A Collection Of Michael Gray Imagines

Insecure

You hate this feeling. You know that you hate this feeling.

It's a rather strong feeling coming from your gut that travels up your throat and makes you want to throw up.

A lump forms in your throat as you anticipate the words that your boyfriend is about to say, he's already on a long angry rant about something or other so it isn't hard to guess what's coming next.

"Oh and don't get me started on those unflattering clothes!" he exclaims drunkenly.

He'd never been a violent or angry drunk, your boyfriend. Only verbally abusive and yet sometimes you flinched as if he had slapped you right across the face like any other man in Birmingham. You only assumed that was the norm -- to be verbally abused. However, you had always considered yourself lucky as you knew very well that some of the girls at work received much worse beatings than words alone.

"I mean, for fuck's sake," his voice fades back in, invading your mind, putting up some defences so that it doesn't hurt all too much when it comes, "put some effort into your appearance. I'm surprised that mirror over there hasn't fucking cracked yet, talk about bad luck. Bad luck..." he mutters, "I got some bad luck being stuck with you!"

As meek as you had been throughout his abuse, you whimpered at the last part. Anyone would have, it was a nasty thing for him to have said, then say drunk words are sober thoughts.

"Why don't you leave then?"

He stops midway through a small rant about a kid that had run in front of him earlier in the day and caused a mild inconvenience, "Why don't I -- what?"

"Leave. Why don't you leave?" You lift your head up because it's a well-known fact that when a woman looks him in the eyes, he feels threatened, "Michael would have never said something like that to me. None of his lot would have."

"Michael this, Michael that," he mimics and taunts you, "of course Michael loves you the most!"

Carefully you open the door and slowly say to him, "I think it's time for you to leave."

"I'm not going anywhere, love," he stands up and looms over you, breathing his whiskey breath into your face. It tasted sour in the air.

"Then I will."

You snatch up your coat and quickly wrap it around yourself, as tight as you can to hold off the bite of the cold wind on the outside. You didn't even change into proper shoes, you're just determined to get out of the house to somewhere where you felt safe and (ironically) at home.

He calls after you, it's no surprise, really, that he feels this useless without you. You knew that he was practically bone idle when it came to working around the house and feeding himself. That had been one of the things that made you want to be with him in the first place — you had wanted to be the typical housewife and show him what a real meal was. It was your own downfall, it seems.

Quickening your pace as you stumbled through the unlit streets of Small Heath, you could only pray that he was there, waiting for you where you hoped he was every time something went wrong.

The door was in sight and you inwardly sighed. You felt safe here.

You quietly open the door and push it closed behind you; you didn't want to wake anyone in the house who may be sleeping — it was rare for some but more often than not someone was praying that they were fast asleep.

Walking through the sitting room, you make your way to the kitchen. It was still empty so you pushed back the thick curtains that hide a doorway and made your way through.

It was dark but you could see a light coming from one of the offices in the betting den.

Clutching onto your coat tighter, you walk towards the office with the faint glow coming from it. You knew the other Shelby's would be out drinking — or at least hoped they were — and stepped into the room.

"Michael?" you whisper.

He looks up, startled by your presence but nonetheless, he steps towards you, ready for whatever you may say to him.

"Why are you here so late?"

"Michael," you begin, eyes welling up, "Oh Michael, I've really gone and done it this time..."

Flopping onto one of his chairs, you bury your face into your hands, Michael quickly makes his way around the table, from whatever work he was doing, and wraps his arms around you.

"Now you listen here," Michael lifts your face, slightly puffy from the crying, and says, "you, my love, have nothing to worry about."

"But Michael —"

"No. You are okay. Don't worry, he wasn't worth it," he murmurs, resting your head on his chest.

"Unflattering and bad luck. That's what he thinks I am, Michael," you blubber out, hot tears pouring down your face.

Michael pulls away to look at you. You lift your head to look at him, wondering what he is thinking. Michael never thought bad of you — or at least never showed it or said it to you — and you couldn't imagine what that would be like. A happy life, that's all you ever asked for.

"Am I chubby Michael?"

Michael's face falters, you couldn't tell if it was because he wasn't expecting it or not.

"I love that you have a little extra in all the right places... makes you seem more real."

"Huh?" You reply, your eyes widening at his response. It certainly wasn't what you expected but it was far more astonishing than you could've ever asked for.

His eyes were enchanting; the slight glint in them shining whenever he spoke to you. His pupils widened whenever he thought about you; about saying something to you; even when he was sat right in front of you, like he was now.

"I like to consider myself a little more conscious than my cousin counterparts. Grace was too skinny, or so Polly tells me, Linda's far too uptight with God, also Polly, and Esme is unrealistic. You, however... wow, you amaze me everytime I see you."

Sniffling, you offer a small smile, "I don't think you see me in the right light, Michael."

Michael studies you. Quickly, you put your head down, not wanting to disappoint him with whatever he may find.

With all of these thoughts running through your head, all of the things he might point out that he doesn't like, ask where all of the scars littered across your body are from, whether they're self-inflicted or accidents or dodging of bottles being thrown your way, Michael stops them all, by tilting your chin to face him gently with his soft fingers.

"You, are the only person I have ever truly loved," he whispers before brushing his lips against yours.

Without thinking, you lean into his embrace, allowing him to kiss you more. Michael's arms wrap around you in such a way that lets him pick you up and hold you closer.

You smile, having never shared a moment like this before, you felt at home, you felt safe. Most of all, you felt as if it was the two of you against the world.

- - -

suggestions?

send them on my tumblr!

peakyblinderswhore.tumblr.com/ask

(it's also on my profile incase you cba to ctrl+c ctrl+v)

comment them below and risk me not seeing them!

littlemissjaffa

x