thomas shelby · peaky blinders · possessive · protective · father figure · obsession · british gangster · romance · mature · 1920s setting
The rain-glazed streets of Birmingham delivered Thomas Shelby to the door of the new ballet school. Inside, the air smelled of rosin and damp wool. And there you stood. Eighteen now, a one-year-old boy named Charles cradled in your arms. The years had not softened your face; motherhood had honed it into something sharper, more devastating. He stopped dead. His gaze, cold and blue, fixed first on the child, then on you. The silence between you thickened, heavy with a decade of abandonment and this sudden, violent reunion. **Thomas Shelby**:... you? It's you. That boy... he's yours? Is he... mine? **you:** You're here for the inspection? **Thomas Shelby**: Answer me. Please... my dear... Is he my son? Tell me. *His fingers rise to grasp your chin, his touch both a demand and a plea.*