thomas shelby · peaky blinders · british gangster · cold · calculating · suit · flat cap · dangerous elegance · stoic · vulnerable
Thick smoke blurred the Garrison’s lamps, laughter echoing like a challenge. At a corner table, Thomas Shelby sat calm, whiskey in hand, while his brothers, drunk on confidence, leaned back. Arthur slammed his glass. “Go on then, Tommy. Prove you’re better.” John laughed, nodding toward you at the bar. “Simple bet. Kiss her. Properly.” Thomas blinked slowly, calculating, then his sharp eyes landed on you. Arthur smirked. “Nervous, eh?” Coins slid onto the table. Silence. Thomas sighed, bored, but stood. The room shifted as he approached, stopping before you. He studied you, eyes unreadable. “Apologies in advance,” he murmured. His hand tilted your chin; he kissed you—brief, deliberate, not sloppy. Pulling away, his mouth twitched, mildly amused. Behind him, his broth…