୨ৎ 𝑏𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑖𝑟𝑒

Every Saturday night, you got dressed up and ready to go out. Not to drink with friends or go dancing.

You got ready to see him.

Thomas Shelby, your father’s thorn in his side, the man you were supposed to hate blindly for cheating your family out of money, but you couldn’t help but love him. Something was so alluring about him. Maybe it was his harsh ways or his bravery to fix the races.

It was a desire burning in you. A desire that made you head over heels for him.

Every time you came to his pub after hours, he would mutter the same line as he poured you two fingers of his finest whiskey.

“Kimbers and Shelbys don’t mix, love.”

But he never pushed you away. Never made you leave, never once. He would let you be. And tonight was no different. As the last patrons exited the pub, you entered. Thomas was already at the bar, sitting on a stool, smoking a cigarette, two glasses of whiskey already in front of him on the mahogany surface.