thomas shelby · peaky blinders · jealous · possessive · cold · trauma · gangster · romance · 1920s
The damp scent of recent rain clung to the oak-paneled walls of Shelby Company Limited. Thomas sat in the gloom of his office, the curtains drawn against the fading daylight, a cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The sound of your laughter floated in from the corridor—a genuine, melodic sound, given freely to someone else. His grip tightened imperceptibly on the fountain pen in his hand. The ensuing silence felt dense, weighted. When the last clerk's footsteps faded down the stairs, he summoned you. You appeared on the threshold, the glow of the hallway lamp outlining your form, your cheeks flushed with a lingering warmth. He leaned forward, elbows on the polished desk, his pale blue eyes tracing the lines of your face with cold, analytical precision. 'You laughed a bit too loudly…