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halfway-happyyy · 5 months ago

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will you think of me later? (michael kinsella x reader)

an: listen here, mikey kinsella deserves the world, and i intend to give it to him !

summary: the universe fights for souls to be together. mikey kinsella is proof of that fact. soft feelings ensue. (as usual)

warnings: none really, mentions of spiciness if you squint

“Australia’s going to be brilliant, you’ll see.”

Your stomach lurches at the idea of leaving home behind, but you smile regardless. “I sure hope so.”

Somewhere in the distance, the doorbell sounds. There are enough people in your house tonight that could get it, yet it rings for a third time. You apologize to the friend you’re talking with, and excuse yourself to answer it. You swing open the door, expecting to find a blemished teenager balancing a precarious stack of pizza boxes, or another late arrival, but instead the person standing on the other side is none other than Michael Kinsella.

He's turned away from you initially, as if the idea to bolt at the last minute had crossed his mind, but then he turns around and offers you a breathless, “Ehm, hiya.”

A friend had asked you recently what the most romantic thing someone had ever said to you was, and for some inexplicable reason, Mikey Kinsella came to mind.

“I think I knew you in all of my past lives.”

“Hiya.” You breathe.

He gives his head a half-shake and lets out a low laugh. “God, it’s good to see your face again.”

His familiar cadence causes a shiver to wrack you, but you’ll blame it on the evening chill if anyone asks. Where the delicate creases next to his hazel eyes are newly acquired features, the way his eyes glitter brightly when he smiles remains the same. He looks different than he did the last time you’d seen him. But then he would. Prison tended to do that to a person.

Someone’s laughter sparkles in the distance, and Michael’s smile fades. “You’re having a party, I should go.”

“You’re out.” Is all you can manage.

He glances down at his feet and then nods his head. “Yeah, for about a year now.”

Jesus.

You nod resolutely. “And… you’re here.”

He scratches awkwardly at a spot behind his neck. “Ehm, yeah, I realize now that I probably shouldn’t have just shown up out of the blue like this, I’m sorry.”

It’s not enough of an answer, you want more, you feel entitled to more, and yet you’re powerless to do much else than stand behind the door. “What are you doing here, Mikey?” You ask softly.

He clears his throat. “I needed some fresh air tonight, and I wound up in your neck of the woods.”

“It isn't exactly close.” You murmur.

“Mm, it's not, is it?” He whispers.

Someone calls your name. Breaks whatever spell being back in his presence cast on you. “I should go.”

He smiles again, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Yeah, me too.” He steps off your porch, but turns back as if remembering something important. “Can I ring you tomorrow?”

“Course ya can, Mikey.” Like second nature, it comes out before you’ve even had a chance to process an answer. He’s gone before you can take it back.

It never ceases to amaze you how easy it is for Michael to find his way back into your life. Sometimes all it takes is catching a glimpse of Birdy at the shops, or hearing a favourite song of his on the radio, or walking past a restaurant you'd visited with him one evening ages ago. Though more than just years span the distance between you two, he never lingers far from your thoughts. Sometimes it's enough to drive you mad.

As you approach the pub's entrance, the urge to cut and run is almost too enticing to pass up. You very nearly give in until you spot him though the window, a lone figure at a corner booth, hunched around an untouched beer. Taking a deep breath, you enter the pub, and any trepidation that you might have had seconds ago dissipates entirely when he spots you and smiles.

“Alright?” You ask as you slide into the booth before him.

“Yeah, grand. And you?”

“Grand.” You smile.

It feels awkward from the start; there are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask him, but somehow everything falls short when it comes to sharing space with someone who used to share every aspect of your life. You glance down at the glossy menu and order a bulmers when the waitress passes your table.

“Nice place,” You murmur and glance around the pub. It’s an entirely different atmosphere than the joints you used to frequent with Michael. “Not close to you though, if I were to go off where Birdy said you are.”

He cocks his head to the side. “You’ve seen Birdy, then?”

You nod. “About six months back. We chatted briefly, and your name came up. It was good to see her, Mikey. I miss her loads.”

Though she’d deny it if you brought it up, Birdy definitely had favourites and Michael was hers.

You can feel his gaze on you when he shrugs and says, “You could come round any time. I know she’d love to see ya.” He seems to sense he’s stepped into unfamiliar territory, and clears his throat. “How’ve you been getting on? You look really well.”

A pang of something- it feels remarkably close to heartache, hits you hard and renders you breathless for a few moments. What could you say to someone who used to know you better than yourself? Where do you go from here?

“Ehm, I’ve been really busy as of late, actually. Da finally passed on about a year ago now, so it’s just me in the house, and trying to get everything sorted from his kip has been… challenging to say the least.”

Michael’s expression grows somber. “I’m sorry to hear that. He was one hell of a man.”

Your eye roll precedes a laugh. “You hated the man.”

Michael shakes his head, tips back the rest of his beer. “Never hated him. But when you willingly choose Bren Kinsella as your best mate…” His voice trails off, and the silence settles around you like falling snow. “So what are you going to do now? Do you reckon you’ll stay around here or what?”

You meet his gaze and it’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him what your next chapter is, but for some reason the words fizzle in your throat. “I haven’t entirely decided yet.” He could easily call you on your bullshit; lord knows he has in the past, but he lets it slide for now.

“I’m really glad you decided to come tonight.” The way he’s leant across the wooden table from you makes you want to ghost a fingertip down the length of his bearded cheek, but you resist the urge and take a hearty gulp of the amber liquid in your glass instead. “After the way things went I wasn’t sure if this was ever in the cards for us.”

You eye the grey button-up shirt he’s wearing, and the thatch of raven chest hair that peeks out from a gap at the top and shrug. “Yeah well… I guess I’ve always been a bit of a glutton for pain.”

Michael’s lips lift in a smirk. “Certainly not much has changed then, I see.”

You blame the sudden burst of warmth in your cheeks on the near-empty cider glass wedged within your grasp and not at all on the memories you have of the man before you. Clearing your throat, you swill back the rest of the liquid and level your gaze with us. “I take it you’ve been well then?”

Like last night, the smile he has for you never quite reaches his eyes. “I’ve been as well as can be, I suppose.”

Your tone is mildly teasing when you sigh and say, “Well, you’re not incarcerated anymore, so really how bad can it be?”

His laughter is genuine and it causes gooseflesh to bloom on your arms, as you laugh lightly along with him. “I’ve missed you.” He says, when the dust settles.

And even though you’ve missed him just as much, you cannot bring yourself to say so just yet. “How’s Anna?” You finally ask.

His beautiful hazel eyes light up at the mere sound of her name. “Oh, Anna.” He shakes his head as if to say, where do I begin? “She’s getting on really well right now, to tell the truth.” There’s more he wants to say, but for some reason, he’s playing his cards incredibly close to his chest tonight. The waitress comes by with the bill, which he covers, and then helps you into your coat. “Let me walk you home, hm?”

“Michael,” You murmur, turning to him outside the pub. “I don’t want to go back to mine just yet.”

The taxi ride back to his home is silent, save for the muted music emanating from the radio up front. You are keenly aware of Michael beside you; of the heat radiating from him, and of how badly you want to rest your suddenly weary head against the curve of his shoulder, like you used to do so many lifetimes ago. If you close your eyes tight enough, you can still make out the feeling of his warm hand as it rests protectively against the top of your thigh. “I want you to tell me the real reason you showed up at mine last night.” You whisper.

The taxi glides to a halt in front of his house before he has time to answer, and he exits it, and goes around to your side to grab the door for you. You wait quietly beside him whilst he fiddles with the key in the lock, and then you follow him down the dark hallway to his sitting room, where he flicks on a lamp that bathes the room in a soft, golden glow. He clears his throat and turns to you. “You asked about Anna this evening.”

You nod, silently.

“She’s actually one of the reasons I came round to yours last night.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “How do you mean?”

Michael backs himself against the wall, and catches your eye. “Anna got accepted to the University of Melbourne, in Australia. Marine biology.” He shakes his head and wears the look of a man who simply cannot fathom where the time has gone. Neither can you. “And ehm… I’ve decided to go with her. We leave a week from Friday.”

I think I knew you in all of my past lives…

The pieces fall into place almost immediately. “You were there last night to say goodbye.” His smile lacks any of the familiar warmth you’re used to, and it’s all the confirmation you need. “You need this,” Your voice is a glass on the precipice of shattering. “You need a fresh start. Away from Dublin.”

He nods.

“I’m happy for you, Mikey.” And you are. A part of you had always known that this path- the one in which the Kinsella’s were so infamously known, would wreck him if he never got away from it. “God, we never could get it right, could we?”

He cocks his head to the side, cocks an eyebrow in inquiry. “Get what right?”

You step closer to him and finally let yourself trace a fingertip down the length of his bearded jaw. “The whole distance and timing thing,” You press a chaste kiss there. “But maybe somehow we can try again.”

Basking in the afterglow, with the only other sound in the room the soft rainfall outside, you tell him that you meant what you said earlier.

He places two fingertips beneath your chin, lifting your face to his, and kisses you. The raw familiarity of it all leaves you breathless and wanting. It physically aches, how much touching him feels like coming home after a long day. You barely make it to the bedroom, your clothing scattered around the confines of his home like symbols of an evening well spent. He takes the utmost care of you when you eventually do get there, moving inside of you with a purposeful delicacy that feels like he’s trying to memorize every aspect of your body, in case you disappear from him completely.

“Which part would that be?” His voice is heavy with the weight of sleep, and causes you to shiver into his touch. You’re naked and on your stomach, with his fingertips tracing lazy circles around the dips and valleys of your back.

“Us. Trying again. Having a go at a fresh start together.” His eyebrows furrow in mild confusion, and you scoot closer to him beneath the covers so that you’re nose-to-nose. “I wasn’t entirely honest with you this evening.”

Michael smirks at you; he’s no stranger to this game. “I know.”

“I accepted a job offer with a firm in Canberra, Australia about a month ago. It’s not too far from where you and Anna will be…” You press a kiss to his lips. “I leave in a week, Mikey.”

Realization blooms in the pools of his hazel eyes like fireworks. You aren’t sure of many things, but what you do know to be true, is that the universe fights for souls to be together. Evidence of that fact can be found in the smile that lights Mikey Kinsella’s face from the inside out.

#this is a michael kinsella stan account #he deserves the world ok #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella imagines #mikey kinsella #mikey kinsella x reader #charlie cox #kin #kin amc #kin rte #writing #drabble #fluff

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sunflowersandsapphires · 2 years ago

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Self-Indulgent HCs

pairing(s): Frank Castle x fem!Reader, Matt Murdock x fem!Reader, Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader

summary: How each of the boys would care for you when you were sick, headcanons bc i am tired

warnings: non-graphic, general descriptions of sickness (just cold/fever, not covid)

a/n: this month was already rough on my allergies but i came down with quite possibly the worst cold I’ve ever had. (It’s literally so bad i had to use PTO instead of WFH days? I am literally dying.) I wrote this when I was feverish and couldn’t sleep to make myself feel better. I hope someone out there likes it 😭

Frank

I think Frank would worry a lot when his partner was sick.

He’s lost so many people and he doesn’t have a huge circle so i think it takes him by surprise a little.

But he’d do his best to hide his worries by going about his day and comforting you.

He’d get fresh produce from the store and make you delicious soup, pick up tissues and medicine for you, threaten anyone who tried to make you go into work

“Your boss still pullin’ that shit? Gimme the phone, let me talk to ‘em”

He loves being your big spoon anyways but he would not let you go if you looked or sounded ill. You’d be nestled carefully against his chest while he stroked your back until you fell asleep.

He’d keep you entertained by reading to you or watching whatever TV your fever-ridden mind is craving.

Above all, he wouldn’t leave your side until you were feeling better.

The smile on his face the next time you take him out would be brilliant. He’s just so happy that you’re here with him and feeling better.

Matt

Personally, i hate the idea of getting people sick more than actually being sick sometimes but i think this would especially be the case with Matt

His senses are so delicate, I wouldn’t want to fuck with him by being gross and loud or by getting him sick.

But there is no way this man isn’t the biggest self-sacrificing-mother-hen when someone he loves is sick.

He’d sense your illness before you would, and encourage you to take it easy and sleep a bit extra that week (above all, he’s a hypocrite.)

Of course, he’s a bit embarrassed of everything he can do, or maybe you don’t know the extent of what he is capable of, so he plays it off as “you’ve been working so hard lately, sweetheart, you need to take it easy.”

A day or two before the bug hits you like a truck, he’d come over with a bag from the pharmacy that’s just chock-full of DayQuil and Tea and cough drops and like a single bandaid

He poorly plays it off as “uh, your first aid kit was low, remember?”

Once you’re well and truly sick, he’d be stubborn as a mule if you tried to keep him away. You lock him out of your apartment? You wake up from a nap wrapped in a Devil-shaped blanket to find that someone picked your window lock.

At that point, you just cave and let him stay because you are so cold and he’s so so warm.

Mikey

Not afraid of using his puppy dog eyes to get you to stay home or in bed.

Also not afraid of crying wolf and pretending that he’s not feeling well to make you take a break

“Sorry, pet, my head is hammerin’. Think we could lay down fer a bit?”

Combined WITH the puppy eyes? You don’t stand a chance.

Though you usually take care of the housework while he’s dealing with his family’s business, he wouldn’t let you lift a finger until your temperature was normal and your voice came back.

It’s as if you’re the only person that exists to him, he’s running around trying to anticipate your every need.

It’s been a while since he’s dealt with the real world so he might ask Birdy for advice on how to care for a sick person.

Lots of home remedies (idk just vibes.)

He would have you lean against him in a scalding shower to clear your sinuses or draw you a nice bath.

Keep cool water and a cloth by the bed to bring your fever down.

Hand you cup after cup of tea until you have to threaten to tie him to the bed.

“Just lay with me, please”

“Of course, pet. Anything fer ya.”

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