MCR Imagines And Oneshots

♡^Peaky Blinders | G.W.

(A/n)

Requested by Emotional_Bear

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A sigh escapes my lips as my eyes wander around the room, eventually landing on Tommy, watching him writing down a few things and it's probably to do with the company – he's been trying to keep in touch with it as most as possible whilst we're in the middle of a fucking vendetta. We all know it's also one of his coping mechanisms, but none of us dares saying a thing. Not like he'd admit it.

It's been boring, to be honest, in a way I need to keep reminding myself that, at the proper least, we're back together. The last time I saw Arthur, Tommy, John, Ada and Finn all in the same room as me is but a blurry memory in the back of my mind. They were probably arguing. Bonus for aunt Polly.

Linda meets my gaze and presses her lips together into a bitter smile – it has a shiver running down my spine. Anger irradiates from her. Remembering her throwing wobblies about hating the whole family thing has me unable to bring myself to smile back, only nodding lightly in response so she won't have any other reason to dislike me. Gotta treat her well because of Arthur.

I stand up from the armchair and this nostalgic feeling of being back home, back to Small Heath, still pursues me as much as I try to shrug it off. "I guess I'll go for a walk," I say mostly to Tommy.

Tommy purses his lips, freezing on his spot and turning to glare at me. "No."

"C'mon," I sigh, moving to grab my coat and my hat, "nothing will happen. Not to mention that I know what to do in case someone tries something against me. Thankfully, I'm not like Finn."

My words snatch an indignant 'that's rubbish' from Finn in the next room, just to be followed by Arthur's voice. "You know (y/n) is not lying!" he says in response and I look at Tommy, pointing to Arthur's direction in a silent agreement. "Thank hell we've actually trained (y/n)," he grumbles, pride swelling in my chest.

"Not to mention I'm not a plonker like John to get us in a vendetta," I add and John huffs, audibly lowering his newspaper to glare at me. Well, it wasn't me who pasted an Italian-American black and blue, was it?

"Okay, okay, fucking go!" Tommy rubs his eyes and waves a hand in dismissal, almost pissed off already. "Before we get knackered with your bullshit! Just don't take any wooden nickels!"

"You guys only get angry because you can't handle the bloody truth!" I tell them before leaving the joint and can hear the displeased commotion starting to spread around the house right before I'm closing the door.

A smirk tugs on my lips as I ankle down the street and I end up eventually cracking a chuckle, shaking my head to myself. Feeling like this feels wrong, to be honest – I mean, finding something funny, laughing. We're in the middle of a fucking vendetta because my brother beat up that Way guy who owns the restaurant because his father had said some shit to him.

That's when things lost the plot, I believe.

Next thing I remember was Tommy saying we were in a vendetta and getting everyone back to Birmingham because, apparently, Way's older brother wants revenge for Tommy having killed his father, but his father killed Grace – she was actually nice, Tommy made a good choice on marrying her. All of it is bonkers, applesauce, whatever. I wasn't even in Small Heath when it happened, but I know my brothers well enough. And Tommy was also enough of a plonker to let the older Way get in the facility without even piping it, some days ago. Bloody hell.