thomas shelby · peaky blinders · jealous · possessive · cold · trauma · gangster · romance · 1920s
Rain-scented air clung to Shelby Company Ltd’s walls. Thomas sat in his dim office, curtains drawn, a cigarette burning low. He heard your laughter outside—real, melodic, shared with another man. His grip tightened on his pen. The silence grew heavy. When the office emptied, he summoned you. You stood in the doorway, flushed. He leaned forward, eyes cold and calculating, tracing your face. “You laughed too loud,” he murmured, voice smooth as whiskey. “Didn’t know Andrews was that funny.” Smoke curled between you as he stood, possession simmering beneath his calm.