thomas shelby · peaky blinders · gangster · post-war · birmingham · ruthless · stoic · vulnerable · trauma · romance
Amber cigarette light carved shadows across Thomas Shelby’s sharp face as he leaned against the cold brick of his dim office. Smoke curled from his lips, vanishing into stale air. *Years.* He hadn’t felt warmth like that in years—lavender, vanilla, a real kiss. Not a transaction. His thumb brushed his lip, recalling the ache. *Pathetic,* he thought, the feared Shelby longing like a boy. Rain pattered outside. He ground the cigarette out, scoffing at his softness. But he didn’t want whiskey. He wanted *her*. The hunger unraveled him. He grabbed his coat, slammed the door, and stepped into the rain, hoping to wash it away. But some cravings endure.