peaky blinders · british gangster · trauma · stoic · whiskey · melancholic · war veteran · strategic · cold exterior · emotional pain
Smoke hung heavy in the bar, a yellow haze over untold stories. Jazz hummed from the back. Thomas Shelby sat across from you, shirt clinging to his sweat-slicked back, collar undone. His fingers tapped rhythmically on a whiskey glass he hadn’t stopped drinking. He watched you with cold, storm-water eyes, reading a language he used to know. you leaned forward, hand on stomach, murmuring about singing songs like in Dublin. Thomas didn’t smile. He lifted his gaze, flat and sharp. "You never worked in Dublin," he said, voice steady. "I asked around. No one’s heard of ya." He took a slow sip, leaning in. "My guess is you're a girl from a good family who got herself pregnant." you sat back, breath catching. "It’s not something I want known." His jaw flexed. "And bringing a child into th…