back up to look at the girl, only just registering the sound that came out of her mouth. It was a gorgeous sound.

Clearing his throat, "oh yeah, not bad. They're not bad at all." He looked away from her burning gaze.

Dorothy would have been downtrodden by his words if it weren't for the fact she saw his hand creeping for another one. She only smiled, not wanting to discourage the hesitant man.

She reached for one herself and popped it in her mouth. She was less subtle with her reaction, leaning back, a moan  leaving her throat, loving the sweet taste.

She was not aware of Thomas' wise eyed stare as the sound left her lips. She did not seem fazed by the effect she could have with those sounds - apparently far too pure for her mind to even think of such thoughts.

"I take it you like your sweets?" Thomas mused, a small smile on his face.

A genuine smile, one that wasn't mocking or fake or even suggestive. Just a smile.

"Bubs." Is all Dorothy said.

Now Thomas was confused again.

"Bubs?"

"Yes Bubs. Your name. Considering you like these ones so much."

Thomas' smile faded and was replaced with a frown, "that's not my name."

"Well what is your name?"

"What's yours?"

Dorothy smirked in victory as she recalled the previous conversation they had, had earlier when he thought it good to call her 'Bonny'.

"Bubs it is then."

Thomas's frown lifted a bit, "I don't like that name, take it back."

A very childish answer for a very ruthless man.

She shrugged and said nothing.

Thomas only now allowed himself to smile. He too, decided he liked this. This was nice.

Dorothy noticed the look on his face and was satisfied. She had done her job. Pleased that she made the rude man smile, and just for a while he was kind.

They returned back to their blissful silence that was just perfect.

Finishing the last of the sweet treats together with only one remaining. They reached forward, pausing midway through the action. Thomas chuckled, "go on then, that one's for you."

Dorothy, had another one of her good ideas, decided she didn't like his suggestion.

There were many ways she could have gone about her plan, she didn't think to consider those ones, instead doing the first thing that came to mind.

She took a bite out of the delicious item and then proceeded to shove the rest of it in front of Thomas' face.

Thomas, startled by the very forward action, decided that he would respond accordingly by doing something very forward himself and biting the rest of the sweet treat off her finger and thumb.

His lips brushing against the tips of her fingers.

Only when he had swallowed the food did he look up at her again, not being able to suppress a smirk as his face burned an attractive shade of red in the small glow of the furnace light.

Thomas decided not to torture the poor girl any further and leant back in his chair.

After a moment of silence Dorothy took a deep breath and got off the counter, her leg brushing against his knee.

"What's the time, Bubs?"

Thomas smiled only a hint of a smile. He took out his Pocket watch, "8:45, you need you be somewhere?" He couldn't stop himself from asking.

"Ah! Fiddlesticks! I need to get back!" Dorothy flailed around. Grabbing her coat and keys off the counter, double checking the furnaces were off.

Shuffling out of the kitchen and into the shop of the bakery, she noted that the man wasn't following her.

Huffing, she turned around. He stood there, just watching her as she got more flustered.

When Thomas did not move an inch, she marched over and grabbed his hand, dragging him out of the establishment, "I need to lock up, Bubs. I can't leave you in here."

What she didn't know was that Thomas was willingly moving with her, a fond smile on his face.

She let go of his hand to lock up, after doing so she tucked the keys under the plant pot next to the entrance and booked it down the street, only turning her head to look at Thomas one last time;

"Goodbye Bubs, I'll see you around!"

And round the corner she went.

——

I WARNED YOU THIS WAS GONNA BE FLUFFY.

Whew! 2000 words, I'm exhausted! I hope you enjoyed the sixth chapter of my book!

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 7

A warm hand is better than cold, so let me hold yours.

Masterlist

You will always be fond of me. I represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit.

Through the back alleys and past the pubs; around the whore houses and fight clubs, Dorothy ran in the rain.

The farther she ran, the darker the lamp lights got and the cries of young children got louder.

This was Small Heath.

The market may be the heart of Small Heath but the slums are the reality of Small Heath. It's the version of Small Heath equivalent to that of an actor when they're no longer in front of the camera.

So Dorothy ran. She ran for the same reason that horses ran in races, to win, to beat everyone else to the end.

Dorothy ran to beat the drunks, the cries of kids she couldn't comfort, she ran for the finish line.

It was only when she reached the finish line and crossed the threshold of her home did she take a deep breath and look for her winnings.

She found her winnings in the kitchen, reading the paper.

"Hello Papa!" Dorothy chirped.

"Evenin' Dotty." He quipped back.

Without another word, Dorothy put a record on the gramophone and started cooking up a meal.

"How's mum?" Dorothy was hesitant to ask.

After another brief moment of silence, her father sighed and set down his paper; "she was looking better this mornin'. Sat up enough to nibble on some bread then right back to sleep." His voice slightly shaky, though Dorothy would never point it out, "she awoke again in the afternoon, twtichin' violently. I didn't know what to do Dotty."

His voice shook her heart. Dean Monroe was never weak, never vulnerable; but as the days got harder and the weeks got longer. It was hard to keep the act together.

Dorothy could only squeeze her eyes shut tightly before setting a piece of bread down on a plate and spreading some lard over the top.

She plopped the plate down in front of her father, he looked up raising an eyebrow, "you need to eat, Dot. There's enough bread for both of us." His voice soft with worry.

She only smiled up at him, "it's alright Pa, I already ate."

Her father stared down at her a moment longer before tucking in and eating the bread and lard. Grimacing slightly at the taste.

"I'll go see Ma."

Dorothy left the room quickly. Padding towards the door, she didn't knock, knowing her mother may be asleep.

When she opened the door, she was greeted with the fowl sickly sweet smell of pestilence.

Her mother was sick. Horribly sick. Consumption was the only answer Dorothy could gather from the few medical books she had been given.

They had nothing to treat her with. Only trying their best to use home remedies and keep windows open for ventilation.

They couldn't afford a doctor, least of all the medicine. They were lucky to have a relative from a distant country send some of her books, as she was a nurse in the war.

They tried their best to help her get better but all they could do was stop it from getting worse. They hoped, at least.

She peeked around the door, examining her mother. She was asleep, if it wasn't for the haunting rattle of her lungs seeping out with every breath she took, you would have thought she was dead

Dorothy could only frown. She had cried enough, and it didn't get her anywhere.

Walking towards her mothers bed, she picked up the tea that was now cold and hadn't been touched.

Walking out of her sickly mums room, she paused outside of the door.

'Deep breaths.' That's all it took. She counted the creaky wooden floorboards that did little to warm her house. She counted the cracks on the brick wall that scratched surface of your skin if you brushed against it.

She counted the amount of drops that fell into the bucket from the leak in the ceiling every minute.

She could no longer count anything when the ringing forced its way back into her head.

Tinnitus is what the book said.

Bloody Tinnitus.

As well as being able to look up her mothers symptoms, Dorothy secretly looked up her own. Only to find an incurable auditory hallucination disorder.

Whenever there was silence, there was ringing. The silence was so deafening.

——

It was another week yet when Dorothy saw the man again.

The man she found that maybe wasn't so rude.

It was a Thursday, a slightly grey day, but a day nonetheless.

Dorothy had escaped her home in the early hours of the morning, swiftly making her way to the bakery.

Dorothy liked the calmness of the morning, it was the only time in the day where the whole of the town was still asleep, no drunks, no children crying. Just peace.

So it was a surprise when Dorothy edged towards the heart of Small Heath and spotted the stomping figure of her one... friend, Bubs.

Instantly Dorothy had a smile on her face. The woes of home leaving her instantly as she spotted her slightly peculiar companion through the fog.

"Mornin Bubs!" She chirped merrily.

It wasn't instantly that Thomas' head shot up to look around. Only remembering the voice of the curious girl he'd met a few times.

It was rare Thomas was thankful for anything, but today he was thankful that it was too early for anyone to be out and for his brothers or family to be with him.

Despite all that, he found a very very small smile spread on his face as the petite woman stopped in front of him.

"Hello Bonny." He remarked.

It seemed the two had both grown used to their new nicknames, enjoying the mysterious aroma that followed the twos companionship.

Thomas has found himself thinking about the woman time and time again since their last encounter.

Remembering the interesting evening they had spent together: her attitude, her care for the children; her quiet humming; her baking. “Oh god her baking”. Thomas nearly melted at the memory.

Thomas' day was busy, his mind even more so.

But he always found a time when she would slip through the cracks and invade his thoughts.

"What's got you up this early in the mornin'?" She smiled curiously.

"Just an early stroll to start the day." Thomas lied for the second time he'd known her.

He was actually on his way to the Garrison.

Today was black star day.

And what a day it will be.

"And what a wonderful way to start the morning" Thomas thought. To see her on the day he may not see anyone again.

"On me way to the Garrison before headin' out." Thomas added.

Dorothy nodded before clapping her hands together and gasping;

"I actually need to stop by the Garrison, do you reckon you have time to spare to come open the shop with me then walk to the Garrison together?" She grinned at the thought of spending the early hours of the morning with her new friend.

"You don't have to, of course! I just figured that it'd be nicer to not have to walk alone, it's awfully cold ou-" she was cut off.

"Go on then, lead the way." Thomas gestured his hand in the direction of the bakery. Surely no one will be out for a little while longer.

Thomas was just about to turn away towards the bakery when she grabbed his hand and began walking with him.

Raising an eyebrow and looking over at Bonny, she didn't seem fazed by her actions, only a small smile on her face as she bounced a bit in her step.

Thomas shrugged and got on with walking.

The two found themselves in a peaceful silence again, finding that they didn't have to talk to enjoy each other's company. It was a good arrangement for both of them.

This was good and this was nice.

And that's all they needed in that moment.

——

All it took was stepping into the bakery for memories to overcome the both of them.

While Dorothy wandered off to the Kitchen to take a few pence, Thomas inhaled deeply, smelling the rich scent of bread and sugary sweets.

His hand now feeling cold that Bonny had let it go.

And there it was again, the humming. The beautiful humming that she absentmindedly did whenever she was concentrating.

Thomas recognised the tune but couldn't place the memory.

Strolling back over to him, she instead linked her arm with his as they walked towards the Garrison. This time, she was chatting his ear off, but he didn't mind - her voice was soft and silky, she didn't have to hum tunes for her to put him at peace.

It seemed as though time had flown by when Thomas noticed them creeping upon the doors to the Garrison. Unwinding his arm from hers, he opened the door for her.

She grinned at him and walked through, sending a cheery smile to Grace, who was the only one behind the bar.

'Oh yeah. Grace.' Thomas had found himself forgetting about her these last few weeks.

In fact, he hadn't seen or thought about her at all since the night the guns were found.

Since the night he'd met Bonny.

Before Thomas walked through the door of The Garrison, he heard the sweet voice of Bonny, "Oh hello there! I was wondering if you could help me with something!"

Thomas shook his head. Always polite as always it should seem.

Walking into the Garrison finally, he spotted Bonny leaning over the bar gushing to Grace about the dress she was wearing.

Grace looked startled by the woman in front of her, slightly taken a back by the way she walked in and immediately announced that she loved Graces winter dress.

She didn't immediately notice Thomas walk in, finding herself comfortable around the girl who so insistently asked the fabric of which her dress was made.

Dorothy had that sort of way about her where she could make a room warm just by walking in, she made everyone in the room comfortable and relaxed. Everyone wanted to get a look at her.

When Grace finally noticed Tommy, as did the rest of the pub. The place went still and silent, feeling colder than before. He made the room stiff and antsy. His presence demanding that everyone looked at him.

Grace's attention turned away from the sweet lady in front of her. Grace didn't get the chance to ask for his order as she was interrupted by the girl whose attention had also drifted.

"There you are, Bubs, I almost thought you abandoned me for a second!"

Thomas only chuckled at the woman in front of him, the two of them looked to be in their own world together. Unaware of the stares of Grace and the other attendees in the Pub.

Grace cleared her throat, trying to get Thomas' attention.

She hadn't seen him in weeks, thinking she was making progress in her efforts, only to find out he had been galavanting around with this woman she had never seen before.

Dorothy looked back at Grace, smiling sheepishly for forgetting her presence,

"Look Bubs!" She gestured towards Grace, "isn't her dress gorgeous?"

Every other party in the room had been rendered speechless.

Who was this girl?

Did she just call him Bubs?

Did she just talk to him like that?

Did he let her?

But Thomas didn't care. He didn't even acknowledge Graces dress, only staring fondly at the girl in front of him who huffed at his lack of response.

Grace was blushing furiously at the forward-ness of the girl and her approach to the Shelby man.

The atmosphere changed again as the silence filled the room. Everyone's eyes on Thomas, gaging his reaction to the blunt command that was certainly not ok to ask a Shelby.

Thomas only smirked a small smile, not tearing his eyes off the woman he'd become to be rather fond of,

"yes, Bonny, it's lovely."

——

ANOTHER ONE FINISHED. Yayyyyyy!

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Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 8

Some secrets are better left surprises.

Masterlist

The ocean does not apologise for its depth and the mountains do not seek forgiveness for the space they take and so, neither shall I.

The moment between the two individuals was quickly interrupted by the slamming open of the Garrison doors.

Thomas, after hearing the no so quiet chatter, knew who had just entered.

Dorothy strained her head around Thomas' shoulder and saw men with peaked caps.

It was the Peaky Blinders.

Dorothy felt her knees shake as they made their way into the pub.

Thomas quickly decided that these idiots were not going to ruin his companionship with the curious woman before he could finally work her out.

Seeing her fear of the men sent a small pang to his heart. Those were his men. They were supposed to be frightening. So why did her reaction only hurt now?

Quickly grabbing her arm and rushing to the back room before any of the men could start a conversation, he muttered, "let's get you your drink then, eh?"

Dorothy didn't make a move, her eyes fixated on the blinders so Thomas tugged on her arm and dragged her to the cellars down the stairs.

Thomas unknowingly smirked a little when he remembered their evening when she dragged him out of the bakery and into the pouring rain.

——

Dorothy was scanning the bottles around the cellar, taking each one out individually and scanning the tags and ingredients for the perfect one.

"I thought you don't drink?" Thomas asked, trying to make conversation. Very out of character.

"I don't" she muttered some of the ingredients out loud as she read them, "but some of Ms. P's bread has rum and brandy in them. You need the perfect one for the best taste..." she trailed off again.

"ai fi crezut că vorbesc cu un zid de cărămidă" Thomas muttered to himself.

"oh fi liniștit! sunt aproape terminat." Dorothy bit back.

Thomas let out a slightly animalistic noise when Bonny answered back in his mother tongue.

After composing himself, he cleared his throat, "you speak Romani?" He chuckled to himself. "Of course she does."

"My father taught it to me. Said it was important for 'is lil' gewl to know 'er roots" she laughed at her impression of him.

"So you come from a gypsy family, eh?" Thomas felt like this may be one of his only chances to ask her more questions as she's distracted now.

"I'll assume you do too?" Her eyebrows furrowed when she read the brandy bottle in front of her.

"What clan did he travel in?" Thomas asked carefully, this hopefully being his key to working out who Bonny is.

"What's with all the questions, Bubs?" She raised a brow, still examining the lacquered paper.

"Damn. Caught." Thomas only sighed.

Dorothy gasped when she found the perfect bottle, she shoved it into her bag while pulling out a few coins.

"Don't worry about pay." Thomas mentioned.

Dorothy scrunched her nose up, "but I have to pay, that's how this stuff works..."

"I'll just put it on the bill" Thomas shrugged.

"No, Bubs, you can't pay for this. It's under the bakery's money anyway."

Thomas only shrugged again, putting an end to the discussion. Dorothy only huffed and slipped one of the coins in his waistcoat pocket. That being her only compromise to the deal.

Thomas only grinned at her.

"So why can't I know your name?" Thomas hesitantly cautioned, hopefully getting the result he wanted.

"Why can't I know yours?" She bit back

"What's your name, Bonny?"

"What's yours?"

A sense of deja vu passed over the two as they remembered that they've had this same conversation three times now.

"Besides, Bonny and Bubs seems perfectly fine for now. We've become fast friends, Bubs, even though you held a gun to my face the first time we met."

Thomas missed half of that conversation when she mentioned the part of them being friends.

Thomas' voice got stuck in his throat at just the thought of being friends. Despite how sad it all was, Thomas revelled in her statement.

He cleared his throat, registering all the other things she'd said, "I should probably apologise for the gun thing..."

Thomas' train of thoughts was stopped by the slamming open of the cellar door.

Maybe it was a good thing he was distracted, what was he thinking? Apologising? Very un-Shelby like.

There, at the top of the stairs was Grace, rushing down, "Thomas I need to tell you something!"

Thomas sighed. Poker face back on. He said nothing.

"Uhm. I should go. Ms. P is probably waiting for me..." His Bonny scuttled off before he could stop her.

Grace only glared at the girl until she rounded the corner, out of the back way of the Garrison as to avoid the very prevalent Peaky Blinders in the hub of the Garrison.

"What do you need, Grace?" Thomas pinched his nose.

Now the day has properly begun.

——

Ahhh this chapter is very short, sorry!

It's still very important for the sake of friendship enrichment and all that!

"ai fi crezut că vorbesc cu un zid de cărămidă" = you would have thought I was talking to a brick wall.

"oh fi liniștit! sunt aproape terminat"

= oh be quiet. I'm almost done.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are welcome.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 9

Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it did burn down in one.

Masterlist

I sat inside a room with nothing in it and realised it was still full. This is when I knew I was enough.

Dorothy spent the rest of that morning attending to her duties in the bakery. Mrs. P came in that morning with a horrible cough so Dorothy, after much convincing, managed to send her home. Thursdays were slow days anyway.

Everyone wanted to wait til Saturday so they could swoop in and get the cheap bread. She didn't blame them.

It was safe to say though, that Dorothy was officially bored. With the slow business on Thursdays and Mrs. P being sick. She didn't have anyone to talk to. Only the gramophone to keep her company as she sung to the lovely tunes that crackled out of the fine machinery.

The gramophone started buffering weirdly, small blips of peculiar sounds flitted out sporadically, becoming louder and louder.

She fiddled with the needle on the board and only huffed. She turned it off in a hopes that it would be ok when she turned it back on again, only to realise that when she turned it off, the sounds didn't stop.

And they were still getting louder.

Dorothy looked back into the shop of the bakery, her brows furrowed - there was no one there.

Peaking out of the shop windows, she saw a van with men surrounding it and walking in front.

Men, with guns.

A rather Pompous looking man with a nasally South London accent was barking orders.

She scrunched her nose at the greasy looking man.

When he got around 20 metres away from the bakery, he stopped. The men held up their guns in front of them.

Dorothy did not fear guns. She heard the shots every night where she lived. She only feared those who could pull the trigger.

It was only when the pompous man stepped off the van and carried on rambling did she realise there was a second party.

Looking the other way, she spotted a group of men that she feared.

She did not fear these men for being men. She feared these men for the burden they carried and that they would unleash that burden for any cause that suited them.

She feared the Peaky Blinders.

——

Oh Icarus! For all you have fallen, still you flew!

And for a moment, the sun knew of you, too!

Thomas was not a man of violent rage. But Thomas had his moments.

Thomas had these moments only a few times in his life.

He had this moment when he found out his sister Ada was pregnant with his ex best friends child.

He had this moment when he lost the guns.

He had this moment when he realised that Grace was a spy. When he found out that the woman he'd almost fallen in love with, was an agent of the crown.

"Posh toffs." Thomas scoffed, "always bad news."

Thomas was fuelled by rage as he came face to face with Kimber's men. Anger at this posh twat for being... there? In his way. Blocking him from climbing the food chain.

He felt anger to Grace and her deceitful lies and curious glances.

Thomas only felt his rage dampen when he pulled up to the street where he was meeting Kimber.

The market.

A very specific part of the market.

Outside of the bakery.

The bakery where his Bonny worked.

Thomas' thoughts left Kimber, left Grace.

He focused solely on the woman he knew was peaking through the windows like other shop owners as they strained to hear the commotion going on outside.

He thought of the way her hair curled into ringlets, perfectly intertwining with other strands, framing her face. The way her small fringe fell In front of her eyes as she constantly fiddled with its placement on her face, bringing the curls to rest on her glasses that sat delicately on her youthful face.

The glasses that made her eyes look wide as if they were staring into his soul.

He thought of the way her hand fit into his when she held it that morning.

He clenched his fist, desperately, in an attempt to see if he could replicate the warmth she exerted.

Thomas couldn't bring himself to look at the bakery. He knew she was watching.

The way she reacted that morning to the presence of the Peaky Blinders left no doubt in his mind that when she put the pieces together, their short time of contact and pleasant silences, would come to a close.

Thomas, for the first time, wished he wasn't who he was.

But Thomas also realised that without being who he was, he wouldn't have met her, that stressful evening in the safe house.

He didn't know if it were a curse or a blessing

He cursed himself for not examining her beauty that night as she slept in the chair in front of him all that sleepless night.

——

The exchange went by in a blur.

Dorothy tried to process what she saw. She desperately racked her brain for excuses as she saw him.

Bubs.

Her Bubs.

Walking with the Peaky Blinders. He was the Peaky Blinders. He was the leader of the Peaky Blinders.

Her mind could only work at turtles pace as she tried to comprehend the information.

It was only now as Dorothy examined her roller dex of memories that she realised that she had never come into contact with a single Peaky Blinder.

Only seeing their peaked caps and razor blades from afar.

She heard stories of Thomas Shelby. Dreadful stories of Thomas Shelby.

But Dorothy was stubborn in her beliefs and Dorothy decided in the moment the first gun shot went off, that the man who was standing not even 30 metres away from her, was not Thomas Shelby.

That was her Bubs.

And her Bubs had just been shot.

Dorothy only gasped when when a man came leaping forwards in front of him collapsed as bullets penetrated his skin, shielding her Bubs.

Dorothy had seen death. But she feared that she'd never grow used to it. Not with the brutality that was just committed.

Dorothy missed the girl standing in the middle with a pram. Dorothy missed the greasy man get shot in the head. She missed the man walking out with a heavy artillery machine gun.

All she saw was her Bubs.

——

The opposing group dispersed and wondered away, unsure of where to go.

The Peaky Blinders started to dwindle away, the excitement gone and no more toys to play with.

A few men grabbed Thomas but he waved them off, telling then to get a drink.

He may be bleeding out, but he had one last thing to do before he went to get himself sorted out.

The men slowly left, sending him confused glances which he ignored as he slouched in the direction of the bakery.

Thomas had one last thing to do. He was selfish, he knew. But he needed to see her one last time, before she would waltz out of his life, probably the same way she waltzed in.

Fire in her eyes, determination raw and unfiltered.

He stood in front of the shop as it dauntingly looked over his body.

Thomas was only severed from his thoughts when he was pulled in to said bakery.

——

A very tense moment...

I'm excited for the next chapter. I like pulling last minute surprises out of the bag and I'm debating how to go about this one!

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby- Chapter 10

“You can’t make a monster cookie to honour my name, Bonny.”

Masterlist

A witch ought never to be frightened in the darkest forest... because she should be absolutely certain in the depths of her soul that the most terrifying thing in that forest was her.

Dorothy said nothing as she sat him down in the waiting chair.

She also said nothing as she rushed to the back room. She plodded around looking for the best equipment that she could.

The silence continued until she was sat right in front of him, tugging his waistcoat and shirt off.

Nothing was said as she prepared to dig around inside his shoulder for the bullet.

This horrible silence was different to all their other silences that they usually had. It was different because Dorothy was confused.

She now knew he was Thomas Shelby, of course.

But she didn't know how to equate her Bubs on the same line as Thomas Shelby.

They were completely different people in her head.

Dorothy very quickly realised she was foolish for ever thinking this man her friend. Dorothy knew nothing of her Bubs, their friendship was built on an accidental meeting and unexpected run-ins.

The silence was shattered as she plunged the spoon and icing stick into the wound (she sterilised them first, of course) and Thomas' voice roared.

She could only wince in apology as his body instantly jerked away. She had no way of holding him down so she could only move back and forth with him and plunge the utensils in further.

After a horrible 2 minutes of digging around, the bullet was out and on the table.

She grabbed some thick string and a needle and sewed his wound. Thomas only reduced to grunts and the clenching of his fists at the numbing pain.

As she leant forward she cut the string off with her teeth, Thomas could smell her hair - she smelled of vanilla and sugar and rose water perfume.

Dorothy then thought back to the very little time she had spent with this man, she thought of the way he looked at her and answered her. There was nothing malicious in his face.

Dorothy just couldn't be scared of this man. She couldn't work out why, but she just couldn't.

She thought of all the innocent people he had probably killed and she empathised for them.

But that wasn't her Bubs. Her Bubs wasn't a man she knew, but a man she would like to know better.

She had never met Thomas Shelby and she hoped she never will.

The man in front of her was her Bubs.

Maybe this is one of the things people would call one of her flaws. She couldn't help but see someone's heart before their name, because people were not their looks or their family.

She refused to see him as Thomas Shelby because Thomas Shelby was a horrible man, but not her Bubs.

Dorothy repeated these words like a mantra in her head. You could say she was making excuses and maybe she was, but she didn't care. Not right now.

——

There was a long moment of silence after she handed him a bottle of Brandy, the same one she had bought that morning, well, he had.

She was staring at the ground, not saying anything.

"So..." she coughed, "Shelby, huh?"

Thomas for some reason ignored her question and instead answered with his own, "why did you help me?"

"Huh?"

"Why did you help me?" He repeated, "you know who I am, you can't possibly want me here, especially now that not only five minutes ago, I was bleeding all over your shop."

Dorothy only sighed, "I don't know." She furrowed her eyebrows, seemingly trying to come up with an answer of her own; "Friends help friends?" She stated more like a question rather than anything else.

"But I saw you, this morning. I saw the way you instantly recoiled at the sight of my men. Now you know they're my men, why are you still helping me?" He prodded further.

"They aren't your men. At least not to me they're not. They're Thomas Shelby's men. You're Bubs." Her answer didn't make sense. For a third time in their short companionship, Thomas thought she was daft, or worse.

She continued, "the man I've spent time with is not a gangster." That one hurt. "A ruthless man" ok I get it. "A killer." Low blow. But fair.

"The man I've spent time with is Bubs. I've been naïve to think I knew him, but I want to know more about Bubs. Not Thomas Shelby. Because Thomas Shelby is only a name with connotations wrapped around it. Thomas Shelby has become all of those things. But despite all that; Bubs is not Thomas Shelby." Her rambles, though not entirely coherent nor logical, seemed to be good enough for her when she nodded her head.

Thomas could only nod his head, supposing that was a reasonable answer.

"So what would you have done if I'd died? Eh?" He joked a bit, to lighten the air. Not a great way of doing it, but ok.

She only shrugged, giggling a bit, "I'd have made little cookies in the shape of monsters, to honour your reputation that you seem hell bent on keeping. Oh! and I'd make them with dark chocolate, because I know you like dark chocolate." She smiled a small smile, that only he could see.

He only scoffed jokingly, "you can't make a monster cookie to honour my name, Bonny."

"Of course I can! And what a mighty terrifying monster it would be! Buyers would tremble at the sight!" She shook her fist at the sky.

Thomas was silent for a moment, followed by the sound of roaring laughter. He laughed a laugh that he hadn't in a while.

Though she was mocking his reputation, he found her profound statements highly amusing.

And just like that, the previous events were forgotten. And in that moment, they were not Dorothy and Thomas. They were Bonny and Bubs.

And it was nice. And it was pleasant. And that's all they wanted it to be.

——

Oooohh that's a big leap! I tried my best to write their feelings in the most honest way possible, I hope it's alright.

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 11

If I cannot bend Heaven, I will raise Hell.

Masterlist

"Aphrodite," I plead to the moon drenched sky "Tell me; if love is meant to heal, then why does it destroy those who choose it?"

From somewhere beyond the clouds, I heard the Goddess laugh.

And I knew.

Saturday.

It had been two days since that day.

That awful day.

That wonderful day.

After Bubs - or, er - Thomas was all stitched up and talking again. They found themselves talking about everything and nothing. Dorothy thought back to that day and sighed: things did not end on a good note.

——

Thomas and Dorothy howled with laughter as Thomas re-told some childhood stories, mostly centred around his brothers antics as they got into God-knows-what.

After sobering up, Thomas thought back to her words earlier that evening.

"The man I've spent time with is Bubs. I've been naïve to think I knew him-."

Thomas also realised that he knew nothing of the girl other than the basic small talk things they had previously discussed.

"So where about are you based? I've never seen you 'round ole' Watery Lane before, eh?"

His question made her stiffen. The life at home that she'd forgotten about when she was with him came rushing back in a blur, all too familiar.

"Oh, that's nothing to worry about, Bubs." Dorothy's smile wasn't genuine but just a quip to get Thomas off her back so she wouldn't have to answer questions.

Seeing her stiffness, he decided that maybe the question could wait for another time; "so still Bubs, eh?" He nudged gently.

"Of course you are! Still my good friend Bubs." She smiled proudly.

Thomas' heart twanged at her words.

The light-hearted conversation moved on, at one point, Dorothy broke open a tin that had boiled sweets in them, Thomas recognised the sweets as the ones the lady down the market used to sell before she passed.

"She gave me the recipe for them when I told her I was baking sweets in the bakery, she said 'I always remember you youngins coming into ma shop and feastin' on ma boiled sweets! I always knew how you liked 'em!'"

Dorothy giggles at the accent and Thomas smiled fondly at the memory of the lady.

Thomas like he'd stated previously, never had a sweet tooth, especially not after the war; but he did indulge a bit in the boiled sweets he remembered so strongly from when he was young and wide-eyed.

The conversation carried on, Thomas spoke with as big gestures as he could manage with his injured shoulder. He talked about his brothers, his sister, his Aunt Pol. For a brief moment he even mentioned a memory he had of his mother. Dorothy felt like she knew them personally from the stories Thomas told.

Dorothy knew what happened in that home before the war. She did grow up on the same streets as the Shelby boys, albeit, she didn't hang around them, but she knew of them.

She knew that their mother died. She knew that their father left. She knew of the Gray children being taken away. She knew of all of it.

Thomas paused when he'd realised he'd been talking for fifteen minutes straight - more than he had in a long time - and looked at Dorothy intently.

"Well I think I've talked enough about my escapades and family; what about yours?"

Thomas knew she knew all of the things that had occurred in his boyhood, so he found it highly unfair that he didn't know any of hers.

Dorothy didn't smile at the question or shake her head like she usually did. Instead a frown placed its way on her face. Her hands which had been sitting in her lap previously were now dancing about. Her fingers in one hand danced around on the back of the other in her lap. Thomas noticed she did this when she got nervous. She'd done it that morning when his men had walked into the pub.

Thomas also frowned at the sight; he thought she would do what she did earlier and change the subject but instead, she only smiled a nervous smile.

She spoke of when she was young. She spoke of a time when she could eat at least one good meal a day. When she could still go down to the sweet shop. When she had full cheeks and a rosy face to match.

She didn't speak of home or her family. Thomas also noticed this but decided it good to let her talk of what she wanted.

"I remember actually when I was still in school - I was in Johns year, and one day at lunch, John kicked a ball and it hit me square in the face." Dorothy broke out into a fit of giggles.

"He didn't even notice, he just ran in, scooped the ball back up and ran back to you lot." Dorothy cringed at the memory.

"Yeah that sounds like John-boy."

Thomas continued, "So you're the same age as John, you went to the same school as we did, I must have come into contact with you at some point!"

Dorothy thought for a moment before clicking her fingers, "I think there was this one time! It was at the cut, I think. I was running around with friends, doing god-knows-what and I think you and Freddie Thorne were racing each other to the other side of the river, when one of my friends picked up Freddie's clothes and your shirt and ran off with them!" Dorothy roared with laughter as she trailed off at the end, trying to keep her giggles controlled.

"That was you!" Thomas could only gape at her.

"Well, technically it wasn't me, it was my friends, but sure." She shrugged and doubled over in laughter once again.

Thomas only shook his head at the memory. The two of them had got out, Freddie had to trek back down Watery Lane in only his shorts while Thomas had his suspenders on. Thomas got a right earful from Polly that night.

Thomas scowled a bit, but couldn't hold it at the sight of Dorothy clutching her belly with laughter.

Thomas thought that by asking her all these questions, he could get a bit further to the truth of who she was.

If Thomas was being honest with himself, he knew it would only take a bit of digging for him to work out who she was. But for some unknown reason to him, he decided that he liked the mysterious aura that came with this petite girl.

But despite all this; Thomas was tired of beating around the bush.

He slapped his hands on his thighs and stated, "right. Go on then. Let's hear who you are. I think it's only fair, don't you? Eh?" Thomas not so subtly inquired.

Dorothy's mood dropped.

She wasn't one to get angry, and she certainly wasn't angry, she didn't do angry. But she was definitely a little miffed right now.

She knew that if she told Bubs who she was, he'd look into her and see everything about her. He'd look into her home life and see pity. He'd look into her mind and see bells of warning that never stopped ringing. He'd look into her heart and determine that though, broken, it was unbearably full and for a man like Thomas Shelby, he wouldn't be comfortable with a heart like hers.

"Who are you to sit here and talk to me about being fair? Your whole business is built on the foundations of murder and petty lying. Don't talk to me about fair, Shelby."

Dorothy wasn't angry.

But it was in that moment she saw him, Thomas Shelby. She saw that killer in his eyes flash for a second then disappear.

Thomas' gaze softened when the impact of her words hit him.

It was then, he learnt another thing about Bonny. She was kind, but she wasn't weak.

Kindness is often mistaken for weakness and that is a mistake you don't want to make.

Kind people are not born that way, they do not stumble into it, kind people are forged in fire and darkness and imploding stars... they have steel cores. Throw a punch and you'll break your hand.

The devil runs when the good man goes to war.

Their silence lasted until Thomas heard his name being shouted in the streets. He didn't realise just how much time he'd spent in the bakery.

Dorothy sat in her chair. She felt guilty for her words, but she had no other way of keeping her name close to her heart. Thomas could read her like a book if he wanted to.

But unlike Thomas, she was not burdened with her name. She had no squander with the way people spoke her name.

So she kept it close to her heart.

Because it was then, she knew, that once Thomas Shelby had her name, her heart would surely follow, not far behind.

Thomas stared at her for another moment. He lifted himself out of his chair, groaning in slight pain which made Dorothy flinch.

He left the shop, the bell chiming loudly enough to shake the tension but not push it to leave.

But he left. Without so much as a goodbye.

Dorothy sat for another moment. She sighed and got to work with cleaning up.

——

So no. Thursday did not end on a good note.

But lucky for Dorothy, it was Clear-out day. So hopefully the people of the market, would surely keep her busy.

But never enough to distract her from the aching pain in her stomach as she thought of her friend.

——

Awww this one was kinda sad.

Well anyway, thank you for 300 reads! The support is crazy!

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Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 12 pt.1

“The last time we were here, you held a gun to my face.”

Masterlist

I will not have you without the darkness that hides within you.

I will not let you have me without the madness that makes me.

If our demons cannot dance, neither can we.

It was safe to say that Thomas couldn't get Bonny out of his mind.

Thomas genuinely thought that when he left the bakery that the curly haired girl would leave his mind. He didn't even know her name, but he still couldn't get her out of his head.

But unfortunately for him, the fast companionship had come to an end.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't blame himself, and for the first time in a long, long time: guilt ate away at him.

The guilt for so many things to do with her that he could not name.

It was only a day later when his Aunt Polly noticed.

She stormed into his office and sat down in the chair opposite him. She lit a cigarette before she started speaking, Thomas did not greet her, he only stared solemnly.

"So which girl have you knocked up now?" Polly asked nonchalantly.

Thomas didn't honestly know how to respond to that.

She continued, "No. there's no pregnant girl... what shitty business have you landed in now? We only just got rid of the guns, don't tell me you've fucked something else up."

Thomas sighed and lit his own cigarette, "nothing of the sort, Pol. There's nothing to get in a flap about."

Polly scoffed, "well there clearly is, you've missed three meetings today and you're behind on almost all of your LEGAL paperwork. We can't conduct a legal business if you're lacking. Whatever it is, sort it out."

And so she stomped out, leaving Thomas with his thoughts. Well, more memories if anything.

Thomas thought of her hands and the way they fitted into his. He thought of the curve of her lips when she smiled, how her cheeks never seemed to grow tired of her joy. He thought of the way she became a peaceful record for him to sit next to and get lost in the sound of which.

He thought of how she all too quickly decided that they were friends and declared her name for him when she saw him in the streets. He thought of how different she was to him.

He thought of the way she smiled and he didn't, unless he was with her. He thought of the way she skipped and he didn't. He thought of the way she shone gentleness and kindness like it was her own form of light and he exerted cold glares and harsh words.

He thought of how much he needed her.

One last time. He'd see her one last time.

He'd look her dead in the eyes and examine the colour, which he'd yet to inspect. He'd look at her smile and burn it into the back of his eyes so it was there whenever he blinked. He would try and make her laugh one last time, just so he could hear it at night when the picks started hammering.

And lastly he'd remember how she made him feel. He didn't know how he felt.

But it was pleasant, and it was nice.

Thomas considered when to go. In their conversation last week, he remembered how she gave the food to the homeless children because it was clear out day, and nothing could go to waste.

So it was tonight that he'd visit. He'd go after the time the children stopped by, and just before she was about to leave, he'd go see her.

One last time.

——

Thomas stayed late, doing the paperwork that he was behind on, he filed them and noted the time. His eyes widened a bit when he realised he was later than he'd like to have been.

Quickly gathering his things, he made his way to the bakery at a steady march.

Arriving there, he noted that no lights were on and the door was locked.

He'd missed her.

Thomas kicked the stones in his path, his frustration seeping through his cold exterior as he stomped away.

He kept marching down the streets, no idea where he was going, just walking his anger off.

Thomas stopped short when he saw a weird lump in the middle of the street.

He manoeuvred around the strange rock mound in the street and for a closer look.

The rock moved slightly, up and down, up and down.

"It's just a drunk." Thomas thought.

If it wasn't for the small curls peaking out under the fabric, he would have kept walking.

Thomas crouched down next to the lump to examine the seemingly drunk girl.

Not wanting to startle the person in case they're a violent drunk, he carefully lifted the coat off the person to get a better look at them.

What shocked Thomas most wasn't the fact that he found a girl lying lifeless in the streets, no. What shocked him the most was that the girl who was on the floor, was his Bonny.

Thomas' mind instantly went into panic mode.

She looked as if she fell or she was thrown, she had her legs tucked under her and her body was leaning forward in a position Thomas couldn't imagine was comfortable.

Bonny didn't drink, so he panicked even more when he could smell small traces of alcohol on her.

She smelled of Brandy. The kind she baked with. He sighed in relief.

He turned her over so she was lying on her back, Thomas was now kneeling beside her.

He scanned over her body and noted that nothing was ripped or out of place, she only had a few scratches on her cheek from where she probably fell.

Thomas' head managed to clear for just a moment to get his head on straight.

He tapped the side of her face, trying to get her to wake up. She didn't respond.

Breathing. He could definitely see she was breathing, though it was shallow.

He tried tapping her face a bit harder this time, muttering her name a bit, "Bonny? Bonny? C'mon, wake up love." Thomas was in a state of panic, he just needed her to wake up.

He examined her body once more. Maybe he'd missed something.

After taking a good look at her - something he wished he'd be able to do under better circumstances - he noticed her body, her small, frail, body. He'd never noticed how sickly she looked with all her flowing dresses and thick coats. He never looked at her high set cheekbones and saw how sunken they were. She was thin to the bone.

After getting no where with his guesses, he quickly realised he had to get her off the streets.

Drunk men would start wandering the streets at this hour and seeing a young woman passed out in the middle of the street could never end well for her.

Thomas considered all of his options, though, he didn't have many.

His house? No, he left the keys in the Betting Shop, which was locked by Scudboat.

The small family home? No, they would ask questions that he didn't want to answer, she was scared enough of them as is.

Her house? No, he didn't even know where she lived.

...

The safe house?

Perfect.

Thomas scooped her up in his arms and went on his way.

——

Walking across the field, Thomas took another good look at her.

She was shaking in his arms, it wasn't THAT cold, but he figured that a girl as small and frail as her, wouldn't find it hard to get cold.

Maybe she was hungry, or just purely exhausted.

He remembered that from when he was a boy. Shaking with hunger. Those cold winter days when Polly thought he was freezing to death and kept wrapping him up, but actually he was just so fucking hungry that all his body could do was shake.

But not anymore. No.

Now, he provided for his family, ever since he got the legal betting licence, more money had started to appear. He could keep his family warm with fires and warm winter coats. He could feed every mouth at the table and still have more. He could afford nice clothing, and whiskey, and cigarettes to his hearts content.

When Thomas reached the Safe house, he pulled out the key that he always kept snapped into the grooves of his pocket watch.

It was a handy mechanism that his Uncle Charlie had presented to him.

So now whenever he twisted the handles on the pocket watch, the key would spring up.

Silently thanking Charlie as he adjusted his grip on the sickly pale girl in his arms, he fumbled around with the watch and put the key in.

——

Nothing had changed since the last time he'd been there.

Still the same walls and dark oak rafts that bordered the ceiling.

Thomas wandered up the stairs, kicking the door closed behind him, he got to the top of the landing and quickly realised that he had no idea where anything was.

Scuttling quickly down the hallway, Thomas peeked into each room;

"No... bathroom... liquor room - handy, but currently useless... bedroom."

Thomas rushed over to the bed and gently lay Bonny down. He stared at her for only a second more before he snapped out of it and got back to work.

He made quick work of taking off her shoes and getting her under the covers of the bed. He stroked her forehead as a last ditch attempt to work out what was wrong. She had no fever, but she was deathly cold.

Once again checking her breathing and her pulse, he crouched down and rested his head on the side of the bed. Thanking whatever he could that she was alive.

He made his way over to the mantle piece and lit the fire, hoping to get some warmth into this empty house.

"She can't have eaten yet." Thomas thought to himself. Possibly being the only coherent and smart thought he'd had since he'd found her.

He set for a path down the stairs, quickly looking back at her one last time before closing the door, trying to keep the warmth in.

He filtered through the cupboards and found a tin of beans and bread that had surprisingly not gone off yet. It must have been the cold keeping it from going off.

He heated up the beans and started boiling some water.

He poured the beans on the toast that he'd put above the stove, and filtered the tea through the strainer.

Putting all this on a slightly bent tray, he rushed back up the stairs to her room, it was only a bit warmer then.

He placed the tray on the bedside table, pulled up a chair and waited at her bedside.

He once again tried tapping the side of her face to see if she'd wake up, but she didn't react.

Thomas didn't know what to do. He had no idea what was wrong with her, he could only guess but he didn't want to try anything in fear of it backfiring.

"C'mon Bonny, I need you to work with me here."

——

I’m splitting this chapter into two parts, so here is the first part.

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Gun Metal and Daisies Chapter 12 pt.2

“The last time we were here, you held a gun to my face.”

Masterlist

Earlier that evening...

Dorothy was exhausted. She'd spent a terribly long day at work with no breaks. She just needed the day to end so she could go home and sleep.

Slowly as she finished the last batch of sweets, she wiped the sweat from her forehead. She grimaced at it, she never usually got so worked up when baking; but today it was all a tiresome experience.

As she unintentionally slammed the cookies down on the counter, it triggered the ringing in her ears that had gone off sporadically throughout the day.

She swayed from side to side as she stared at nothing in particular.

Home. She needed to get home.

Grabbing her keys and coat, she locked up and seemingly drifted out of the bakery.

As time wore on though, lifting her feet became an effort and her moves became sluggish.

She had no energy to run the safe route back home as the idea of a gentle jog made her feel un well.

She needed water. She needed food.

Dorothy was used to a lack of food, she could cope. But she needed water.

A common symptom of tinnitus is low blood pressure. She wouldn't be surprised if that was it.

She was cold. She was thirsty. She was hungry.

Somehow, despite all this cold, she was sweating profusely, panting hard as she tried not to slouch too much.

Dorothy stumbled around the streets of Small Heath until her vision very quickly narrowed and she fell face first into the jagged cobbles.

——

Thomas had his head in his hands, he was rocking slightly in his seat, muttering nonsense to himself.

Thomas didn't panic, he always had everything under control. But this time, he couldn't do anything.

He checked his watch for the first time and realised, much to his surprise that it'd only been ten minutes since he'd found her. It felt like an eternity. He couldn't do anything.

Thomas cursed himself for not noticing these things sooner. She was unnaturally small and frail.

He promised to himself, that if she woke up - no. She had to wake up - that he'd look after her in every way he knew how. He didn't care if she wanted nothing to do with him. He just needed her to be okay.

Dorothy gave Thomas a part of himself that he hadn't seen in a long time. A part where he laughed more and relaxed deeper.

Dorothy saw the lost pieces of him and stubbornly stitched them back together, kissing the wounded parts of him and giving them a name.

He chuckled to himself at the name. Definitely not a very suitable name for big, scary Thomas Shelby.

"What're you laughin' a'"

Thomas bolted up right at the scratchy voice.

She was awake. His Bonny was awake.

Thomas could only stare at her for a moment, she looked confused, scared, even.

"Bubs. Where am I?" Her voice was panicked and croaked painfully.

"We're in the safe house, love. The place we first met, you remember?" Thomas at this point was kneeling up against the bed, his eyes were wide, his hands itching to grab hers. instead, all he could do was fist the blanket, desperately.

"I hate be be a bother, but could I have some water, please?" She smiled sheepishly as if she'd just asked him to bend over backwards.

"Of course, love. Sit tight, I'll just go grab some." He scuttled our, not wanting to be away from her for too long in fear of something happening to her.

Dorothy neglected to mention that she couldn't exactly feel her legs quite yet, so she wasn't going anywhere.

Dorothy observes the room around her. The bed was small and seemed big enough for two of they got real close. The walls were a sea grass green, which complimented the dark oak mantle.

She revelled in the warmth of the fire, something she only felt when sitting near the furnaces.

Her cocoon of warmth was interrupted by one Thomas Shelby storming back in with water.

Thomas, ever so adamant to help her, ignored her arms reaching out to grab the glass. He instead, leant her forward a bit and rearranged the pillows so she was sitting a bit more up right.

He then grabbed her chin, and brought the glass to her lips, and tipped it slightly.

Dorothy sensed that he maybe needed to do this in order to comfort himself that he was helping; so she just let him do it.

The water slid down her throat, her throat scratched at the hydration as it settled in her stomach, she almost immediately felt better.

Thomas wiped his thumb against her chin, discarding the droplets that's missed her mouth.

She only smiled weakly at him.

"How's your shoulder?"

Thomas stares in disbelief at her question. Here she was, limp in a bed, after being found passed out in the streets; and she just asked him how his shoulder was.

It was almost comical.

"I find you passed out in the middle of the streets and you ask me how my shoulder's doing?" Thomas chuckled dryly.

Dorothy only shrugged, "I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, I didn't want to scare anyone!" She had a guilty look across her face, She looked at Thomas as though she had committed an unspeakable crime, that not even HE could stand. "Say Bubs, how did I get here?"

"I carried you. Is that a problem? I understand not liking to be touched. Did I offe-?"

Dorothy gasped, "Thomas! Your shoulder! You can't be carrying anything in that state! Especially not heavy things like a person!"

Her statement reminded Thomas of the food that he'd made her, he ignored her accusation and turned to the tray, placing it in her lap, "when did you last eat?" He tried to be as casual as he could, not wanting to arouse suspicion of his actions.

Dorothy paused, "I had a bit of the chocolate batter from one of the Pookie bears!" Dorothy tapped her left fingers on the back of her right hand.

Thomas raised an eyebrow at the motion which she quickly settled, "Bonny, when did you last eat?" His voice a bit stronger, but not enough to frighten her. He saw how she could get frightened easily.

Dorothy's pause was even longer this time. She mumbled something that Thomas couldn't quite hear, "what was that, love?"

"Thursday..."

Thomas' panic only grew, a sick feeling settled in his stomach. "What did you eat on Thursday?"

"Boiled sweets with you..." Dorothy didn't look him in the eye. Terrified that his last ounce of respect had gone down the drain.

She knew that Thomas Shelby could eat three meals a day, and no financial crisis would occur.

Dorothy hoped that she'd have been able to keep this sort of thing under wraps from Bubs just a bit longer. So she could enjoy, if just for the briefest second, having someone close like a friend, who just enjoyed who she was.

With his next words, she knew that the jig was up: "why haven't you eaten since then?”

Thomas didn't honestly expect her next words. Though, when he thought of them, they made a lot more sense than what he was thinking.

He thought that maybe she was insecure. He thought that maybe she was like him and sometimes just forgot to eat.

But instead, he got, "Couldn' affor' it." Her voice was mumbled, but he'd heard it loud and clear. His heart broke slightly.

A single tear, rolled down her face, neither of them moved to wipe it away: her out of pure embarrassment; and him out of shock.

"Of course." Thomas thought. "Of course that was it. Half of Small Heath is practically a homeless shelter."

It just had to be his Bonny caught in the middle, didn't it?

Thomas didn't say anything for another second, Dorothy tensed when she heard him inhale deeply.

"Well go on then. Eat up." Thomas' voice was full of exhaustion and something else she couldn't quite catch.

If she hadn't of been so desperate, she would have refused politely. Instead, she took a slightly shaking hand and picked up the fork.

The shaking Thomas saw. She wasn't just cold. She was starving.

She took a good few mouthfuls until she stopped, feeling rather full and content at the delicious and filling food she'd eaten.

She usually just had bread and lard or potato peel stew, something along those lines.

She only now deemed it okay to look at Thomas, now that she'd felt like the tension had eased. Thomas though, did not look impressed.

"You gonna finish that? It's just one piece." He raised an eyebrow.

Dorothy felt terribly stupid. "Oh my! I didn't offer you any! I'm so sorry, Bubs. I really didn't mean to be so selfish. Here. Take it. I'm full." She pushed the tray in his direction, terrified of making a wrong move.

Thomas grew even more concerned. She never acted like this around him. She was acting like every other person in Small Heath. Scared to offend. Skittish.

Thomas hated it.

"Now don't go acting like all those other people back in that shit hole. What happened to Bonny, eh? You weren't scared of me before, and you have no reason to be now." His words hurt to say. She was scared, and he hated himself for it.

Thankfully, her shoulders relaxed and she smiled gratefully at the reassurance. She hated how she left things off with Thomas on

Thursday, she was scared he wouldn't want to see her again.

"Now are you gonna eat the rest of that or not?" Thomas leaned forward.

"Oh! No thank you. I'm quite full actually, it was lovely though!"

This, Thomas deemed, was not good enough. She was gonna eat the whole of that bread, weather he had to spoon feed her or something equally embarrassing - for her.

"Now C'mon. It's only one slice, you can finish that." Thomas pushed a bit more.

"I'm really full, Bubs. You don-."

"Bonny. Eat. Now." Thomas' voice was stern, far more than he would have liked. He didn't want to be like that with her.

Dorothy bowed her head a bit and picked up the fork again, eating in minuscule bites.

She looked up at the room again and smiled slightly; "the last time we were here, you held a gun to my face."

Thomas chuckled at the memory, "aren't I glad I didn't follow through with that... nearly shot ya. Thought you were a copper."

Dorothy decided that she didn't care for Thomas' business, and when he was with her, it appeared he wasn't too interested in talking about his business either.

It truly was their little escape.

She put down the fork again, trying her best to be subtle, but like most things, it didn't escape Thomas.

Definitely not now, not anymore.

"Do I need to help you, or are you gonna help yourself?" His tone sounded alike to that of a scolding mother that made Dorothy slightly curl in on herself. It was endearing. But she was full.

"Bubs, I seriously can't eat anymore. I'll just feel sick."

But Thomas was not having it. Instead he sighed and moved to sit on the edge of the bed, he put the tray on his lap. Dorothy thought he was going to take it away.

"You remember last Saturday, at the bakery that evening. You made an extra batch of your dark chocolate sweets?" He didn't give her time to answer, only cutting up the toast into smaller pieces, "you remember how I said I'd eat some if you ate some with me? Well how about we try that? Hmm?" His voice was soft. It dragged Dorothy in like a draft from under the door.

She contemplated it for a minute before nodding slightly, "this is not gonna end well."

Thomas put a piece in his mouth before taking another bit and bringing it towards Dorothy's holding his and under the fork so it wouldn't fall onto the bed, should the food decide to be stubborn.

He smiled satisfactorily when she bit it off the fork. This continued on for a few more minutes until the toast was finished.

If she was being honest, Dorothy felt sick to her stomach. But the small, proud smile on her Bubs face, made it all worth it.

He handed her the tea cup and she drank it slowly, trying to hold down what she could.

She definitely ate too much.

Thomas stayed perched where he was on the edge of the bed. Dorothy moved over a bit so he could get more room.

There was no conversation, the only sounds in the room was the crackling of the fire. Thomas enjoyed the comfort, feeling rather proud of himself that he helped her a bit. Dorothy stayed silent for fear that when she opened her mouth, her stomach would purge whatever was sitting there.

The moment continued for another minute, until Dorothy very abruptly asked, "where's the water closet?"

"Down the hall, first left. You need any help?" He lifted up a bit, reaching out his hand to help her up. Instead of grabbing his hand, she bolted out of the bed and ran to the bathroom.

"A girl thing..." Thomas thought to himself. He remembered when he was younger and Ada still lived with them, that she'd get up every night without fail, rushing for the bathroom.

Thomas settles back down until he heard retching coming from the bathroom.

He immediately sprang into action, rushing down the corridor, his first thought was intruder, but when he peeked around the slightly ajar bathroom door, he saw Dorothy, spewing her guts out.

Thomas' heart wrenched at the sight.

He didn't really know how to comfort her so he did what he saw Polly do to his mum when she came home off her face and vomiting on the floor: he held her hair back, brushing the strands off her face and rubbing her back slowly.

Thomas for a second time, felt guilty. He shouldn't have made her eat so much.

All he could do was whisper sweet nothings and apologies into her ears until she finally calmed down.

She sat back and Thomas reached up to pull the flusher, of course after checking that she was definitely finished.

He leaned against the wall, still rubbing her back as she leaned into him. Her shoulder digging into his chest, but he didn't mind, as she rested her head on his shoulder, facing away from him.

"I'm sorry, Bonny. I shouldn't have made you eat so much. I forgot that's not how stomachs work..." he chuckled softly.

She could only breathe out a laugh, wiping her chin from any muck that sat there.

Unfortunately for her, she slightly missed the toilet bowl and got a bit of it down her front.

Groaning slightly at the burning feeling in her throat.

"I hate to be a bother, but could I have some water, please?" Thomas only let out a small laugh at her words from earlier.

"C'mon. Let's get you back to bed, then you can drink to your hearts content." He smiled bashfully at her.

"You know I don't drink, Bubs." She mumbled, slightly dazed.

Thomas shook his head. He could never forget. He could never allow himself to forget a single thing about her, for fear of losing her.

He gently placed his hands under her arms to help lift her up with him, he turned her around,  his eyes scanning her dress that didn't look too great anymore, "I think there is some clothes around here in the drawers of the bedroom. I reckon Pol moved some of me shit in here. Complainin' 'bout this place feeling like home." Thomas shook his head.

This time, he grabbed her hand, leading her back to the bedroom, she walked with him, willingly, her eyes slightly glossy after the last few minutes.

Though the events of that night were worrying and full of panic. They could both agree that it was nice, and it was pleasant. That's all it needed to be, when they were together.

——

Thanks for the love.

Feedback and comments are wanted.

See ya next time!

Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 13

What a plot twist she was.

Masterlist

I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone.

“Ah, shit.” Thomas sighed. He was digging around in the drawers, only finding his slightly older penny collar shirts and three piece suits. After a bit more digging, he found some braces and loose trousers.

Thomas let out an undignified snort at the realisation and of what she had to wear.

He turned to her, holding the braces, loose trousers and dress shirt; a shit-eating grin on his face.

“No!” Dorothy could only gasp, “I can’t wear those, Bubs!”

“I’m sorry, Bonny, it’s all I’ve got for you.” His grin only getting wider.

Dorothy huffed and snatched the clothes, trudging to the bathroom.

She scrunched her nose up at the smell that still lingered in the room.

She mumbled curses she’d heard her father say in Romani whenever she got in trouble, the words slightly escalating when she laid them down in front of her. She stopped short when she heard Bubs laughing down the corridor when she snapped a bit louder.

“Don’t laugh at me! This is going to look stupid enough, as is. I don’t need you laughing your arse off at my expense!” She huffed indignantly.

She only heard him sober up a bit after she had attempted to tighten the braces around her shoulders a bit more. The shirt was gargantuas on her and she felt like a pansy trying to tuck it all the way in, only giving up halfway. The trousers pooled around her ankles so she had to role them up, hoping Bubs wouldn’t mind. Then the braces to help keep the trousers up, didn’t even shrink enough to sit comfortably on her shoulders, so she had to hold them up as she was walking around, feeling like a mayor of an old western city in one of those cowboy movies who snapped their braces back on their chest. She felt utterly stupid.

It didn’t get any better when she walked back into the bedroom and Thomas didn’t react, his eyes only widening. For what? She did not know.

——

When Bonny stepped out of the the bathroom, Thomas felt his heart stop. He took in her small frame. The sight was almost comical as she desperately tried to keep the trousers up and the sleeves falling over her hands making them look like small paws.

Even though she was drowning in the fabric, he thought she looked... cute? He couldn’t describe what it was. It was the equivalent to what Thomas imagined was the feeling of meeting an energetic puppy or the excitement of a child when they get handed some liquorice.

Thomas smiled, a small smile. She was cute.

It was another thing to add to the list of things she was and he wasn’t.

The silence ebbed on. Thomas could only stare. She could only stare back.

Thomas’ mouth twitched a bit. He broke out into boyish sniggers as she stared back unimpressed.

She put her hands on her hips, “oh yeah, laugh it up, I’m sure it’s s- Oh!” Her hands flashed like a light to the trousers that were so close to falling down again, now that she’d let go of the braces.

The action only made Thomas laugh harder.

“Are you done?” She raised an eyebrow as he wiped his eyes and sobered up a but. Nodding his head as he recovered.

“Here, let me help you.” He made his way towards her, Dorothy only pushed his hands away: “I’ve already tried that! They don’t tighten anymore!”

Thomas didn’t say anything as he grabbed the strap of the braces and wove the strap in on itself to make a knot on her shoulder, then doing the same with the other. Dorothy’s mouth formed an ‘O’ shape and tapped her head.

“There we go. Much better.” He patted her shoulders and stepped back, seemingly proud with his work. “Now, back to bed. I have some questions and you need to answer them.”

Dorothy’s stomach dropped. She knew this was coming. She’d have to talk about it eventually.

Sighing, she sat on the bed, Thomas sat in the chair next to the bed. Dorothy half missed him sitting closer, but she didn’t say anything.

——

“So what’s all this then? Why am I finding you in the middle of the streets, face first in the cobbles? Eh” Thomas leaned back expectantly, making sure he had full control of the situation.

Dorothy knew that keeping secrets from friends was the best way of losing a friend. But she was equally terrified that by telling Bubs the truth, that he’d bugger off and not want anything to do with her.

The guilt would have been immense, though.

“I have low blood pressure... something like that, I think.” Dorothy stared down at the quilted blanket, doing the tapping thing with her hands again.

“Ok. And why couldn’t you get food on the table since the last time I saw you?” He leaned forward, his eyebrows furrowed a bit.

Dorothy cringed at the bluntness of his questions, “couldn’t afford it.”

“But you work at the bakery, does that not source an income?” His gaze pierced into the side of her head, she refused to look at him.

“Mama needed it...” he voice even quieter now.

“Is she sick?”

Dorothy nodded her head, she pulled her lips into a tight line and squeezed her eyes shut, not wanting to think about her home life.

Thomas knew this was a sensitive subject for her - hell, this whole conversation was -, he understood the feeling of watching family members fall apart and whither away right before your eyes.

“Where ‘bouts do you live?”

The pause lasted longer than Thomas liked, he feared the worse, “she has a home, right?”

“Hampton Lane.” Her answer was honestly worse than being homeless, in Thomas’ opinion.

Hampton Lane has a wide expanse of whore houses, anyone who lived on that street were whores themselves or drunks.

Thomas’ chest tightened. Before he could ask the dreaded question, she answered it quickly, “I’m not a whore though! I promise! Never done anything of the sort!” She shook her hands in front of his face, desperately pleading that he didn’t think her to be like that.

“So your poor blood pressure, what does that do?” She thanked him for changing the subject.

“Makes me light headed easily n’ other stuff like tha’” her voice croaked as the inner turmoil seeped out of her.

“What other stuff?”

“Tinnitus, n’ that.”

Thomas had heard of tinnitus. Men in the war quite often got diagnosed with it after hearing the shells go off so many times, it became white noise.

Thomas connected the dots, “s’that why you’re always humming, and put records on?”

She smiled a bit at the fact he’d noticed. It was weird, but it showed that he cared.

Thomas patted his knees and stood up, checking his pocket watch, noticing how much time had passed.

“You look exhausted out of your wits, I’ll leave you to sleep and then tomorrow, we can see how you look.” Dorothy smiled, as he left and closed the door behind him.

As she heard him walking down the stairs, she thought of the way the warmth left the room as he trotted further away from her.

She settled down under the covers and closed her eyes, welcoming sleep as it wrapped itself around her eyes.

——

ANOTHER ONE DONE!!!

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Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 14

“How the FUCK did you make porridge taste good?”

Masterlist

Sunshine all the time makes a desert.

While Dorothy slept soundly and heavy in the bed upstairs. Thomas sat for hours on the sofa, nursing a glass of whiskey.

He racked his brain with ideas on everything to do with Bonny.

He thought about where she lived.

He thought about why she lived there.

He thought about how she could live there and still be the Bonny that he knows.

He thought about her, and her stature.

He thought about how he didn't notice straight away.

He thought about the fact that he could just ask around and get her name.

He thought about how doing that could break her trust in him.

And finally, he thought about how to help her.

Thomas had never cared so deeply for someone that wasn't his family. If he was honest, it scared him.

He knew that by getting out of her life, she'd be safe, but he had to be - nay, needed to be selfish.

He needed her.

The night drifted on and Thomas found himself wavering in and out of consciousness.

His body aching to go upstairs and check on her.

It was only when the clock on the mantle struck 2:00 did he push himself off the sofa and stumble up the stairs, his bones aching and his joints creaking with strain.

He opened the slightly ajar door and peeked round.

She was curled up into a tight ball that he doubted could possibly be comfortable. She had her curls strewn over her face, the fringe falling about haphazardly. Thomas knew that if she were awake she'd find herself fussing with the placement of it on her forehead.

Creeping in a bit further, he sat down on the chair next to her bed and just looked at her. Taking in her frame, although she was shrouded by the loose clothes, which Thomas could still not get over, she still looked deathly thin and pale.

He brushed a few strands of hair out of her face and smiled slightly.

"This is kind of creepy." Thomas thought to himself, only now catching the fact that he'd been just watching her while she slept.

He got back up and stiffened when a floorboard groaned under his foot.

His eyes darted back to her, he saw her face scrunch up, she dipped her head so her nose was touching her knee. Thomas was baffled by the fact that she could sleep like that and still move her head the next morning.

Maybe she was cold? Thomas didn't know. The only logical thing he could think to do was to take the spare blanket and put it over the duvet that she was sleeping under.

Thomas didn't know if it was the warmth that stopped her shaking or the extra weight, but he sighed in relief when her shaking subsided.

He left the room again, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Going back down the stairs, back to his whiskey, to waste the night away and think about his Bonny.

——

Thomas had not realised that he'd fallen asleep when he woke up that morning to the sound of shuffling upstairs.

For a brief moment he panicked before remembering the events of the previous night.

He cracked his neck and pretended to make himself look busy or lost in thought as he heard light footsteps coming down the stairs. He pretended not to notice her, though he did twitch a bit when the sound briefly stopped.

Though it was followed by the sound of feet slamming down the stairs. Thomas thought she had fallen down the stairs, but was pleasantly surprised when two arms wrapped around his shoulders before he could turn around.

"Good morning!" She rasped excitedly in his ear, squeezing him tight.

Thomas froze. He, for one, was definitely not used to this kind of physical contact. Any physical contact for that matter.

But surely, he found himself relaxing back, "mornin' Bonny. I see you've slept well."

She came around the side of the sofa and sat down next to him, stretching her arms and rubbing her eyes, "yep!"

She settled back down and with that, they settled into silence.

"You hungry?" She peeked over at him.

"You must be very hungry, I imagine." Thomas  waved off her question, annoyingly.

"Maybe I am, but you must be hungry."

"If you're hungry then I can go raid the kitchen for food?"

These two were honestly useless. Couldn't make their minds up for shit. If anyone else was there, they surely would have stormed out and made the decision for them.

Huffing at the fact they were getting nowhere, Dorothy stood up, grabbing Thomas' arm and trying her best to pull him up. To which Thomas responded by staring back up amusedly as she feebly attempted to lift the weight of a fully grown man.

"For gods sake, man. Help a girl out!" She squealed when he suddenly jumped up and she lost her balance, still gripping onto his arm.

She shut her eyes as Thomas' arm jerked back and pulled her back up, steadying her, he chuckled mockingly at her.

Once she had recovered, she slapped him on the chest, "meanie!"

Thomas raised an eyebrow at her language and tutted teasingly.

"Right, food it is then. I'll see what I can steal from your kitchen. You must be starvin'!" She marched off determinedly in the direction she hoped was the kitchen

Thomas only watched her walk away, very confused. Wasn't she supposed to be hungry? Isn't that how this works?

Following her into the kitchen as she opened cupboards and tried to find some ingredients to use.

"Go on then, sit down. I'll be done in a jiffy!" She waved over towards the table.

"Yes dear." Thomas chuckled mockingly, to which Dorothy let out a small giggle.

"Aha!" She smiled at the box of oats that she'd found..

Thomas watched her as she fiddled around at the stove, watching her movements as she hummed quietly to herself.

Even though the two were nothing, not even close to a couple, they both shared brief moments of domesticity around each other.

——

Thomas was lost in his thoughts as a bowl was placed down in front of him. A bowl of porridge.

Thomas hated porridge.

He remembered when he was younger and they could barely put anything on the table, for ages, all he could eat was porridge. Plain, bland porridge. It reminded him of when eating was a privilege, not a right.

Thomas hated porridge.

He stared at the bowl with a frown until Dorothy sat in front of him and leaned on her hands on the table, tilting her head up at him.

"Where's your bowl?" Thomas furrowed his eyebrows.

"There was only enough for one portion, so I just made one for you." Dorothy shrugged.

"You haven't eaten anything in three days, Bonny." Thomas frowned at her. He pushed the bowl in her direction.

"Yeah but that's alright. I'm not going to waltz into your home, sleep in your bed AND eat your food. That would be very rude of me."

"It's also rude to refuse food when it's offered to you." Thomas pointed back at her.

"Is this going to become a routine, Bubs?" She slumped out of her chair.

Thomas quirked an eyebrow at her as she dug into a draw and pulled out another spoon.

Thomas understood what she was getting at and chuckled lightly to himself, "we're never gonna eat a full meal at this rate." She shook her head.

Thomas noticed that she hadn't made a move to eat anything yet, and glanced up at her, she only gestures to the bowl saying, "go on, give it a try! I saw the way you looked at it earlier, but I believe I can convince you." She waited impatiently.

Thomas only took a bit on the spoon, he tried his best not to grimace at the mush, but his eye twitched, just a bit.

He decided it was best to just get it over and done with then eat a few more and make sure she ate the rest.

Thomas shoved the spoon in his mouth and for a second he just let the mush sit there.

Thomas, to say the least, was surprised. The porridge was sweeter, it was thick, it was smooth and it confused him.

He swallowed the food and put his spoon down. Dorothy leaned forward expectantly, waiting for an answer.

"How the FUCK did you make porridge taste good?" Thomas could only gush before he stopped himself.

Dorothy leaned back in her chair and smiled smugly. Dorothy didn't have a big ego but she knew where her talents lay, and she, without a doubt, could make anything taste sweet and good if she tried.

"So let me guess, you're an aspiring chef, going for the big leagues?" Thomas picked up her spoon and gestured for her to take it.

Dorothy dug the spoon into the sweet porridge, "would you believe me if I told you I was a horrible cook?" She grinned before scooping the food to her mouth, "I'm only really ok at sweet treats, never had much experience cooking n' that. But I do think I hold the world record for spreading lard on toast."

Thomas let out a small laugh and picked up his spoon again, surprisingly going for another spoonful. Dorothy only grinned and went back to eating.

Thomas thought of the taste of lard. He remembered it when that's maybe all he could get if he wanted something on his bread in the morning.

Thomas hated lard.

It was only then that Thomas leaned back and thought of Dorothy's situation. He hated it.

He didn't pity the woman because that's not what needed to be done. He didn't find it endearing that she needed his help last night. He didn't like the fact that she was so overwhelmingly caring that the idea of feeding herself first, even though she had not eaten in three days, was a preposterous idea. He didn't like that she refused to back away when she realised who he was, she only seemed more comfortable.

Dorothy seemed lost in thought, just as much as he was.

"What's on your mind?" Thomas took another mouthful and leaned back.

Dorothy shrugged, "there's something very important in human bonds that relates to eating. See, I read a book on it a while ago, it's a very primitive thing, eating communally. The logic behind it is that when a person feels comfortable in the environment they're in, they feel safe to eat. People only eat when they know they can put their head down to chew and not get it bitten off. There's just something lovely about small intimate things that we do in our day to day that no one thinks about."

Thomas mulled over her words and found himself agreeing with what she had said.

Nodding his head slowly, "you read a lot then?"

Thomas lit a cigarette as she finished the last spoonful of porridge, "I try my best to read as much as I can to educate myself. After having to leave school, I found that I wanted to learn more. I want to do so many things, Bubs. I want to become a photographer. I want to be what history will call an intellectual. I want to live and be. I know I will not amount to much, cosmically. But maybe, just maybe; if I could change someone's life, for the better; then I know, I will not have lived in vain."

Dorothy stared off into the distance before seemingly snapping back and smiling sheepishly at the information she'd just very unintentionally shared.

Thomas liked her small rambles, it made him want to listen and engage in the conversation. She made him talkative, and he thought he liked it.

"An intellectual then, huh?" Thomas smiled fondly at her. Thomas wanted her dreams to come true.

He'd be lying if he said that he didn't already have plans to help her achieve them.

——

ANOTHER ONE IN THE BAG.

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Gun Metal and Daisies (Thomas Shelby)- Chapter 15

“I wish you well on your pursuit of being.”

Masterlist

He looked at her

The way she needed to be looked at

Like the whole world could crumble

And he wouldn't blink.

After Dorothy cleared away the bowl and spoons, she turned to Thomas, "well, I best be heading off then. You've got a business to run, Bubs. Doubt that you'd want to waste anymore time here?" She put her hands on her hips.

"Waste! Waste?" Thomas thought. "How could any of this be a waste?"

"Nah. Besides, I want to make sure you don't go falling over when I'm not looking. At least not 'til the end of the day."

Dorothy, if she was honest, had no desire to leave. So without any fight, she only grinned and strutted off to the living room.

She plopped down on the sofa and got herself comfortable, "you're lucky it's my day off, Bubs. Or Ms P would have wrung my neck.

"Not to mention it's my Sunday off. I don't have my camera with me, so you're stuck with my incessant rambles."

Thomas didn't mind. He rather liked her rambles. They kept him out of his head.

"Well, I doubt you'd actually want to be outside anyway. Looks like rain's coming." He gestured out of the window to the blustery weather.

Thomas liked the fact that he had her to himself for the day. Just a day to escape and enjoy life. With her. His Bonny.

——

The two talked continuously as the day moved ever closer to night. They hadn't moved an inch off the sofa, except the two of them leaning in towards each other as time wore on.

Dorothy now sat with her legs, thrown over his lap, as he rested his hands on the trousers she was wearing.

"Y'know what? I rather like the trousers. I think it would do me good to find some women's trousers to wear. Would make clear-out day a helluva lot easier."

Thomas thought for a moment and nodded. He liked the trousers on her, she looked nice with them on.

——

"So anyway, I told him to fuck right off! I wasn't having any o-."

"Did you just curse?" Thomas leaned closer, chuckling at her in disbelief.

Thomas never thought he'd hear her curse. She looked far too doe-eyed and innocent for that.

"Yes... what about it?" She squinted her eyes at him.

"Oh no nothing. I just thought you'd be too good and kind hearted for all that, but I've learnt not to be surprised by any of your plot twists."

"You can be a good person with a kind heart and still tell people to fuck off when needed, Bubs."

Thomas nodded his head, satisfied with her answer.

——

It was now mid-afternoon, the house had gotten slowly more chilly without the two noticing, so now they were curled up quite close to each other, trying to preserve body heat.

Thomas had his arm around the back of the sofa which she leaned her head on. Her knee was touching his thigh as she curled closer.

Dorothy yawned slightly. She definitely was not used to this much social interaction in one day. She thought Bubs was great, but all the talking really took the energy out of her.

Thomas raised an amused eyebrow, "tired?" He cocked his head, mockingly.

"Alright, just 'cause you don't sleep, doesn't mean the rest of us have to be practically narcoleptic." She glared back at him.

Thomas only cracked a grin.

Dorothy, quite suddenly got up and headed straight for the bookcase. She scanned the shelves for one that interested her or one she had already read.

She pulled out an old book that was dog eared around the corners and had the spine crackling at the sudden movement.

Thomas didn't question her, he only watched her movements. It seemed she had a lightbulb moment in her head when she scanned the cover.

"'The pursuit of being.'" She smiled at the book.

The title reminded Thomas of a conversation they'd had earlier.

——

"Is your goal to have a purpose, Bubs?" She sniffed quietly.

Thomas didn't honestly know the answer. He supposed he was looking for purpose, or the things that came with it more like.

Money, power, whiskey sours, sex. The important things that made him strive for purpose.

"I suppose, why do you ask?"

"The pursuit of being always baffled me." She put a hand on his arm, Thomas now looked her in the eye, "look, years from now, you will find all the things you held dear, were all trivial to the core.

"All those silly little things you cared about meant nothing. And the naïve quest for perfection was a giant fucking waste of time. So I don't know, Bubs." She sighed a bit, and patted his arm before retracting her hand, "I wish you well on your pursuit of being."

Thomas didn't know what to say. He had no idea where that came from. Dorothy had never said anything like that.

"You speak from experience?" Thomas cautioned a bit.

"You can't change things by loving them harder, Bubs."

——

The nature of that conversation startled him. It seemed that the more he spent time with her: The more sides he saw.

Ever since she had opened up the night before, their conversations ran deeper and darker.

Though Dorothy never lost her innocent charm that she carried.

It seemed that she decided that being cold and stand-off-ish by the things she'd been through was pointless and only caused worse suffering.

Thomas admired her for that. To take ones demons and turn them into a lesson, an example; is something he couldn't do with his.

Dorothy sat back down with the book, only this time, she placed a pillow in his lap and laid her head down on it. Wriggling a bit to get settled.

"Comfortable?" Thomas peered down again her, amusedly.

"Very." She hummed.

Dorothy went to work with reading the book aloud. Thomas rested one hand across the back of the sofa and the other one, he took to fiddling with her hair. She didn't seem to mind as long as he didn't pull her curls out.

"I grew those curls myself, thank you very much! I'll have no one ruin them!" He remembered her stating earlier.

It seemed after a while, she got a bit tired as her arms slumped a bit and her words got a bit lazier and slow.

Without warning, Thomas plucked the book from her hands and took it in his own, he picked up reading from where she stopped.

The two didn't exchange any more words than the ones Thomas was reading. The atmosphere was very peaceful and mind meltingly warm.

Dorothy shifted a bit, she turned on her side and faced Thomas. He didn't say anything.

As time wore on, she found herself leaning closer to his warmth. Very soon her nose was nuzzling his abdomen, she was slightly bleary eyed and Thomas almost, almost cooed at her.

Thomas had now taken to clutching the book with one hand and using the other to rub the centre of her back, slowly.

It was something he remembered his mother did when he couldn't sleep at night.

It put weights on his eyelids, showing him constellations of pin-pricked-porcupines, dipping their quills into ink bottles, writing 'sorry' letters for all the wishes they couldn't grant.

It wasn't before long that he heard small kitten snores coming from under the book. Thomas also found his eyes dropping slightly.

He leaned forward carefully, placing the book on the coffee table.

He shifted a bit so he was lying down a bit more.

"This is getting very close. Almost too close." Thomas thought. But Thomas didn't care.

He realised that here, he was going to be selfish. This was his Bonny and it was going to stay that way. He'd keep her safe. He'd keep her close. He was scared that if he let her go then she'd fly away. To a great mind, nothing is little; and though she was small in stature, she made up for it in all the ways that mattered. A heart three times too big for her chest.

Thomas, with those thoughts, shut his eyes slowly, and drifted off to the land of Nod. Thinking of his Bonny.

——

I WARNED YOU THIS SHIT WAS FLUFFY.

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