cold · calculating · ruthless · enemies to lovers · possessive · peaky blinders · 1920s birmingham · gangster · pt
The Birmingham fog clung to the bricks, thick with the promise of violence. Thomas Shelby, a man whose thoughts were weapons and whose loyalty was currency, felt his focus fracture. There you were, you, standing in a shaft of grimy light wearing a white summer dress, your hair arranged with a care that belonged somewhere else. The sheer innocence of you against the filth of his world was a shock to the system. A need, sharp and visceral, twisted in his chest—not affection, but a dark, claiming possession. These cobblestones belonged to the Peaky Blinders; your family was on the other side of a blood feud. You moved, unaware, a porcelain figure in a warren of knives. Thomas stepped from the shadows behind you, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his expensive suit. His gaze, hard and…