Peaky Blinders Imagines/Preferences

Michael - Daily

I've decided that I'm probably going to finish this book at 50 chapters. If you want to DM me a request get them in soon! ILY.

Every time Alex opened his mouth, Y/N could see Michael getting angrier. She had tried to stop the argument but it was no use, and they had been throwing insults at each other for a while now. It all started when Alex had said something rude to Y/N and Michael had told him to fuck off, then he went on to say things about Polly, which made Michael more agitated. It didn't help when the pair had alcohol in their systems, but neither John nor Arthur were planning on splitting the two up before things got out of hand.

"Please do something, John. I can't stand taking him home in a state like last week." Y/N complained to John, who found the situation quite amusing. He and Arthur had been at the bar once the bickering started, and had watched it all.

"Don't worry, Y/N. Michael's a big boy, he can take care of himself." Arthur laughed as he handed her a drink.

The air was suddenly thick, being sliced by the sound of breaking glass. Other than a gunshot there is nothing that got Y/N's attention sooner or heart accelerating faster. As always, she was first on her feet, already to barge her way to the front of the crowd. Breaking glass almost never heralds anything good, especially with drunk men. As soon as she got to the front of the small crowd, she was met with a bloody faced Alex, his body on the floor was barely moving. His face was being hit by a battered Michael. Clearly she didn't get to the scene in time to stop the disfigurement of Alex's face. Almost as soon as she got to the scene, John and Arthur were prying Michael away from the mess that used to be Alex. Although he looked like death himself, he still tried to pick a fight as he was dragged out of the pub by another Blinder.

"What are you lot looking at?! Fuck off, all of you!" Arthur yelled at the crowd as he straightened Michael out. Y/N couldn't believe this had happened again, it was almost every week where Michael lost his temper under the influence of alcohol.

"Take him home, Y/N, make sure Polly doesn't see." John told her as he wiped his hand on a cloth, getting rid of the blood from Michael's face.

"Fucking knew this would happen. I told you to stop it before it was too late." She mumbled as she put her arm around Michael's waist to steady him, him doing the same with her.

The boys didn't say anything as they disappeared back into the pub, knowing she was right. Michael didn't speak either, feeling too guilty that she had to do this last week. Once they reached Polly's home, Y/N fished for the key in Michael jacket pocket.

"You better pray to bloody Jesus that your mum isn't here." She whispered, just in case Polly was inside. She found the key and unlocked the door, dragging Michael inside and making lay on the sofa. His body felt broken, and his limbs ached from throwing punches. His once clear face was battered and bruised, but he had gotten off lightly compared to Alex.

"Sit up." Y/N ordered after a few minutes of being gone. Michael slowly lifted himself into the sitting position. She frowned at the destruction on his face and sighed. She knelt down in front of him.

"What was it for this time?" She asked as she cleaned the blood from his hands and face.

"Doesn't matter what it was for, he deserved it anyway." He muttered as he winced, his hand being bruised from the impact. Michael watched her intently as she bandaged up his hand, he always admired that she took care of him even though he did terrible things.

"You're lucky you don't look as bad as that poor sod." She shook her head with a small smile playing on her face.

"Of course I don't, Darlin'. I always win." He winked at her, causing her eyes to role in their sockets.

"Fuck off, Michael."