PEAKY BLINDERS IMAGINES

Thomas Shelby - 'Burning Point'

(warning - a little bit of light adult content)

The ballroom glittered coldly under a thousand crystal lights.

You walked at Tommy's side, poised and polished — the perfect image of calm. But inside, you were coiled tight. Tonight was political — high stakes, high risks — and appearances had to be kept.

Tommy's hand was warm on the small of your back, a silent warning, a silent reassurance.

Stay close.

And you intended to — until the snake slithered into your path.

Oswald Mosley.

"Thomas," Mosley greeted smoothly, that sharp-toothed smile in place. His eyes slid to you, lingering far too long. "And the ever-enchanting Miss Y/N."

You felt Tommy stiffen almost imperceptibly beside you.

"Mr. Mosley," you replied coolly, forcing your voice to stay steady.

Before you could pull back, Mosley seized your hand, brushing his lips against your knuckles — lingering. His thumb caressed the back of your hand as he released you, a small, possessive touch that made your stomach twist.

Tommy's jaw tightened. He said nothing, his face a perfect mask of political civility, but you could feel the storm gathering under his skin.

"I see Thomas has been hiding you away," Mosley said, stepping closer — far too close. His breath ghosted near your cheek. "A pity, really. A woman like you shouldn't be hidden."

You could feel Tommy's rage vibrate through the floorboards, but he only tipped his head slightly, smiling that thin, dangerous smile.

"She's not hidden," Tommy said, voice a lethal whisper. "She's exactly where she belongs."

Mosley laughed, clapped Tommy hard on the back, and slithered away into the crowd like a satisfied cat.

You exhaled slowly.

But Tommy — Tommy was boiling.

He gripped your elbow, steering you firmly toward the corner of the room, away from prying eyes.

"You should've pulled away," he hissed under his breath.

You yanked your arm free, anger flaring.

"He cornered me, Tommy. What was I supposed to do — cause a scene?!"

Tommy's blue eyes blazed. "I don't give a fuck if you set the whole goddamn building on fire. You don't let him touch you."

You glared at him, heart pounding. "Don't you dare blame me for the way he acts. I'm not some helpless little thing you can order around."

For a second, neither of you spoke — the air between you electric, crackling with hurt and fury.

"You're mine," Tommy said finally, his voice raw, almost broken. "Mine to protect."

"And I'm not your fucking possession," you snapped, your chest heaving.

Tommy's hand shot out, curling around the back of your neck, dragging your forehead against his. His breath was ragged, trembling with something far deeper than anger.

"I can't lose you," he rasped. "Not to men like him. Not to anyone."

You closed your eyes, feeling the desperate edge to his voice, the way his body trembled with the force of everything he was trying — and failing — to control.

"Then trust me," you whispered. "Trust me to fight with you, not just for you."

For a long moment, you stood there, your breathing tangled with his, the whole world narrowing down to the space between your bodies.