WE’LL GET YOU OUT OF THERE FRENCHIE

This ep reminds me of this vine:

Shelbys | Tommy Shelby & sister!reader

[Photo by Henry & Co. from Pexels]

✏️ Pairing: none/Tommy Shelby and sister!reader

✏️ Summary: Sometimes, having a sister is hard. (Requested by Anonymous)

✏️ A/N: look at me using a cliché summary bc I don’t know how else to word it :) jokes aside, I truly hope you’ll enjoy this 💛 Requests close tonight (Sept. 30) at 23:59 UTC+2!

✏️ Beta-read by @sweetvengeancee

✏️ Warnings: kinda angsty ?

✏️ Word-count: 1,866

Sometimes the mere thought felt foreign even to Tommy’s mind and yet, it was true: there were far more dangerous things than his baby sister. There had been Kimber and his men, Sabini and his wops right after, and he had just got out half-defeated, if so one wanted to see John’s death, from a vendetta with Luca Changretta – those were dangerous people. Criminals of the worst sort, with bloodied hands and rotten souls – or that’s what they were, to put it with Linda’s words.

Y/N was… nothing compared to them, and yet, at the threshold of her eighteenth birthday, she managed to make her older brother want to reconsider his list of priorities.

To the untrained eye, she could pass just as Finn’s sister and not his twin, but those that had grown up with her knew what she was capable of. Pissing her two oldest brothers off – one of the points in the manual that should have come with her – was just the tip of the iceberg.

“D’you want to tell me what happened?” he groaned. If he looked at her – if he looked at her even just for one second – in the eye, he knew he wouldn’t get out of his office with the winning hand.

Instead, he focused on her trousers stained by mud and on her bloodied white striped shirt – both items she had more than likely stolen from Finn’s wardrobe. And the more his brows furrowed, the more he wondered how in hell she and Ada were sisters. How one had ended up in a nice Londoner house, with tailored clothes and high morals, and the other had remained trapped in Small Heath’s quicksands, with her teeth bared and her hands wrapped in tight fists.

Sometimes he thought he and Arthur had failed her upbringing, sometimes he thought that had just been her – and their – fate, for not even feared aunt Polly had managed to tame her while her brothers had been losing their sanity in France. She was a wilder spirit than the one all of theirs combined could form – untamable, temerarious, always fighting for what she deemed right – or what she deemed right in a particular moment – without fear of the consequences.

“Oi.” The syllable came out fainter than he had intended it to, but still sterner than he had thought himself capable of when it came to her – and to the fact that he had lost all hopes of turning her into the lady he had always thought she could one day be. “Y/N.”

The smirk that had already been plastered on her face forced a shiver to crawl down his spine the moment his eyes met it. Cold, almost crazy, with one corner of her mouth set higher than the other, she appeared scarier than any of his enemies. And her eyes… It was like staring at some demonic beast – sparkling, lively eyes, the pupil as tight as a pinhead in the office drowning in the daylight.

Tommy found himself unable to look away.

“I asked you a question, young lady.”

Her cackle seemed to ring in the air as it chilled the atmosphere of the room. It seemed to scratch at his eardrums like a cat and when she settled better against the back of the armchair she was sitting in, he wondered why the fuck Arthur had sent her to him and not to Pol.

“You haven’t called me ‘young lady’ in forever, Tom,” she laughed, voice as sweet as honey as all the rebellion boiling in her veins seemed to evaporate. “It never worked back then, what makes you think it’ll work now?” A pause, and then those much-hated words, for she knew nothing about their dick of a father: “You’re not dad.”

She always said those words with defiance in her eyes and in the tone of her voice. Her head always tilted up higher, her shoulders squared, and her grin opened wider to show her teeth. Bloodied, he noticed, but refrained himself from asking why, exactly, she had blood in her mouth.

“I might not be him,” he started slowly, voice low and deep, eyes burning as they remained trained on hers, “but I can still bend you over my knee and spank you like we did when you were a kid.”

She seemed to freeze for a moment as his words registered in her mind. Her gaze seemed to narrow, focusing on his eyes and his face to try and understand whether his were empty threats, and when she only found stoic determination, Tommy saw her swallow hard.

A smile stretched on his tired face when he realized she wasn’t going to bite back again and he allowed himself to relax against the seatback of his own office chair. “Good, let’s try again, then.” He took a drag from his cigarette and drew out the silence a little longer in the hopes that his sister would pick up on his serious mood. “What happened?”

The girl bit the nail of her thumb and for a moment – a brief moment Tommy Shelby still welcomed as a victory anyway –, she looked away. She shrugged her shoulders, then, eyes still trained on the library to his right. No shadows on her face, she looked younger than ever and for once - innocent. It was such a weird sight, for innocence boiled inside her like molten lava, fighting to become something more and yet, always failing, never solidifying.

She stuck out like a sore thumb. It had always been their thing – hers and Finn’s. Too young, too innocent, purer than he and the rest of his siblings had ever been. Even Ada had had the habit of chasing rats with a revolver in her right hand, but Y/N had never had that nature.

Too similar to their mum, or so Tommy found himself thinking of her more often than not. Even when she rebelled, it never was in a Shelby way. It was something typically hers, something he still had to understand – something he hadn’t managed to save her from. She had always looked up to them – to him and John and Arthur, a little less to Ada –, had always wanted to be their equal, to be part of the business – and it had never mattered that Pol had always tried to make a well-behaved woman out of her, for it had never worked.

“Did you dress up again?” he asked when she didn’t speak. He pointed an accusing finger to her clothes – there was no need to, though, she knew what he was talking about.

“Aye.”

“Did you catch his fists?”

She shrugged. “And he caught mine.” Fearless defiance in her eyes – Tommy knew that would be her demise one day.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, we’ve fucking talked about this!” He regretted putting out his cigarette the moment the burning tip met the cold crystal of the ashtray.

“No, you have talked about this,” she retorted. She was calm, steady, always looking at him, never breaking eye contact. “And I listened, that day. Doesn’t mean I did what you wanted me to. Why does Finn get to cut and I have to stay behind, brewing tea with Polly and listening to whatever bat-shit crazy bullshit Linda says?”

“Because-”

“I am not John!” Her yell startled both of them and just outside the door of Tommy’s office, both heard Arthur’s muffled fuck.

They stared at each other, crazed eyes boring into crazed eyes as the air seemed to boil.

“I am not John.” She repeated those words once, voice much quieter but just as cold. “I am not dead, don’t treat me like I was.”

“You will end up dead if you don’t learn how to behave.”

She looked at him, exhaled loudly from her nose as her face contorted into a grimace. “I will end up dead if you keep on treating me like I was a child. Who did you call to snitch for you and give you intel about those boys up in the north? Who did Arthur send to London with one of your boys to keep an eye on your enemies at that soirée? If I’m not mistaken, Ada brought me to the tailor to get an evening dress to wear at that party. And now me, roughing up some fucking douche for the shit he said he’d do to me in an alley is the problem? That’s how I get killed?”

Tommy bit the bullet – even swallowed it to stop himself from making things worse.

“Eh, Tom? Tell me: is this how I die? By teaching a boy a lesson with Isaiah covering my back? Or do I have greater chances of ending up in my fucking grave the next time you send me to do your dirty job? Will Sabini or one of his men recognise me the next time you send me to London? Will they kill me?” She was leaning forward on her chair, her nails digging into the cushioned armrests as she stared at him, trying to pull an answer out of him with the sheer intensity of her gaze.

The clock on the mantelpiece ticked the seconds away as he kept silent.

He didn’t know if Arthur was still outside his office, for after that quiet fuck, he hadn’t managed to pick up any other sound. It was a split-moment thought, but he found himself wishing his brother was still out there, eavesdropping on his conversation with his sister.

“That’s different,” he eventually replied. Tense in his chair, he stared as Y/N rolled her eyes and let herself fall back against the seatback. “You’re never alone when I send you somewhere.”

“I was, in Liverpool,” she retorted. “I was alone there. You didn’t give me back-up, you didn’t have any spy other than me, there.”

“Liverpool was safe.”

“Was it, though, Tom?” she insisted. “Was it really safe?”

“You were safe in London.”

Her laughter chilled him to the bone. “You sent me there with that Eddie you took in two months before that night. And he doesn’t even know how to aim a gun to this day!”

Another bullet – another bite. Enemy fire, that’s how it felt. Enemy fire in an open field, under a burning sun – and he knew she was right.

“How did you go from skipping school and kissing boys to clobbering people?” The question came out quiet, almost shy in the silence of his office. Lost in his thoughts, Tommy probably hadn’t even meant to truly give it a voice.

“Gradually,” she answered. “And I still do that – I skip church days when Pol wants me to go with her and I still kiss boys. But it was you, Tom: you taught me how to dress up as Finn, you taught me how to shoot a gun. And Arthur showed me how to throw a punch to defend myself.”

“It was never meant to end like this.”

“We are Shelbys, Tommy. How else was it meant to end?”

I am not super proud of this, but feedback is always welcome (it’ll help me improve) ❤️

TAGS (to be added to or to be removed from any list, shoot me an ask)

Everything: @idhrenniel @saibh29 @fuckthatfeeling @aya-fay @pebblesz892  @mblaqgi​ @becs-bunker

Peaky Blinders: @whimsylavender​ @thethyri​ @friendleyneighbourhoodvillain  @flowers-in-your-hayr @oddsnendsfanfics @medievalfangirl @inforapound @niamhmaria

People that might be interested: @kellydixon01 @kind-wolf

You Up For An Adventure?

A fic in which Michael is actually kind of romantic (I hesitate to call this an AU but it might as well be cause my boy is actually a sociopath)

Michael intently stared at the petite (Y/H/C) girl sitting at the bar who had a man on either side of her, leaning in, clearly captivated by whatever it was she was saying. She had a smart twinkle in her eye and the shadow of a smirk on her lips that juxtaposed the sour look that was plastered on Michael’s face. “What’s wrong with this one then?” John nodded towards Michael. “Been starin’ at (Y/N)  for nearly 10 minutes now.” Arthur gruffly responded. “Poor fucker.” John sighed. “I can hear you, you know? You’re both standing right beside me.” Michael snapped his eyes away from the girl at the bar to give his cousins a scathing look.

“The way you pine after her is pathetic mate. You young Blinders have a whole gaggle of silly girls who are looking for a bit of danger who chase after you lot, and yet it’s her you got it for.” Arthur slurred. “He’s right mate, it makes no sense. That girl ain’t after danger, she is danger. She’s got every man she walks by wrapped ‘round her little finger and she plays ‘em all. Men are a game for her. Girls like that’ll break your heart and laugh about it!” John berated him. “You think I don’t know that? She’s one of my best mates. I’ve seen first hand how she treats fools like those two at the bar with her right now.” Michael and (Y/N) had become close friends after being introduced about 3 or 4 months ago. Her older sister had been Ada’s best friend growing up, so all of the Shelbys were close to (Y/N), her sister, and her two older brothers. The whole family had handsome genetics, thus little (Y/N) grew up to be a beauty. Michael had met her as a result of Tommy needing a rival fooled into playing right into the Shelby’s plot by an innocent and pretty looking face. (Y/N) was cast by Tommy to play the role of the innocent, pretty face. Being around the same age as her had given Michael the chance to become her friend, but he quickly developed deeper feelings. Feelings he’s been trying to hide for months, but he was growing less, and less subtle as time marched on. He knew fancying her was ridiculous. She saw him as nothing more than a friend, but maybe that’s what made her so appealing. These days Michael rarely encountered a girl he wasn’t able to make swoon. (Y/N) was different, though.“Give it up mate. She ain’t interested in a relationship with you, or anyone for that matter.” John clapped Michael on the back before wandering off to the private booth, shortly followed by Arthur. Michael returned his attention to the bar.

(Y/N) happened to glance up and see Michael looking in her direction. She didn’t pay much mind to the angry look on his face or what that expression might mean. She had seen that look cast towards her so many times that she assumed that that must be the natural form of Michael’s face. (Y/N) had grown bored of the two blokes, whose names she hadn’t bothered to make note of, so she slipped down from the stool she had been perched on. “Thanks for the drink and the chat boys.” (Y/N) said as a means of excusing herself before walking off towards Michael. The two men shared a bit of a shocked look in response to the way she had so casually snubbed them. “Evening handsome.” She flashed Michael a dazzling smile. Handsome was her pet name for Michael. It was a play on what all those swooning Blinder chasing girls would whisper and giggle about as he walk by. Michael knew (Y/N) only called him that sarcastically, as a joke, but it still brought him great pleasure. She called him handsome instead of her usual go to term of endearment, ‘darling.’ She used ‘darling’ with everyone. It was part of her charm and helped rope people in. Having a different pet name made Michael feel special, sarcasm be damned. “No need to abandon Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum over there just for little old me.” Michael grinned. “What does that make you then? The Cheshire Cat?” she scoffed. “And you sweet little Alice.” This was one of the things Michael most enjoyed about (Y/N), the way she could give easy and witty banter. (Y/N) appreciated the same thing in Michael. All the other men who chatted her up seemed to assume that she was some sort of airhead. It was partially why she enjoyed yanking those men around so much. Michael was different, he held conversations of substance with her. “You up for an adventure handsome?” She asked. Michael’s lips spread into a wide smile. From time to time (Y/N) would suggest they go on an adventure, as if they were little kids playing make believe. (Y/N) made Michael feel innocent again. Around most people (Y/N) had an alluring nature. She was sly in the most irresistible of ways. The sprightly, almost whimsical, side of her was similar to the term handsome. It was exclusively reserved for Michael. “C’mon then.” She took his hand and pulled him out the door.

“Where we goin’ then?” Michael asked as (Y/N) continued to lead him by the hand through back streets and allies. She somehow knew all the little passage ways and out of the way places. “Not much farther now.” She replied. (Y/N) led him directly to a dirty and decrepit looking building. It looked like a place no one had paid any mind to for years and years. No one but (Y/N), that is. “Here we are!” She happily exclaimed. “Here? You must be joking.” Michael looked the building up and down. It looked as though it might completely fall apart at any moment. “Stop being a baby.” (Y/N) darted to the door that had been haphazardly boarded up. Her small frame easily slipped through a gap between two of the poorly placed boards. “Fuck it.” Michael sighed. It was in situations like this that Michael had first begun to fall for (Y/N). Running through abandoned streets, free and wild like this, was a stark contrast to the poised, decisive, and almost pernicious way both she and he acted around others. Michael had to pull one of the loosely nailed boards out of the way so that he could fit through the door. By the time he got inside (Y/N) had already begun ascending a winding staircase within. “C’mon!” She yelled. “This doesn’t seem safe!” Michael wearily eyed the broken down stairs. “You’re being a baby again!” She laughed. This was the true and genuine (Y/N), loose and unrestrained. When the war broke out she was still young, but all the men in her family had been shipped off to France. Even her brother who was a year shy of being of age. He forged documents so that he could enlist just like everyone else. He wasn’t even supposed to be in France. He never came home. None of the men ever made it back. Her mother, sister, and herself had to fend for themselves. Her childhood abruptly ended when her family was cut in half. This warped and skewed her view point. She saw men as fleeting things that would violently leave her life. (Y/N) never let them close enough for their inevitable departure to hurt her. Michael was somehow different. He was a companion to her, and she felt she didn’t have to hide from him her desire to make up for that lost childhood. In a way, Michael also had a desire to regain the innocence of his childhood. (Y/N) was an escape from the world of violence he had entered after reconnecting with his family. They were a good fit for each other.

Once Michael had finally caught up with (Y/N), it was all the way up the stairs and onto the roof of the rickety building. Michael was hesitant to place his full weight on the feeble looking roof, but all hesitation disappeared when he saw (Y/N) lying on her back, gazing up. Her sleek hair seemed to glisten in the moonlight and was splayed out all around her, almost forming a halo surrounding her head. Her expression was relaxed and content. The ghost of a smile hung to her lips. Michael relaxed at the sight of her and followed suit, laying down next to her. The smog of the city made it hard to see many stars, but the full moon still shown vibrantly. “Isn’t she lovely?” (Y/N) hummed. “The moon is a she?” Michael turned his head to look at the profile of (Y/N)’s dimly lit face. “Yes, don’t you think so? ‘Mother moon’ has a nice ring to it.” She also turned her head to face Michael. She was close enough that she could see a sparkle in his eyes, despite the lack of light. She realized that they were merely an inch shy from being nose to nose. Suddenly, (Y/N) turned her head back to face upwards. Something in that moment had made her remember that Michael wasn’t some childlike companion, but a man. A handsome man at that. The way the Blinder girls giggled about him made sense. It was lucky that it was so dark, or else the flush that had spread up her neck and into her cheeks would have been seen. In that brief moment of closeness Michael’s heart had begun to race. He worked hard to not let it shatter when she turned away. “The sun is a man, eternally chasing after her.” (Y/N) continued the conversation about the moon. “She’s like you then. Always outrunning the men.” Michael said. Faintly, he could see her lips form into a smirk. “They’re pathetic, aren’t they? Those men who chat me up, thinking they can succeed where others have failed. Audacious fuckers.” She chuckled. “It’s cruel, what you do to them.” Michael now turned away from her to stare up. The irony of Michael of all people calling her cruel was not lost on (Y/N), but she chose to not draw attention to it. “Maybe it is cruel, but I’d rather be cruel than weak and hurt.” (Y/N)’s smirk fell into a hard line. “Is that what you think? That getting close to someone is weak?” Michael once again looked at her, baffled. “Not necessarily getting close to someone, but loving someone, yes. Placing your happiness in another person is ridiculous. People are fickle. They float in and out of your life and it’s stupid to become too attached.” Her tone was almost one of disgust. As if the very idea of love repulsed her. “People may leave, but what you shared with them stays forever.” Michael was a far cry from being a romantic, but it crushed him to hear (Y/N) speak this way. “You ever been in love?” She asked him. “I think so, yeah.” He whispered while staring intently at (Y/N), willing her to realize that he was referring to her. “I hear it hurts. That true?” She questioned him. “Yeah it’s true, but in a really great way. You’ve never been in love?” Michael was a bit shocked. She was an adult, surely in all her years she had fallen in love at least once. “No, never.” (Y/N) flatly responded. Michael’s heart grew heavy. It’s one thing to be a tease like everyone thinks (Y/N) is, but it’s an entirely different thing to be opposed to love entirely. Suddenly a thought came to him. “It’s an adventure.” He told her. “What?” She turned to face him. “Love. It’s an adventure. There is a chance that this whole building will crumble and hurt us, maybe even kill us, but we’re still here because the view makes it all worth it. Love is the same way.” Michael reasoned. “You make a decent point, handsome.” She couldn’t deny how marvelous his metaphor was. “How ‘bout it then? You up for an adventure?” Michael asked. (Y/N)’s heart began to pound. She didn’t know if she was up for it or not. She stared at him for awhile. Her eyes flit up and down as she examined every inch of his demeanor, as if the answer to the question was hidden somewhere in his face. Michael grew increasingly nervous as her silence continued. He had just as good as admitted to loving her. He feared that he might have scared her away. It was in the crease between Michael’s eyebrows that had folded with worry that (Y/N) found her answer to the question. To double check and make absolutely sure, she then examined his lips, pursed together in response to the tension that hung between Michael and herself. His lips were chapped and far from perfect, yet beautiful all the same. This is what assured her that she had indeed found the correct answer in him. “Yes, I’m up for it.” (Y/N) nearly gasped her answer. She hadn’t realized, but she had been holding her breath while looking at him. The heaviness within Michael’s heart lifted as it began to skip and jump. With a surge of confidence he closed the small distance between them, pressing his chapped lips against her smooth painted surface of her own lips. Michael placed a gentle hand on her cheek, willing her to stay in place within that perfect moment. (Y/N) shifted to be closer to him, grabbing ahold of the fabric of his shirt. “You won’t leave, will you?” She whispered against his lips. “No love, I’m not going anywhere.” Michael smiled. “Good, cause I’ll kill you if you do.” (Y/N) briefly matched his smile before placing her lips back onto his.

*feedback is greatly appreciated*