#kin amc x reader

[shiorimakibawrites]

Mo Ghrá (Kin Fan Fic)

Words: ~1500 Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Summary: You're on your period and you miss Mikey. Warning: Period symptoms, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff, pumpkin obsession Masterlist / A03 Tags: @bellaxgiornata, @shouldbestudying41, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92

This little story interrupted the writing of "Bound". Guess Mikey wanted a little attention.

Thanks to @shouldbestudying41 for the title suggestion.

Mo Ghrá

You were on the couch, trying to find a position that was comfortable. It was a struggle. Your abdomen was in favor of the fetal position. Your lower back disagreed. Vehemently. Right now you were seeing if on your side, pillows supporting your back and heating pad pressed against your belly, would work.

You hoped so. You were so tired. You had gotten, maybe, two hours of sleep last night. If you added it all up. Yesterday hadn’t been much better. You had called off work, knowing there was no way you were hauling your ass into the office. Not today.

After failing for umpteenth time to find a comfortable position on your bed, you had given up on it. The couch wasn’t much of an improvement. Best thing you could say is that it wasn’t covered in sheets that smelled like stale sweat. You needed to change your bedding but that sounded like far too much work today . . . maybe, if you got lucky, you’d find the energy to fix that before attempting to sleep tonight.

You wished Michael was here. You wanted to bury your face in his chest hair while he rubbed your back with those large, warm hands. You wanted his voice softly murmuring into your hair. But you stayed at your place last night and yesterday night. Like an idiot. You didn’t know what Past You had been thinking. Probably some nonsense about needing to spend some time at your own place since you were still paying rent . . .

But you were also glad that Michael wasn’t here. Because you felt gross. You had scrapped up just enough energy for a shower this morning. But it was the second day of your period. When you had the worst cramps and the heaviest bleeding. So it didn’t take long for the refreshed, clean feeling to disappear.

You whimpered when another cramp ripped through your abdomen. The painkillers were wearing off. Granted, the ibuprofen was barely dulling your cramp pain. And it did absolutely nothing for your headache . . . But it was all you had. In a minute, you would get up and take more. Refill your water bottle while you were up. In a minute . . .

The knock on the door startled you. You weren’t expecting any company. Michael had mentioned something about running errands when you had called him to cancel your lunch date. Another disappointment, you had been looking forward to that date . . . you weren’t going anywhere special. Just the little cafe that you two had discovered that had really good coffee. Really good everything actually. Anna liked it too . . .

Another knock alerted you to that you had gone woolgathering instead of getting up and answering the door. It was tempting to pretend not to be home. But curiosity won out. Reminding yourself that you needed more medicine and water anyway, you wiggled out of your blanket cocoon and stood up.

Your abdomen protested the loss of the heating pad with an enormous cramp. The kind that made you double-up and brought tears to your eyes. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. You slowly straightened back up, then shuffled just as slowly toward the door. You reached it just as a third knock came. Whoever this person was, they were persistent.

You unlocked and opened the door to discover Michael standing here, a soft smile on his handsome, bearded face. “There ya are, pet. I was startin’ to think I had missed ya.”

“Mikey!” you said, torn between delight and embarrassment. You were happy to see him, of course, but you were also a mess. Crazy hair still wet from the shower, wearing old sweats, oversized tee shirt, and one of his hoodies. The one that you had shamelessly stolen from his house the last time you were over there.

Your unattractive messiness felt especially stark today. Michael’s hair and beard was neatly combed. He was wearing jeans, the ones that displayed just how fine that very fine ass of his was. And that sage green sweater that you had bought him, that really brought out those little flecks of green in his eyes, peeked out from under his jacket.

“I thought you were busy today?” You said.

“Just a few things,” he said. “Can I come in, pet? The coffee's gettin’ cold.”

“Coffee?” you repeated, suddenly realizing that one of his hands was occupied. In it was a drink carrier with two coffees in it. Coffees with the name of the little shop written across the cups. You also noticed a small white bag with the same logo dangling from that wrist. A bag that smelled like fresh-baked pumpkin bread.

Your mouth watered. You hadn’t eaten much today. Just lacked the energy and had been vaguely nauseous. You had nibbled on a cereal bar with some tea hoping that it would stay down. It did. But the nausea remained and nothing sounded appealing . . . not until your nose caught a whiff of that pumpkin.

“Pumpkin bread?”

“Yes,” he said, smiling. “And yer pumpkin spice latte.”

“Really?!”

“I know ya love yer pumpkin,” he said.

He was right. You loved pumpkin. Pumpkin bread. Pumpkin pie. Pumpkin cookies. Pumpkin spice coffee. One of your favorite things about autumn was all the pumpkin things you could find. Michael had teased you about it, said it was very American. You had retorted that his snobbiness about whiskey was very Irish of him.

Remembering that he was still standing on your doorstep and it was a rather brisk autumn day, you moved to the side and ushered him inside. You watched him move through your living room. Particularly when he bent down to put the coffees down on the little table. As predicted, his ass looked incredible in those jeans . . . you felt a spark of irritation at the universe. If only you weren’t on your period right now . .

As if to remind you of that little fact, you got another cramp. It wasn’t quite as bad as the last one but it still had you pressing your hands against your abdomen in a vain attempt to stop the pain. A pointed reminder that you needed to take that ibuprofen and put the heating pad back on. While Michael sliced off a few pieces from the loaf of pumpkin bread, you slipped off to the bathroom to take those painkillers.

“How are ya feelin’ pet?” Michael asked as you settled back on the couch.

“I’m grand,” you said. “Why do you ask?”

While his lips did give an amused twitch at your borrowing of his phrasing, his eyes flickered over to the heating pad and the blanket piled on the couch. “Ya were wincin’”

Of course he had noticed. Michael was nothing if not attentive.

You fidgeted. He had never exhibited any disgust for periods. Never made any crude jokes, reacted with calm practicality every time it had come up. Anna had been more embarrassed by her dad buying her tampons than he had been going to shop to buy them. But your period wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about. You really didn’t want to talk about it with Michael.

For some reason, he seemed to think you were beautiful. And you didn’t want anything to destroy that particular delusion of his.

On the other hand, you didn’t want to lie either. You and Mikey were trying to build something solid here. Something that would last. Honest communication was key to that goal. And . . . well, your periods weren’t going to stop anytime soon.

“It’s just my period,” you muttered, staring at your feet. Your socks didn’t match. One was a bright pink. The other was black. You hadn’t even noticed before now. Tears filled your eyes. Couldn’t even dress yourself properly. You really were a disaster.

“Pet?”

His voice was closer than you expected. It startled you into looking up. Seeing your tears, the concerned frown deepened. “Can I sit with ya?”

You nodded. He sat down next to you, then turned so he was mostly facing you. He held his arms open in clear invitation. One you couldn’t resist. You slide into his arms, borrowing your face into his chest. The sweater might not have been the chest hair you had been craving earlier but you still had his strong arms around you. You had his cologne that smelled like a blend of whiskey, coffee, vanilla along with notes that you couldn’t describe as other than Mikey in your nose. Which was pretty damn good.

It got even better when one of those wonderfully warm hands began massaging your lower back while the other helped maneuver the rest of you into a more comfortable snuggling position. Michael was so warm. He was just as good as your heating pad. Better. Because your heating pad couldn’t murmur sweet nothings into your ear.

One of these days you were going to have to ask him what mo ghrá meant. Everyone had refused to tell you. Just smiled and told you to ask Michael.

You did eventually manage to drink your coffee and eat your slice of pumpkin bread, followed by more snuggles with Mikey. You felt your eyes getting heavy as the combination of comfort and warmth lulled you into sleep. The last thing you felt before you drifted off was lips pressing against your forehead with another soft mo ghrá.

END NOTES

mo ghrá is Irish for "my love".

[peterman-spideyparker]

Nightmares (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: Hey everyone! I've had this in my drafts for a while, and I have the day off today, so I figured I'd post it. I initially wrote this a a Frank Castle fic, but when I was reading it over after I was done, it really seemed to fit Michael better (again, obsessed with this man, and I've only seen the pilot episode of Kin). I hope you guys enjoy! :)

Summary: One of Michael's deepest fears comes to life in a nightmare, and he turns to you for comfort, needing to ground himself.

Warnings: Graphic nightmare (dead dove do not eat--Michael, Anna, and Reader tied up in the woods, Michael having to choose between you and Anna, violence, guns, Reader death in dream), swearing calming down Michael after a nightmare, smut (kissing, fingering, praise, biting/nibbling, p in v unprotected sex) cuddling, talking about fears

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 2,097

He doesn’t know where he is. His in some sort of forest, dead, brown, fragile leaves below him. He hears crying—these terrified sobs and whines of horror. Michael’s eyes shoot up and see you and Anna on your knees, your arms tied around your back with blinding headlights shining behind you. He looks up and sees a man standing behind you both, but he can’t make out their face. What he can distinctly recognize, though, is the gun in his hand.

“Choose!” a gruff voice shouts above the cries of the two people he loves most in the world.

“Let ‘em go!” Michael shouts, straining against the rope on his wrists. “Yer problem seems t’be with me, eh? So cut me loose and fight me.”

“You need to choose, Michael,” the voice says. Why can’t he see his face?

“Ye want me t’choose? Alright, me! I choose me!” he protests. “That’s who ye have a grudge against, right? So let them go and off me!”

"Choose!"

Leave begin to rustle beneath where you kneel, and Michael’s eyes flit over to you in a panic. You stand, your body shaking and tears streaming down your face. You lock eyes with him and mouth “I love you” before you turn around and face the faceless man.

“Let them go,” you tremble. “Hurt me, but spare them.”

“No!” Michael shouts, desperately trying to burst out of his restraints, but they only get tighter.

“She has the courage that you so frequently lack,” the faceless man says as Michael protests and Anna cries in fear.

“Anna, sweetheart, close your eyes,” you beg, doing your best not to cry. “It’ll be okay.”

“No, hey!” Michael shouts. “Let her go! Take me, instead! ‘M beggin you. Please! Please!”

“You could learn a thing or two from her.”

“Mikey, I love—.”

Michael cries out when his happens, the gunshot echoing deafeningly loud in the forest as you fall lifeless in the leaves in front of him. Blood is smeared on your head, spreading like a crimson sheet around you, and all Michael can do is cry before letting out a terrible scream at the top of his lungs.

He shoots up, finding himself in his bedroom, sheets in his lap and sweat sticking to his skin as his chest heaves for air.

“Michael,” you say gently, and he looks over to you with panicked eyes. You’re okay. You're alive. Here, with him, in his bed. “Mikey, it was just a nightmare. It’s okay. Everything’s alright.” You run a gentle, cool hand down his sweaty, burning skin. “Whatever it was wasn’t real. You’re safe.”

Michael lets out a shaky breath, his bleary eyes looking over your form before he leans in and wraps his arms around you, holding you tight and weeping into the crook of your neck.

“I thought I lost ya,” he weeps. “I can’t loose someone else I love. I-I-I can’t loose ya.”

“Oh, Michael,” you breathe, running your hand down the back of his hair. “I’m here, baby. I’m right here.”

Michael matches his breathing with yours, eventually calming down and pulling back to look at you with reddened eyes and tear-stained cheeks. Leaning in, Michael kisses you deeply. He knows you’re here in front of him, but something deeper in him is desperate to know that you’re actually here in his bed, that you’re not dead somewhere in the woods like what he saw in his dream. You accept his embrace for a bit, but you start to pull back as he tries to intensify the kiss.

“Michael,” you whisper. “Is this what you want? Or do you want to talk about it?”

“I can’t have someone take ya from me. I need’ya right now, love,” he mutters. “Please, just let me have this.”

“As long as you’re sure,” you nod, leaning back in for a kiss. When your lips meet again, Michael is more aggressive in his embrace, taking charge of how his lips crash against yours and how his tongue slips in deep to explore. He guides you down on the mattress, his hands squeezing into your body as he kisses you desperately, sure to leave little bruises behind. Michael’s lips explore every inch of flesh that they can find, pulling little whimpers of pleasure from you as he does so. Any other day, Michael would drag his kisses down and spend hours between your legs, but he needs to be close to your face. He needs to see the sparkle in your eyes, the flush of your cheeks, the little lines at the corner of your mouth when you smile at him. Leaning back up, he presses his lips to yours, kissing you deeply and rocking into the mattress. His hands grip the sleep shirt of his that’s on your body, sliding it off and tossing it somewhere to the side. You let out a soft moan as your breasts are exposed to the cool morning air, something that Michael happily dips down to kiss, lick, and suck on the pebbling flesh before moving back up and marking up your neck.

“Mikey!” you squeal breathily when he hits the right spot. Your nails dig into the soft flesh of his back, scratching angry lines down his body. Michael growls by your ear, nipping at the love bite before moving his mouth over yours and slip his tongue into your mouth. “Michael . . . baby!”

“I need ya,” he growls. “I need to bury my cock in that tight cunt of yers. Make those pretty sounds fall from yer mouth, make my name the only thing you can remember, stuff ya full.”

“Michael,” you whine.

“Ye want tha? Want me ta stretch ya full? Want my cum in ya?”

“Fuck, Mikey, yes, please!”

“Atta girl,” he coos. “Usin yer words like tha. Such a fuckin good girl fer me.”

Quickly shoving down his boxers, he pushes down the fabric just enough, giving himself a few pumps to make sure he’s nice and hard for you before sliding his hand up your thigh and grabbing onto your underwear. He yanks them clean off of you before fingering you, getting you ready. You cry out, your back arching as he pumps his fingers in and out to spread your slick around before moving back to fist his cock and spread your essence around.

“Ready, pet?” he pants.

“Yes,” you say breathily. “Yes, please!”

He presses a deep, passionate kiss to your lips, a moan pulling from your throat as his tongue explores your mouth before he slides in. Your lips part from one another’s as you cry out into the bedroom at the top of your lungs. You’re wet, sure, but not as wet as you usually are, so taking Michael is a bit more of a challenge. It feels like a tighter fit, and you can feel every cell between your legs as you stretch and try to take him. Michael feels it too, biting his lip before moving to bite your shoulder, which only makes the volume of your cries go louder. Your fingers sink into his back, leaving little crescent mark brands on his skin.

“Fuckin perfect,” he mutters, soothing the sting of his bite with his tongue and lips. “So tight. Such a nice cunt f’me, gripping my cock like tha.”

“Michael,” you whine.

“Say my name.”

“Michael!”

“Again.”

“Michael!”

“Who d’you belong to?”

“Michael!”

His pace moves from something tender and sensual to brutal and unrelenting, but you let him take what he needs until you’re screaming out so loud that you, him, and his neighbors know you’ll have a sore throat for days. You cum hard around his length, your entire body trembling with your orgasm as your mind goes fuzzy and you desperately cling to his body. Michael is like an animal as he ruts into you, chasing his high as he prolongs yours. The scruff of his bread scratches against your neck, and your hand slides up the back of his head to tug at the soft locks. He twists his head so his lips meet yours once more, full of lust, but intrinsically laced with passion and love. You nuzzle into his embrace and he bites his lip as he begins to feel the muscle in the lower abdomen tighten before he spills into you with a low grunt. You lie there, tangled together as a sweaty mess as you try to catch your breath. Languid, tired kisses are exchanged back and forth, and Michael can’t help but get lost in your sparkling eyes and how much he loves you, seeing that same love reflected back to him.

“You’re squishing me a little, Mikey,” you whisper, leaning up to kiss his nose.

“Oh,” he blushes. “Sorry, pet.”

You lean in for a kiss as he starts to pull out, rolling to the side but keeping you in his arms. You settle perfectly into his side, your hand warm on his chest.

“Are you okay, Michael?” you breathe into the dark bedroom, playing with his chest hair as you rest on one another.

“Awful dream,” he admits after a long silence. “Nightmare in every sense of the word. You . . . Ye died. Right in front of m’eyes, and there was nothin’ I could do ta save ya. I-I had ta choose between you an’ Anna, an’ I was beggin’ whoever it was t’take me instead. You stood up and you sacrificed yerself.”

He draws in a sharp, shaky breath between his teeth as you hold him tight.

“Baby, I’m,” you start, and you sound like you’re on the verge of tears. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry.”

“I think about it all the time,” he continues. “Ways the both of ye could just be taken from me. What I’d do. How I’d live without either of ya, and . . .” He can’t even fathom a reality where you’re both not in his life. He’s already lost his wife, and there’s not a day that goes by where he doesn’t miss her or think about how different his life would be if she was still here. “I can’t loose either of ya. I think I’d die if I did.”

“No one is gonna take us from you, and I’m not leaving, I promise.”

“But what if it’s not yer choice? What if I fuck up again an—.” He sniffles. “I didn’t think love . . . Fuck, I didn’t think a normal life was in the cards f’me. Everything that’s happened is proof of tha’. An’ now, I’m startin’ to believe again that it might be possible. ‘M afraid it’ll come crashin’ down again like it did.”

“Can I let you in on a secret?” you whisper. He looks up at you through his big brown eyes in a way that you can only describe as something a puppy would do. “I’m mortified of losing you, too. Either you die, or someone runs a red and I get into an accident. I’m terrified of what it’ll be like if we’re not in each other’s lives. But I know that’d it have to be some act of God to separate us.” I lean down and kiss him. “I love you, Michael. Forever and always. And nothing will ever change that.”

He holds you tighter, allowing you to snuggle down on his chest so you can hear his heartbeat loud and clear.

“What if we just run away,” he whispers. It’s not a question to you so much as it is a thought he’s mulled over time and time again. “Start over. Have a new life somewhere where all this shit isn’t weighing down over our heads.”

“Mikey . . .”

“I mean it. We’d be safe anywhere but here.”

“You’d be away from Anna.”

“We’d take her with us.”

“Her life is here, Michael. If she wants to leave, it’s her decision.”

“I just need t’keep ya safe.”

“And you will. No matter where we are in the world, I know you’ll keep us safe.”

“Why d’ya have so much faith in me?”

You turn into him, the tip of your nose brushing against his neck. “Because I love you, and you love me. I know the man that you are, and who you’re working to be. You are a good man, Michael Kinsella. And I love you.”

“You rhyme when you get sappy,” he chuckles softly, giving you a squeeze.

You kiss his shoulder, chuckling. “It was unintentional. But true. And it got you to smile. It’s a win-win.”

Michael pulls the blanket up around your bodies, holding you close and placing a lingering kiss to your forehead.

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[bellaxgiornata]

Keep Me Warm

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.7k

Summary: After Michael cancels your date night because something came up with his family, you're surprised to find him on your doorstep drenched and shivering from the rain.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ because this is mainly just smut, friends

a/n: It has been far too long that I've been writing for Michael without giving him smut and that changes now! This one was also was written for Mandy's Sweater Weather Challenge by the wonderful @she-likesorchids using the prompt "Get inside, you're all wet!" Feedback is always appreciated!

Warmly cocooned in your navy blue blanket, you were curled up on your sofa with the glow from your television softly washing over you in your sitting room. Your empty wine glass sat long forgotten on your coffee table beside an empty takeout container, the buzz from the wine still lingering in your system and relaxing you further into the cushions. While you sat comfortably enraptured by the romantic comedy you’d decided to put on for the evening, the soft patter of autumn rain and the distant roll of thunder enveloped your house outside. 

Initially you’d hoped to be spending your Saturday night with Michael, not alone on your sofa watching fictional couples falling in love. The pair of you were supposed to have gone out for dinner tonight for what would have been your third date, but something had come up with his family’s business–which you knew he’d been trying to find a way out of lately. He’d been incredibly apologetic when he’d called you a few hours ago to cancel, and you’d been understanding but secretly disappointed because it had been a long awaited third date. 

You’d had a crush on Michael since you first met him just over a year ago, having accidentally bumped into him at the market while picking out produce. The pair of you had gotten together for friendly reasons after a handful of more fortuitous run-ins at the market–going book shopping, on coffee dates, or having occasional dinners at your house–but they had always been under the pretense of friendship. Until you’d accidentally slipped up and blurted that you’d found him attractive a month ago and he’d shortly afterwards asked you on a date.

And tonight, after that date, you’d admittedly been hoping to do more than just exchange a few sweet kisses with him.

Though you pushed those thoughts aside, trying to ignore that lingering bit of disappointment you’d spent your evening attempting to drown out with the takeout and wine. Michael had rescheduled with you for next Saturday night at least. And, if you were really that desperate, it wasn’t like you couldn’t have a date with your vibrator before bed tonight, even if you’d have preferred Michael.

A handful of hurried, sharp raps against your front door abruptly rang out through your house, breaking you from your thoughts. You jumped on the sofa at the unexpected knocking, startling at the sound as your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Eyes darting to your front door across the room, you felt a bolt of fear quickly shoot through you. Who would’ve been stopping by unannounced this late and in the middle of a storm? 

When another round of knocks sounded a few moments later, this time not as urgent as before, you hesitantly began to unwrap yourself from within the comfortable and safe confines of your blanket. Leaning forward, you pushed the pause button on the television remote beside your wine glass before standing up. Cautiously you made your way over to the front door, nervously unlocking it before very slowly pulling it open.

A surprised gasp slipped out of you when you found Michael drenched on your front step, his dark hair matted to his head from the rain. A few beads of water were dripping down his forehead and his chin, the black sweater he was wearing clinging to his muscled upper torso. Your eyes were unable to resist lowering and lingering on the visible definition of his body beneath the soaked material, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight. Momentarily you wondered how he'd look without the sweater until a crack of distant thunder quickly brought your attention back up to Michael’s face. He was sheepishly smiling back at you. 

"Michael!" you exclaimed in surprise, your brain abruptly restarting as you stepped to the side and quickly waved him into your house. "Get inside, you're all wet!"

Following your order, Michael stepped inside past you, his arms wrapping around himself as he did. You closed the door after him before turning back around. He was still shooting you that sheepish smile, his sopping wet clothes dripping water onto your wood floor. 

"'M really sorry to pop in on ya like this, pet," he told you.

"What're you doing out walking in the freezing rain, Mikey?" you asked, concern creasing your brow. "There's a storm going on and you're out wandering around in it. And I thought you had a…family thing tonight?"

Michael unwrapped one arm from around himself, awkwardly rubbing his hand across the back of his neck. His gaze dropped down to the floor, that bit of timidness you sometimes saw in him on full display at the moment. Somehow that shyness only ever made you like him more.

"I don't–don't exactly know what came over me but I just–just had to get away from that house tonight. And my family–" he broke off with a grimace, shaking his head. "It just was not a good night and I needed to blow off some steam. And unfortunately it started to downpour while I was out walkin'. Sort of…somehow found myself here."

He wrapped his arm back around himself, hugging his chest as his gaze remained on your floor. Your heart ached for him. You knew how much he wanted out of his family’s drug dealing business and how they were making his life more difficult because of it. Though when you saw him visibly shudder from the cold, your concern for him in the moment took right back over. 

"Shit, you must be freezing," you said, crossing the distance between you both.

Gently you rested your hands over his, hissing in surprise at how cold his actually were to the touch. Michael's head rose up as he caught your eye, a small grin on his lips as you covered his hands with yours, hoping to help warm them.

"Well, I'll tell ya it wasn't the smartest thing I've done today, walkin' in the freezing rain like that," he replied with a laugh. "Then comin' here and botherin' ya."

"You're not bothering me, Mikey," you assured him, swiftly gesturing a hand to your sitting room where your empty remnants of dinner still sat on the coffee table. "It's not like I was in the middle of anything."

Michael glanced over his shoulder at your coffee table, a frown slipping onto his mouth as another chill raced through him. With your hands still wrapped around his, you could feel the way his body had shook this time. 

"Pet, I'm–I'm so sorry I canceled on ya tonight," Michael said, his teeth briefly chattering as he spoke. "Didn't mean to ruin your evenin'."

"You didn't ruin my evening, but now I'm concerned about you. You’re clearly cold," you told him, your hands rubbing over the backs of his. "I can offer you a towel to dry off a bit, but maybe you'd like to use the shower to warm up instead? I can throw your wet clothes in the dryer for a few minutes while you do. Might help you warm up faster."

One corner of Michael’s lips slowly curved upwards into a cheeky smirk. The sight of it on his face was quickly drawing heat into your cheeks and you hoped he couldn’t tell.

"Are ya just tryin' to get me outta my clothes, pet?" Michael teased. 

"What?" you gasped, eyes wide. "No! I just thought that you–you might–"

"Relax," he said with a chuckle. "I'm just teasin’ ya. But…I wouldn't mind takin' ya up on the offer. I am freezin' my arse off right 'bout now."

Releasing his hands, you stepped back and nodded vigorously at him. "Yeah, right. Of course. Just uh, just hop in the shower and leave your clothes on the floor next to the door. I'll throw them in the dryer when you're in the shower."

Michael nodded, slipping his wet shoes off of his feet where he stood. You watched him, gnawing nervously on your bottom lip and struggling not to picture him naked in your shower. Your eyes once again lingered on the way his damp sweater clung to the muscles in his back as he bent down, picking up his shoes from the floor before walking past you and placing them on the shoe rack beside your door. He sent you a smile as he stood back up, one that had your face further flaming.

"Just goin' to grab that shower then," he said, gesturing behind himself with one hand while the other rubbed his arm for warmth. 

You cleared your throat, a strained smile forming on your lips as your heart began to beat a little harder in your chest. Michael had always had an effect on you, but it had become vastly harder to ignore now that you knew he had feelings for you, too. But as you told him where to find the clean towels in the bathroom, you couldn’t help but feel desperate to follow after him and join.

As Michael made his way towards your bathroom, softly shuttling the door behind himself and turning on the shower, you tried to give him time to get undressed and into it before you grabbed his clothes to put into the dryer. Attempting to distract yourself from the rush of inappropriate thoughts suddenly racing through your mind, you headed back into the sitting room and turned off your television before focusing on cleaning up your empty glass of wine and the take out container on your coffee table. 

By the time you'd finished cleaning up and straightening your house a bit, you figured Michael would be in the shower and you could step in and grab his clothes. Making your way down the hallway and towards the bathroom, you stopped beside it, leaning up against the wall and knocking lightly against the door. 

"I'm just going to grab your clothes to toss into the dryer, if that's alright?" you called through the door to Michael.

"Thank ya, pet," Michael called back.

Closing your eyes, you mentally prepared yourself to not try to immediately sneak a peak of him through the glass shower door. Taking a deep breath, you opened your eyes and slowly twisted the handle of the door, keeping your gaze averted towards the ground as you opened it. 

Exactly as you’d asked, he'd placed his clothes on the floor beside the door. But just as you reached down to grab the damp pile to put into the dryer, you heard the glass door of the shower open and you startled at the sound. Unable to stop yourself, your eyes darted up to see Michael’s face poking out from around the glass. Bottom lip rolling between your teeth, you bit down hard and forced yourself to keep your focus on just his face, though you knew if you looked down–just for a second–you’d get a view of his naked body behind the frosted and steamed up shower door. And it was truly hard to resist that temptation, especially with the way he was shooting you a knowing smile right now.

"Unless ya want to join me?" he asked.

Your brows jumped up onto your forehead in surprise. That was not what you’d expected to hear him say, but nevertheless, a spark of excitement shot through your body at his invitation. 

“If ya want, of course,” he added. “Wouldn’t mind ya helpin’ to keep me warm, pet.”

It felt like the air had been knocked out of your lungs with the way he’d said that in such a sultry tone, continuing to stare at you while he was entirely naked from the inside of your shower. Swallowing hard, you tried to regain the ability to speak again before he took your silence to mean the opposite of what it really meant.

“I–yeah, if you–you’d like,” you stammered.

You dropped his clothes from your hand, hearing the way they landed back to the floor with a soft, wet thump . As you stepped further into the bathroom, not bothering to shut the door after yourself, Michael slid the shower door wider open, giving you an unobstructed view of himself. Hands grabbing onto the hem of your shirt, your eyes dropped down, tongue darting out and wetting your lips when you saw that he was already half hard.

“Might’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout ya already,” he confessed.

His words went straight to your cunt as you began to remove your shirt, though you saw his eyes lower towards your chest just before you pulled it up and over your head. A needy heat began to grow between your thighs as you tossed the shirt onto the bathroom floor. Reaching behind yourself, you undid the clasp of your bra, a thrill racing up your spine as you watched the longing grow on Michael’s face, his eyes still fixed on your chest. You intentionally slid the straps of your bra down your arms slowly, taking your time removing it before you tossed it aside. You saw the way Michael’s nostrils flared as you began to slip out of your sweatpants and underwear, his jaw tensed as you tugged them halfway down your legs until they dropped to the bathroom floor beside his wet clothes. 

As you stepped out of them, entirely naked now, Michael’s eyes openly and hungrily raked over your body. It felt like his gaze alone was raising goosebumps over your bare skin as you made your way over to the shower. He moved out of the way of the entrance, giving you room to step inside beside him under the warm spray. The water felt good against your skin, managing to heat you further as that sexy smirk only grew on Michael’s lips.

His hands gently landed on your hips, eagerly smoothing his palms over your slippery and damp skin. Your own hands lightly landed on the thick, wet hair along his chest. Appreciatively you began carding your fingers through it, nails lightly scratching along his chest as you admired the muscles beneath your fingers. Michael hummed out a pleased noise in response, his hands gripping your hips a bit more roughly in return.

Eventually your hands rose back up his chest, your palms splayed wide along the width of it just below his collarbones. You gently pushed Michael another couple of steps backwards into the shower, your confidence growing along with his erection. Reaching one hand behind yourself to close the shower door, you felt Michael’s hands make their way further up your naked body, gliding over the sides of your ribcage as a shudder ran through you.

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” Michael murmured, his eyes appreciatively roaming over you.

A soft gasp left you as Michael’s hands slid just a bit higher, eventually coming to palm your breasts. He kneaded them in his hands, your eyelids fluttering as you fought to keep them open. It should’ve been impossible how good he was making you feel with only his touch, yet a moan vibrated up from out of your throat and only further encouraged him. As he continued to knead your breasts in his hands, your right hand snaked its way up over his shoulder until you were wrapping your arm around his neck, pulling his naked body in towards yours. You felt his hard cock pressing against you instantly and your cunt throbbed in anticipation of him finally fucking you with it. 

“You know,” you began softly, leaning in a bit closer to him, “I was thinking this wasn’t going to happen tonight.”

The corner of Michael’s lips twitched as he lowered his face towards yours, closing the gap even further as his hands released your breasts, dropping back down to grip your hips again. They involuntarily jerked towards him at the touch, a faint moan slipping out of you as more wet heat grew between your thighs. 

Fuck you wanted him so goddamn bad.

“Yeah?” he asked, clearly pleased with your response. “This what ya had planned for after dinner tonight, pet?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out.

Your left hand lowered until you were wrapping it around the base of his cock, grinning at the way he jolted under your touch. Michael let out a low groan of pleasure after, his eyes becoming half-lidded as you gradually began to stroke the length of him. His forehead dropped down to yours, his warm breath tickling you with each exhale.

“Feeling any warmer?” you asked him.

“Mmm, much,” he whispered. 

Continuing to stroke him in your hand, your movements languid and unhurried, you closed the last bit of space between your mouths. Michael’s lips still felt slightly chilled against yours as you kissed him, but they were as plush as you’d last remembered them being. And like hell if he didn’t know what to do with that mouth of his, too.

Though it seemed like he was intentionally teasing you now with the way his lips moved so delicately against yours, kissing you so gentle and slow that you soon found yourself impatient for more. Your arm tightened around his neck, drawing you in tighter to the front of him as a needy noise slipped out of your mouth and into his. One of his hands on your hip began gradually sliding its way down the outside of your thigh until it came to a stop, pausing before changing its trajectory. His fingers began to reach ever nearer to your cunt and you soon found yourself whining against his mouth in anticipation of his touch. 

The hand you had on the back of his neck made its way further upwards into his hair, gripping a fistful of his wet, dark strands as your hips ground forward into his hand in needy desperation. Michael only continued to kiss you with that same sluggish pace, the tips of his fingers lightly grazing your clit as his other palm rubbed slow circles along your outer thigh.

Another pitiful whine left you when Michael’s lips broke away from yours, hovering just an inch from your mouth. Your hand began to stroke his cock faster in desperation, but Michael only nudged his nose softly against yours.

“Mikey,” you whimpered. “I need you.”

The deep, resonate chuckle that fell from him next echoed faintly in the shower. He hummed out a playful noise, the tip of one of his fingers intentionally brushing your clit with just a bit more pressure than before. You sucked in an audible breath at his touch, your eyes snapping shut.

“I can tell, pet,” he teased. “Though I think the question now is: d’ya want me to touch ya or d’ya want me to fuck ya?”

A shiver ran through you at his question. Truthfully you wanted both of those things, but you weren’t sure you could wait much longer for him, not with the way your cunt was practically dripping in barely contained anticipation already. Maybe once you were out of the shower you two could take your time in your bedroom with each other, but if he didn’t stuff you with his cock sometime soon, you were certainly going to lose your mind.

“I want you to fuck me, Mikey,” you answered, trying and failing to hide the absolute need in your voice. “We can save the foreplay for later. I just–just need you right now. Please .”

He nearly purred in response, the pad of one of his fingers sliding between your wet folds. You gasped in surprise, your hips involuntarily grinding down against his lone finger, hungry for more of him. 

“Yeah?” he mused. “Goin’ to want more than one go, are ya?”

You whimpered when his finger found your soaked entrance, gently toying with you. You leaned forward, roughly connecting your mouth back to his, tired of the waiting and the teasing. When the tip of his finger briefly dipped only partially inside of you before retreating, your teeth clamped down onto his bottom lip and tugged . A rumbling growl reverberated in Michael’s chest instantly, his expression suddenly darkening.

“Can't wait anymore, can ya? Then turn ‘round for me, pet,” Michael ordered huskily, gesturing with his head to the glass of the shower. “Face the door.”

Without hesitation you did what he asked, both of your hands landing flat on the cool glass of the shower door. Michael’s hands grabbed your hips, pulling them towards himself as he positioned you. Your eyes closed when you felt one of his hands running along your ass, admiring the soft, wet flesh as he lined himself up with your entrance. The warm spray of the shower overhead was falling onto your back now, the chill of the air on your damp breasts along with the anticipation of Michael filling you causing your nipples to stiffen.

Thankfully Michael had decided to stop teasing you, not making you wait much longer before you felt him push just the tip of himself inside of you. Your head rolled back over your shoulders, a contented groan slipping out between your lips. He already felt so fucking good and he wasn’t even fully inside of you. Hands pressing firmer against the shower door, you whimpered as your cunt squeezed the bit of him inside of you. Michael loosed a low moan of his own that had your breath catching.

"Want all of you, Mikey," you breathed out. "Please."

Very gradually he pushed himself further into you, another moan slipping out between your lips at the slow, delicious drag of him filling you so fully. Seconds later you felt his now warm mouth landing on your shoulder, trailing soft kisses down the length of it as he continued to gradually sink himself into you. 

“ Michael ,” you moaned out, fingers curling against the glass. 

He felt so damn good as he bottomed out inside of you, your cunt pleasantly stretching to fit the girth of him. Another whimper slipped out of you, your head dropping farther back over your shoulder as Michael pressed the front of himself into you, his thighs flush to the back of yours now. 

“That’s it, pet,” he whispered against your shoulder, lips brushing your wet skin as he spoke. “So good for me. Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for so, so long with ya. Goin' to make sure ya know how much I been wantin' ya."

You inhaled sharply at his words, the hair raising along your arms at the sound of them whispered so close to your ear. With his left hand still firmly gripping your waist, his hips carefully drew back as his right hand flew forward and landed on the top of yours. Entwining his fingers with your own, your hand still pressed against the cold glass, he began to thrust himself back into you. 

That first glide of him sent your head further back, landing on his shoulder behind you with how close he was standing. Michael’s fingers tightened around yours, a rumbling moan vibrating deep in his chest that you felt against your back as he began to pick up his pace. As he continued to slam into you over and over, the wet sound loud in the shower, his head turned as he focused on you.

“ Fuck ya feel so goddamn perfect ,” he panted out, his eyes tightening in pleasure as his hips snapped forward yet again. "So wet for me, pet."

Your cunt gripped him at the praise, your eyes closing. He continued to steadily fuck you against the glass, soft grunts falling from his lips and right into your ear with each sharp snap of his hips, the noise drowning out the spray of the shower. That coiling pleasure in your stomach began to tighten, your left hand leaving the glass to reach back behind you, grabbing onto the back of Michael’s neck as he continued to fuck you from behind. Michael hissed in pleasure when your nails raked up the sensitive skin there, his mouth still beside your ear. 

"Don't stop, Mikey," you whispered. "Feels so good."

“Not stoppin’ ‘til you’re cummin’ on my cock, pet,” he panted out, his hips still enthusiastically ramming into you repeatedly. “Want to hear ya whimperin’ my name between those pretty lips o’ yours.”

A soft whine dragged itself out of your throat, your eyes tightening closed at his words. His hand tightened around yours on the glass as he continued to fuck you, a delicious pleasure continually building low in your core. 

Between the fervid thrusts of his cock and the way his damp body had molded itself to the back of yours, you quickly began to feel yourself climbing that peak. You were nearing the moment you’d crest it with each and every vigorous slam of his thick cock hitting you exactly where you needed him, and you could feel that resulting delicious sting shooting its way up your spine until you were literally panting heavily, your head still limp against his shoulder behind you. 

“Mikey– fuck , yes–so close, baby,” you breathed out.

At your words, he picked up his pace to something fierce, his left hand snaking its way down your hip until his fingers were rubbing tantalizing circles over your clit, the heel of his palm pressing you back into him. Your eyes rolled back behind closed lids, mouth going slack instantly as a moan tumbled out of you. 

As he continued to roughly fuck you into the cool glass of your shower, your left hand slid higher up the back of his neck, fisting a handful of his hair as you felt the wash of pleasure race its way up through your body. Moments later you came hard on his cock, crying his name out loudly as it echoed off the tile of the shower walls. It wasn’t long before Mikey was soon following after you, his hips picking up their pace as he let out a low, sinful groan that left you whimpering in his arms. Your entire body soon went limp against him behind you as he filled you with his warm release, your head entirely weightless as it rested on his broad shoulder behind you where it rose and fell with the heaving of his chest. His loud, panting breaths filled your ears as you gradually opened your eyes and took in the sight of him.

The moment his gaze caught yours, a drowsy smile lit up his face while you sent him one clearly drunk on bliss and pleasure. With a soft chuckle he leaned forward, placing a few gentle kisses to your temple before he slowly slipped himself out from inside of you. 

“Hadn’t expected my evenin’ to go this way,” Michael admitted, his arm wrapping around your waist and snuggly pulling you against the front of himself. “But I’m certainly not regrettin’ that walk in the rain now.”

You giggled, your eyes dropping closed again as your left hand wrapped over the top of his. Both of your other hands were still enjoined on the glass door of the shower, Michael squeezing yours affectionately in response as he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck, the rasp of his beard on your skin sending a shiver through you.

“I’m certainly not regretting it now, either,” you teased back. “And maybe once you finally get warm after that walk, we can go not regret it a little more, if you’d like?”

“Mmm,” he hummed out beside your ear, his lips dropping down to lightly kiss your neck. “I think I’m already warm after that, pet. Wouldn’t mind takin’ ya to bed though.”

A grin slipped over your mouth as you slightly turned in Michael’s hold, facing him just a bit more. “Unfortunately I didn't have a chance to dry your clothes," you pointed out. "So they're still soaked."

He placed a lingering, open-mouthed kiss on your skin and a rush of heat once again raced through your body. Soon after, Michael’s teeth began to leave light nips along your neck, his hand reaching out behind himself to turn off the shower. 

"I assure ya, pet,” he murmured into your skin, "I'm not goin' to need them tonight."

[saintmurd0ck]

step aboard the saintmurd0ck express with a one-way ticket (multiple stops included) to see your favourites, across the world and across the galaxy! it may be a belated celebration, but it's a better time than never to unveil the newest subway station... connecting you to your dreams.

grab a ticket, sit tight and enjoy!

this will run from 12 AM AEST (10 AM EST) on September 24 for 1 week (closing on October 1) 💗

this is an 18+ event only, and anonymous asks/requests must abide by my request guidelines

To buy a ticket, please select your destination, choose a prompt, and decide who will meet you on the other side.

*Multiple stops and poly pairings are very welcome!

🚇 34th St-Hudson Yards: romantic confession

🚇 86th St: enemies to lovers

🚂 Atlantic City: domestic intimacy

🚈 Heuston Station, Dublin: i want you, so badly

✈️ Jedi Temple Hangar: folklore-inspired angst

characters include: matt murdock, frank castle, michael kinsella, charlie luciano, owen sleater, anakin skywalker

completed submissions | masterlist below

la douleur exquise - owen sleater x reader - 34th St-Hudson Yards and 86th St

all fired up - michael kinsella x reader - 86th St

glass ceiling - matt murdock x vigilante!reader - 86th St

[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 3

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse, mentions of SA

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

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Masterlist || join my taglist

Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie, @sunflowersandsapphires, @schneeflocky, @danzer8705, @ebathory997

@shouldbestudying41, @beezusvreeland

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Yawning widely, you stumbled into your kitchen. You had stayed over at Michael’s, well into the night. You spoke of many things and of nothing. You caught yourself too late when you had mentioned your father. Michael had returned the courtesy, briefly mentioning his daughter Anna. But the conservations brought you back to Jamie. Which never failed to bring tears to Michael’s eyes. He tried several times to conceal them, to not let you see. In spite of your telling him that he didn’t need to. Not in front of you.

Standing in your kitchen, you waited for your coffee to brew as you texted your coworker; Bessie; to let her know that you would not come into work today. Thankfully, your company was quite lenient on sick days and did not require a sick note for one to two days of sick leave. Then, you sent a quick email to your manager to let him know, you won’t be in at least for one day.

The shrill sound of your phone ringing snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped onto the counter and answered the phone. “Hello?” No answer. “Hello?” You said again. Still no answer. You could hear someone breathing on the other end, before the call disconnected. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you felt this knot in your stomach. Checking the number, you noted that it was an international call but not a number you recognized. Judging by the area code, it was from your hometown. The knot in your stomach tightened, your heart started beating wildly. Could this be your mother?

You knew your mother had your address but could she also have your phone number? Knowing your brother, it could be in the realm of possibilities. However, you really hoped you were wrong.

Pulling the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you saw Michael coming back to his house, as you were locking your door.

“Good morning.” You greeted him with a smile.

“Good mornin’.” He smiled back as he stepped closer to you. “Yer goin’ to work?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head quickly. “I’m just going to the shops. I need to grab some things.”

He nodded at your words and then, silence fell upon you. You started to feel awkward, standing there, facing him. He scratched the back of his neck; you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, growing nervous.

“So, I’m sure this is a stupid question but—how are you?” You asked him.

Michael let out a long breath, the kind that one may let out when they were feeling drained and burdened by life. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Been dealin’ with a lot.”

“Yeah, I can only imagine.” You nodded, in understanding. You knew how crazy the next few days would be for him and his family.

He took a step closer. “Thank ya for stayin’ last night.”

“It was nothing, really.” You shrugged before looking down at your shoes.

“It was everythin'.” Michael replied, you looked back up at his face.

You held his gaze, his hazel eyes drawing you in. You didn’t seem to be able to pull your gaze away from him. The intensity in his gaze made you breathless. You swallowed your saliva, your tongue darted out to wet your lips. His eyes fell on them.

“If you—I mean—uh, if you need anyone to talk to, I’m—right next door.” You stammered out, offering once more.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Michael’s lips twitched up at the corner.

You took a slight step back. You needed to break away from whatever spell he had cast on you. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He nodded with a small smirk, “Yeah.”

You walked away after waving at him. Michael snorted as he watched you walk away as you shook your head in embarrassment, mumbling to yourself.

Seeing you had made his day better, even if it was brief. Michael had met up with Jimmy earlier for drinks. It was clear that his brother wanted revenge for Jamie. And he understood, he did. But he couldn’t do that. Not if he wanted access to Anna. She was all that mattered to him. The most important person in his life. Although he was angry about Jamie’s death. He, too, wanted revenge for the boy’s death, he just couldn’t get involved. If he did, he would lose Anna too. Jimmy had been angry at his refusal, insisting that it would all be in the name of family.

He understood, he did. But Anna was family too.

Things had not gone better after their meeting with Frank, at Birdy’s house. Frank had wanted Jimmy to sit still and not to do anything. He had made it clear that they couldn’t go against Eamon Cunnigham. Jamie’s death had been an unfortunate mistake, they were going after Eric, he said. Even then, Frank refused to take actions against Eamon and his men. And to add insult to injury, Frank had given his brother a bag of cash to compensate for Jamie’s death. From Eamon. As though money would solve his son's death. Jimmy pissed on the cash and rightfully so. Money wasn’t what Jimmy wanted. Jimmy wanted blood. A life for a life.

A knock sounded on his door, Michael opened the door only to find Frank.

“Listen, Michael,” Frank shut the door behind him. “I know this is absolutely fucking shit for Jimmy and Amanda.”

“It’s wrong, Frank.” Michael agreed.

“But we are gonna get Moore,” Frank continued. “In time. Yeah? It’s like Birdy said, we just need to be patient.”

“And what if it had been Eric killed instead of Jamie?” Michael questioned.

“I’d be sayin’ the exact same thing. But it wasn’t Eric. And Jamie is not your kid, either.” Michael felt anger rose within him. He cast his eyes down on the kitchen counter before leaning on it. “Anna is, though. No court is gonna let you anywhere near her if this family is in a feud.”

“Look, I’m stayin’ out of it.” Michael assured him.

“Yeah,” Frank stepped closer. “And see if you can make sure Jimmy doesn’t do anything—fucking stupid—in the meantime. Can do that?” Michael only hummed in response, nodding his head. “Good.”

Of course, it was on him to keep Jimmy out of trouble. Of course, it was on him to make sure Jimmy didn’t start a war with Eamon Cunnigham. It was a shitty thing for Frank to use his desire to get Anna back against him. Just to make sure he wouldn’t agree with anything that Jimmy would ask of him. He was pissed off that Frank had to remind him, insisting that Jamie wasn’t his. He already knew that. Jimmy was his da, not Michael.

But Jamie was his too.

You sat on your kitchen counter waiting for your dinner to cook. This impromptu rest day had been beneficial to you. You had spent the day in town, enjoying yourself. A day away from work and taking people complaints on the phone. It could be draining at times, so this day was much needed. Even your brief encounter with Michael had somehow been welcomed, although it had been sort of awkward and embarrassing.

“What was that wave for?” You facepalmed yourself, still mortified by it. “That was so dumb.”

Your phone rang next to you. Same number than this morning. You picked up the call, there was breathing on the other side but no words were uttered. “Who are you?” You asked shakily. Still no answer. And before you could ask another question, the call was ended.

You had a terrible feeling about this.

“So, did he?” You were with your sister on the phone.

“Yeah, he did.”  Your sister sighed. “But that’s not Mom’s number.”

“Then whose is it?” You asked her, panic rising in your chest.

“I don’t know.” Mary replied.

“I don’t like this, Mary.” You rubbed your face. “They had been calling all day. And every time I pick up, no one’s fucking talking.”

“Come on, babe, don’t go into a panic.”  Mary tried to soothe you from across the pond. “Why don’t you block the number? It’s just probably someone prank calling you.”

“I doubt that.” You leaned on the wall behind you. “But yeah, I’ll block the number.” You let out a deep breath. “Do you think it might be him?”

“Who?”

“Her husband.” You said shakily. Your sister remained silent on the other side of the line. Her silence alone was enough to confirm it. You were terrified of the man, you always had been.

“I’m going to kill Dave.” Your sister almost growled on the phone. You snorted. “Or I’ll sent Matt after him.”

“There’s no need but thank you.” You moved to your couch. “But you can tell him that—that—he’s no longer my brother. That he can forget about me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mary asked you softly. “I mean he’s family and—the kids love you. Especially little Sammy.”

“He doesn’t act like family. And as much as I love the kids, I can’t—” You pushed out a tired sigh. “He knew what he was doing and I can’t forgive him for that.”

“I know. Just—it’s just the four of us now. We are supposed to—I don’t know—be close like we used to. Be a family.”

“Yeah, but we grew up and maybe some of us forgot what that meant.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, gotta be.”

Growing up, your father had made sure that you all valued each other; that you would put each other first. Which had made you all very close to one another. You were a knit tight group. But as you had mentioned to your sister, you had all grown up. And unfortunately, some of you had grown apart. You always had this fantasy that all four of you would spend countless dinners together with your children and spouses. And that was all it was, a fantasy.

Priorities changed with adulthood, you had your jobs, your own family. You couldn’t prioritize each other anymore. And you understood that, you did. However, it didn’t mean that your brother could just go behind your back and betray your wishes in the way he did.

You were still family though. Was it really worth it to cut all ties with him? Even if it meant you would no longer have access to his children, including your goddaughter.

You blocked the number as you said you would. And just in case, your sister had given you your mother’s number so, you could block it too. Before the phone calls, you were sure that your mother and her husband would not show up at your doorstep. But now, you weren’t so sure anymore.  

You woke in the middle of the night. And there it was standing at the foot of your bed, a faceless and shadowy figure. You tried to scream but no sound came out. You tried to move but you were paralyzed. The shadowy figure walked up to your bed, tears pressed against your eyes, your heart was racing underneath your ribcage, breathing was becoming hard. As though something was pressing down on it. The shadowy figure was no longer faceless. You recognized him. You knew him. You tried to scoot away from him as he stood over you with a smile on his face. Again, your body refused to obey to you. He moved his arm to pet your hair—

You gasped for air as your eyes snapped open. You sat up quickly, cradling your chest, feeling it rose as you took deep breaths. You switched on the lamp on your beside table. There was no one in your room with you. You were alone. Still, this knowledge wasn’t enough to reassure you. Your heart did not slow down. You got out of bed quickly. Rushed down the stairs, checking that your front door was still locked. And it was. You pushed down the doorknob four times, making sure it was in fact, locked. You even went as far as looking around your house, switching all the lights on, you looked in every room. Looking into closets and under the beds.

No one.

Eventually, your heart went back to a normal rate. You switched off the lights but you left the television on. Low volume. You laid down on your couch, you couldn’t go back to sleep in your bed. Not after this horrible nightmare. It looked too real. It had felt too real and it was fucking with your head. Although, you knew there was no one, you still looked around in fear.

You stared at the ceiling, praying for sleep to come. You were going back to work in the morning. And you didn’t want to deal with the lack of sleep on top of it all.

The television cast a blue soft glow over the room, the sounds acting as white noise. Your eyes drifted to the wall behind your couch. What was Michael doing at this hour? Probably sleeping, unlike you. You took a deep breath and turned on your side. Your back to the television, your face buried in the cushions, it was stupid, you thought to yourself. To seek comfort in someone that was on the other side of this very wall.

Was it wrong of you to want comfort and reassurance from Michael Kinsella? Maybe, it didn’t matter who was really offering it. Maybe, you just wanted someone to be there. Someone to put their arms around you, to make you feel safe.

And yet, it was Michael’s arms you pictured around you as you fell asleep. It was his voice you imagined, whispering words of reassurance.

As dangerous as Michael may be, it would never be worse than your stepfather.

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[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 25: Wondering If I Just Lost The Love Of My Life

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: After your conversation with Frank, you start spiraling, and you find yourself at Jimmy's house, looking desperately for answers. Michael isn't too happy about that.

Warnings: ANGST, cursing, snooping around, snakes, allusions to child abuse & PTSD, Michael is pissed (and maybe a bit mean), rough grabbing of the arm (Is that a warning?), fighting, crying, semi-break up

Word Count: 8.6k

A/n: WOHOO I'M BACK!! Anyway, this chapter is only the beginning of this angst plot line, so... Don't hate me.

Tick, tick, tick…

One hour turns into two. Two hours turned into three. You’re alone, stuck in a house that isn’t yours, holding pictures of your sister who you haven’t seen in years in your hands because the man you chose to fall in love with has a family set out to destroy you; and for what? Because they aren’t happy with an adult man’s decisions?

Your life feels like it was written by a sadistic author; far more sadistic than yourself. You can’t keep up anymore.

Just a few months ago, you were somewhat happy working your ass off for some money at the Butterfly Effect. You made the process of brewing coffee for customers your life, and you enjoyed it. You fled your home to chase your dream of being a writer. What else are you supposed to do with your degree, anyway? And you were on a good path, saving money and trying to find an agent, but then Michael walked into your life. 

You don’t want to say that he ruined everything. You love him. You love him more than you have ever loved anyone, which is horrifying in itself, but you can’t deny that your life may have been a little easier if he hadn’t come into the shop that morning. If you hadn’t allowed yourself to get attached. Now, you’re involved with a family who is swimming against the flow of legality—and what scares you most about all of this are the thoughts you keep having that perhaps the Kinsellas could help you in a way not even the police ever could. 

You’re pressed against the wall next to the dining table, and your lungs keep forgetting that they are supposed to supply your body with life-sustaining oxygen. Every now and then, your eyes drift to the pictures in your hands. A tear rolls down your cheek, landing on the paper. It magnifies the size of your father’s face, and the memories that hit you at full force leave you clawing at the wood of the nearest chair. 

You were doing so well. You were an awkward barista with a safe future to look forward to. Now, you’re a barista using up all of her sick days because she isn’t allowed to leave the house of her Irish boyfriend—who just so happens to be part of an organized crime family. It sounds like the plot of a bad novel, but to you, it is very much real. 

Time was on your side until it wasn’t, and you have reached a point where desperation seems too kind of a word to explain what you’re feeling. Raw, unbridled anger fills your veins; the need to take the next plane out of Dublin is all-consuming, but you can’t be irrational. Not now. Michael was right about that part. 

You can’t help who you fall in love with, you know as much. Michael is damaged, but he’s yours. He is so human, you wish you could wrap him up and shield him from the world forever. From his family. From the pain. From the uncertainty. You wish you could grab him, your bags, and his daughter and run far away from this city. But those are wishes that seem too far away to even grasp.

If you have to get involved to prevent the worst from happening, you don’t have much of a choice but to do so. You only have one more thing left to lose, and she means the world to you. Breaking the rules—the law—seems like the lesser evil compared to waiting for the hourglass to run out of sand.

With shaky fingers, you dial the number you have dialed a few days ago. It’s still in your caller list. 

The line clicks, and the woman at Scotland Yard’s front desk answers again. It’s the same as last time. “Uh, hi,” you stammer into the speaker. “I called a few days ago, but I haven’t received an answer yet. I need to speak to Inspector Jones. It’s urgent. Would you mind connecting me with his office?”

Silence follows. Either she is taking a very pregnant pause to tell you something completely opposite of what you want to hear, or she is checking something in her system. You do hope it is the latter option. But of course, luck is still not on your side. 

The woman utters your name in the lowest tone possible. “Inspector Jones told me to inform you that he does not want to take your call,” she says. “He put you on his, uh, no-call list. I’m sorry, Miss. I wish I had better news.”

Her apology doesn’t bring back the hope he so mercilessly crushed in his bare hands and left it there, dying on the side of the road. Her apology doesn’t bring back your sister or supply you with the information on the case only Richard Jones has. He used to be so helpful when it happened. He told you that you could always call him. 

The question that nags you is, what changed? You haven’t called him in years, and now he suddenly acts like you’re the plague personified? It doesn’t sit right with you, but as soon as you’re on the no-call list, there is no way you can get through to him. 

You don’t wish her goodbye. You don’t tell her, ‘Oh no, it’s alright,’ because it isn’t alright. You hang up without another word, your phone slipping from your hand onto the floor. 

Swallowing a sob, you decide to pull yourself together. Michael keeps his laptop in the living room—though you suppose not always. You flop down on the couch with a huff. Of course, the device is password-protected. A picture on one of his shelves catches your eye, and you reach for it. Part of you is screaming to stop because looking at a picture of his daughter feels like an invasion of privacy, but you can’t listen to the left side of your brain. You turn it around, in search of the right combination of numbers. 

Anna’s birthday. It sounds so obvious—too obvious for a man as careful as Michael—but as soon as you type the numbers into the bar and hit enter, his laptop unlocks. 

“So predictable,” you mutter.

Instead of finding his desktop though, you stare right at an open folder you are sure is not meant for your eyes. It is also protected by a password, which you can tell by the little lock following the icon, but Michael must have forgotten to close it.

You should close the folder, open a browser, and do what you intended to do—write an email to forego the no-call list and guilt-trip Inspector Jones into finding the balls to contact you back. It is a desperate attempt that might get you a restraining order, but you have to try. For that, Michael would surely not be mad at you. If you start snooping though…

Your eyes have a mind of their own, following an instinct as old as time. You can’t help yourself. You tilt the screen back, and you take a closer look. 

The idea is so maddeningly risky your stomach churns at the thought of the possible consequences of your actions, but who else is going to tell you the truth if you don’t find out yourself? Michael doesn’t want to drag you into his mess as you’re dealing with your own, and while you get that, you are so far beyond common sense that you need to know what the man you love is involved in. You need to know what his family is involved in. If you don’t, you’re sure curiosity might actually kill you. 

You tried to avoid getting caught up in the dangers of the Kinsella family; you should have known that trying and succeeding hardly ever go hand-in-hand when it comes to your mess of a life.

You know Michael. You know how careful he is when it comes to dealing with delicate matters. He told you he didn’t want to get swept up in his family’s bullshit again, but as you look at what’s in front of you, you’re not so sure he told you the truth. 

The file contains mostly recollections of the family business. Drugs, weapons, larceny—not that it would ever change the way you feel about him, even if he did lie to you. This is not the worst you have seen, and it surely won’t be the last piece of dramatic information that will ever pass before your eyes. 

What catches your attention is the mention of Jamie, the record of his death, and a stolen autopsy report. And among all of that, you find a name Michael and Jimmy threw at each other’s heads the other day. Your hand still hurts just thinking about it. 

A loud thud echoes through the house when you forcefully shut the laptop. Every nerve in your body is burning itself alive. Your soul can’t withstand the storm of your emotions. The truth hits you. Around you, the world is falling apart, and you are unable to move anywhere but further into the chaos. 

Michael came into the café months ago because he was in desperate need of a reprieve—he was the butterfly that flapped its wings over in Asia—and now you are on the verge of getting caught up in something that you will never be able to get out of again; it is a catastrophe waiting to happen. 

Destiny and karma are very real phenomena, but so is the Butterfly Effect. Instead of innocent coffee though, you are staring into the face of disaster, and you have no idea what to do. 

An idea pops into your head. You shouldn’t seek out trouble. You really, really should not, but not even five minutes later, the door to Michael’s home falls shut behind you as you take determined steps next door. Not across the street, not to your car but next door.

The realization that Michael might never forgive you for putting yourself in this position moves to the back of your mind. You promised him not to do anything stupid while he was gone, but you knew from the start that you would never be able to keep that promise. 

Your feet are rooted to the ground as you ring the doorbell. At first, you receive no response. Just when you figured that you must have misinterpreted the movements in the neighboring home that you caught through the bedroom window earlier this morning, the gate opens, and you snap out of the endless spiral of your thoughts.

“What’re you doin’ here?” Jimmy asks, his eyes trailing over your disheveled frame on his doorstep. 

Your eyes are red and swollen, and your outfit consists of a pair of Michael’s sweatpants and a shirt, but you weren’t planning on winning a fashion contest anyway. Jimmy deserves to see how miserable you are. Maybe then he will let you in.

He raises his eyebrows. “What? Came to hit my wife again? Last time wasn’t enough for ya?”

You let out an exasperated sigh, trying to hold contact with his dark eyes. “I need to talk to you,” you state matter-of-factly.

He eyes you again. “You look like shit.”

“Then I look better than I feel.”

“Hm. Does Michael know yer here?”

You expected him to snap at you—to lecture you—but that moment never comes.

You swallow thickly, then shake your head. “I’m here for answers,” you say. “And I feel like out of everyone in this family, you’re the only one who’ll be honest with me.”

“Why d’ya think I��d do that?” Jimmy asks.

“‘Cause you don’t like that I’m fucking your brother. Correct me if I’m wrong, but you couldn’t care less about what happens to me, which means that you also don’t feel the need to protect me or my delicate feelings.”

His lips curl into a smirk. As different as they are when it comes to their behavior, it is obvious that Jimmy and Michael are related. 

“I’m so sick and tired of not knowing. Not understanding. Not…not being in control.” Your lip quivers, and you bite down on it for a moment. “You didn’t act on Frank’s offer to threaten someone you don’t even know, so a twisted part of me feels like I can trust you. I won’t apologize for falling in love with your brother because despite what you all believe, he is an incredible man and he deserves the world. But loving him put my sister’s life at stake, and I need to know what I’m getting myself into before I lose her too. I–I just...I need five minutes. Please. And then I’ll be out of your hair, I promise.”

Against all odds, Jimmy steps aside, motioning for you to enter. The house is as luxurious as you expected. High walls, big windows, and cool tones. The nature of your visit, however, only fills you with a sense of uneasiness. 

You close the door behind you and follow Jimmy down the hallway. You wouldn’t dare push your luck by saying something uncalled for.

Now that Jamie’s dead, you understand why Michael always seems so stuck in thought. The stakes are higher. You try to find a sliver of understanding for why Birdy was so cautious with you and asked you all the questions that you saw as a personal attack. She wanted to protect you, and maybe that is true, but she let Frank’s actions slide for a little too long and you don’t know if you can forgive her for that.

She ended up attacking you personally even if that was never her intention, and she let her brother attack everything you hold dear by trying to protect her own family, and that is not something you can let slide.

Jimmy walks up to a set of stairs that lead into the basement. You’re hesitant at first, standing at the top of the steps and staring down at him with narrow eyes. “Are you going to kill me?” you bluntly ask. 

He rolls his eyes. “Unarmed,” he says. “You can check me. I’m not carryin’.”

“What if there are guns down there?”

“There are, but I’m not gonna use ‘em to hurt ya. Michael would cut off my head and feed it to the dogs.”

You huff, but you eventually cave and follow him down the stairs. You hear him mumble something about you being complicated, and maybe you are, but can anyone blame you? You feel like you just walked into the lion’s den. Perhaps you are insane. 

You function on a very determined autopilot that wants you to do things you would never have done a few weeks ago, and you have no choice but to follow or else you will bang your head against the wall; Michael really shouldn’t have left you alone. 

The basement resembles a second living room. A leather couch stands against the wall to the right, and Jimmy has a collection of free weights to choose from to work out. There is even a pool table and a fridge you suppose holds liquor only. It must be the family’s layer for when they get together and discuss whatever a family like them has to discuss. 

Looking further, you notice the terrarium in the middle of the room. It’s gigantic. You step a little closer. The yellow anaconda is easy to spot. You don’t doubt it could strangle you if you put it around your neck. It is surely thick enough to crush your windpipe in an instant.

“Drink?” Jimmy asks from somewhere behind you.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

He hums. You can hear the sound of ice cubes hitting a glass, and he pours whiskey over it. 

“You like snakes?”

You look at him, and then back at the snake. “I find them fascinating,” you state. 

“They’re fascinatin’ creatures, alright,” he says. “You wanna hold her?”

You don’t miss a beat, “Absolutely not.”

“Okay.”

You stand there in silence for a while, just watching the anaconda move her large body around her transparent living quarters. She sticks out her tongue. If you could talk to animals, you wonder what she would tell you. What has she witnessed in this room? The snake knows all the answers to the questions you are asking yourself.

“Why Michael?” Jimmy breaks the silence.

“He’s a good man,” you answer. It doesn’t require much thought. “I told you. He’s a much better man than you give him credit for.”

“A good man has no place here.”

“Who are you to judge that?”

He scoffs. “You have any idea what yer gettin’ yourself into?” 

“I knew from the moment I found out who he was. That doesn’t change how I feel about him.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

“If you’re going to tell me that it’s my fault that I got caught up in all of this, save it. I’m well aware of that.”

“Then why are you still here?”

“Because I love him!” your voice echoes in the spacious basement. “I love Michael with all my heart. So much it hurts. I would do anything for him because you failed him over and over again, and he deserves so much better than you useless lot.”

Taken aback by the force of your words without actively yelling at him, Jimmy lowers his glass. He stares at you with a mixture of surprise and bewilderment in his eyes, and you’ve seen that look in Michael’s eyes one too many times. You want to smash something, but that would only make matters worse, and you really didn’t come to cause a scene.

Jimmy infuriates you in a way not many men have managed. You want to hit him, give him a shiner that will rival the one his wife is probably carrying, but realistically, you don’t stand much of a chance against this man. He is strong. He could feed you to his anaconda if he wanted to. Even if Michael would behead him, he would do anything to save himself. He is the epitome of selfishness, and you refuse to stoop low enough to be on his level.

You take a deep breath, lowering your voice again. “But I’m not just here because I love Michael. I’m here because your uncle decided that he had to let out his disdain for me on an innocent child,” you say.

“I’m not okay with that either,” Jimmy cuts in. “I don’t have control over Frank’s actions. I lost my son–”

“I’m aware, and I am so sorry for your loss, I am. I know how it feels to lose a child because my father killed my little sister and while she wasn’t my biological daughter, I was the one who raised her. And I raised Maya too. So, even if I left, even if I broke Michael’s heart and gave you what you so desperately want, my sister would still be in danger. My father would still be running free. And I’d still have no choice but to stay here because thanks to you, I am in danger too and Michael refuses to let me leave.”

A sigh leaves his parted lips, and he empties his glass. 

“This isn’t about me, Jimmy. It never has been. Not for me, at least. This is about Maya as much as your insecurities are about Michael. Except that Maya is a human being who has nothing to do with any of this. Not with Michael, not with you, and not with your godforsaken family. You don’t have to remind me how awful of a human being I am—I’m well aware of that myself, trust me, but I won’t stop trying to get answers until I have found a way to make sure she’s okay. That she’s safe. That I can get her back and end this once and for all because Frank didn’t leave me a fucking choice.”

You pull the pictures out of your coat. “He came to the house earlier. Gave me those. He said he told his men to leave her alone, but who’s to say that he didn’t already do irreversible damage?” you say. “I don’t know why Michael being happy is such a huge inconvenience to you, but I don’t care. I care about my family. Now, you can either help me or not, but don’t act like you have any right whatsoever to lecture me. You don’t even fucking know me.”

Jimmy takes the photographs. His eyebrows furrow slightly as he stares down at them. A drop of condensation from his glass drops on the paper, the same spot your tears dried into.

Your chest still heaves with every breath you take. “Jimmy,” you growl. The silence drills into your skull. 

When he finally opens his mouth, his voice resembles a steady tune. “I don’t stand behind Frank,” he says. “Not on this. He shouldn’t have done it.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you.”

“None of us knew yer story. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For Frank, for Birdy—hell, I’m even sorry fer how Amanda treated you. If I’d known…”

“Would you’ve stopped her?” you counter. 

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.”

“There are ways to get rid of someone without puttin’ anyone in unnecessary danger. That’s all I’m gonna say.”

His expression is set in stone. You can’t determine whether or not he’s lying to you.

“Did Michael offer ya his help?” Jimmy asks then. “Regarding your, uh, father.”

You blink a few times, wondering if he really just asked you that. But you swallow your doubts, straighten your shoulders, and you nod. “Yeah, he did,” you say.

“Offered t’put a protective detail on her? Kill the bastard?”

“Something along those lines.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

“Because death would be too kind for that man.”

The faintest smirk starts playing on his lips. “Can’t blame ya,” he states. 

“Of course not,” you retort. “I won’t stoop to my father’s level. He deserves to be put in prison for the rest of his life. A bullet to his head would end his suffering, and I refuse to let him down that easily.”

“Is that why you came here?”

You shake your head again. “I need answers.”

“Why wouldn’t Michael give them to ya?” Jimmy cocks an eyebrow. “He’s fuckin’ obsessed.”

“He may love me, but he has a protective instinct that makes it almost impossible for me to get the whole truth out of him,” you explain. “Michael wasn’t there when Frank came over. Perhaps because he knew Michael wouldn’t be there. He caught me off guard. I was vulnerable, and he used that against me.”

He tilts his head. “What did he say?”

“Just that he put an end to what he started. But I can’t believe that, now can I? He’d already started it.”

“You’re a lot smarter than I thought.”

Your lips part in a bitter scoff. “I found some things on Michael’s laptop,” you tell him. “I need to understand what I got myself into here. Maybe find some common ground. In my mind, after everything that went down at Birdy’s house, you’re the least untrustworthy, and while we may not be the best of friends, I can’t limit myself to what Michael thinks is right. Take it as a compliment or don’t, but I’m desperate here.”

He murmurs your name as he makes his way over to the open bottle of whiskey to pour himself another glass. His steps are careful.

You are well aware that you should tread carefully, and Jimmy seems to be on the same page as you that this is a bad idea, but you were desperate and you saw no other choice. You would have crawled up the walls of Michael’s empty house if you had waited, staring at the bullet holes in the walls and wondering if you would end up dead at the end of this the same way his wife did; or if you’d merely lose everything you’ve ever loved and be left with nothing else left to give.

“Who’s Eamon?” you blurt out. 

Jimmy stops dead in his tracks. You hit a nerve. Seemingly with a sledgehammer, too.

“Because from what I heard and what Michael has on him, he’s a perilous man.”

“Fuck!” Jimmy curses under his breath.

“Please, I just want to know. What is Michael caught up in?”

“We’re all caught up in it.” The tone of his voice has changed and switched to a more dangerous octave, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Eamon—Eamon fuckin’ Cunningham had my son killed, and Michael thinks he’s too good to help us get back at him because of Anna. That’s what.”

Your eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I—”

“He’s our supplier. Drugs. If ya really wanna know. Changed his business model. Wants us t’be his bitches. He’s a power-hungry bastard, that one. I didn’t wanna cave, but then Jamie—and Frank—”

With an animalistic growl that resembles a string of curses, he wipes the small table before him clean. The contents shatter on the ground, scattering millions of pieces of glass around the basement floor. You flinch.

The echo of his shout remains stuck to the walls. One of the shards scratches your forearm—not nearly enough to draw blood—before hitting the ground. The force causes the bottle to implode, and the crystal glasses break beyond repair the second they hit the ground.

You want to tell him that Michael doesn’t owe him anything. You want to tell Jimmy that none of this is Michael’s fault, but you have enough empathy to know when to speak and when to just be silent.

Grief is an unpredictable monster.

Jimmy takes a deep breath, then turns back around to face you. “I dunno what I can tell ya, but this family isn’t safe for someone like you,” he says. It sounds as though he actually cares, but you see right through him this time. 

“I’m sorry for your loss,” you answer, trying to pick your words with an incredible amount of care; don’t raise your voice, don’t shout at him, just tell him what’s on your mind in a way that is respectful and he might not lash out at you. “But Michael is fresh out of prison, trying to find himself a place in this world. I understand why he said that he can’t help you execute whatever revenge you have planned for whoever did this to your son. And I understand that this business you’re in is dangerous for every party involved, but that doesn’t deter me.”

Across the room, he meets your eyes. 

“I knew what I was getting myself into from the start,” you emphasize. “Michael promised me I’d be safe, and I trust him with my life, but now your family put my sister in danger, and we have to find a way to put an end to this mess because I refuse to let your little family dispute ruin my life. Michael can’t help me as he promised when he can’t manage to separate himself from you. Finding that file proved to me that he may have said that he’s done, but he isn’t, so I might as well accept that I’m not getting out of this either.”

He exhales, wiping his sticky hands on his trousers. “I underestimated ya,” he says. “But I suppose that’s what happens when your father’s a bastard.”

You shrug. “I just can’t run when you’re my only hope.”

Jimmy chuckles. “If we’re your only hope, I feel bad for ya.”

“Believe me, I feel plenty bad for myself already, but if I’d waited and told Michael about my plans, he wouldn’t have let me come here, and I still wouldn’t be much smarter than I was this morning.”

“Would you do somethin’ for us then? If we helped ya?” he asks. 

One hand washes the other, right?

The words for an answer get taken out of your mouth by the sound of the front door slamming shut. 

“Where is she?” Michael’s voice breaks through the ceiling. 

Your eyes widen. You have heard him feral before—when he was holding the gun to Frank’s head and threatened him, his voice lowering, barely above a whisper but every word as forceful as the next. His silent anger is the most dangerous form. It did something to you to see the man you love so livid because he saw your life at stake. 

You weren’t scared of him, you couldn’t possibly be, but the thought alone spikes the adrenaline in your veins, and your mind screams for you to run. It is the kind of effect he wants to have on people when he is angry; it is the type of effect he has on everyone because one looks at his fuming self and anyone would want to cower in the corner and cry. And maybe it makes your thighs clench just a little because no amount of fury could take away from how attractive this man is. But that is not the first thought that crosses your mind now.

The stairs creak with every heavy step Michael takes into the basement, and you hold your breath. Fuck. 

Jimmy stares at the mess on the floor, then back at you. You wonder if he’s scared that he might be the next in front of Michael’s gun. He surely didn’t hesitate when it came to Frank. Who knows if he would draw the line at his brother, but from what you have gathered from their relationship, there is a chance he won’t. 

“Jimmy,” is the first word on his lips when he makes it downstairs. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and his fists clench at his sides. The cuddly teddy bear you said goodbye to this morning has disappeared completely under an iron veil. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” Michael sneers. 

Your first instinct is to step between him and his brother. Only then does he seem to take a look at you. You meet his brown eyes, your palms extended to press against his chest. 

“Easy,” you murmur. You don’t see the need to snap at him. 

He takes you in, his clothes hugging your curves just right, and in an instant, his large hands are cupping your face. “You alright?” he asks, and the fury is gone for a moment as he checks you for injuries. As though he truly believes that his brother would hurt you. 

You nod. “I’m fine, I promise. I—”

Michael cuts you off. He pulls you to his side, almost behind himself, glaring at Jimmy. “Why’s she here with ya, huh?” Again, his demeanor changes. “She didn’t do anythin’! Frank put her life in danger, and you still treat her like a fuckin’ intruder?”

“Hold up, Michael. No,” Jimmy says. His shoulders broaden as he takes a step forward. “I didn’t–”

“Yes, ya fuckin’ did,” Michael interrupts him. “If you hurt or threatened her in any way, I swear to God—”

“No!” you raise your voice slightly, only enough to catch his attention. His head whips toward you. “He didn’t ask me here,” you confess. “I came here to talk to him, not the other way around. Jimmy…he didn’t do anything. I’m okay, baby. Please.”

His eyebrows furrow, trying to make sense of your words, and he slumps. He turns to you, his hand on your bicep, and he asks, breathlessly, “You what?”

The emotions in his eyes are a whirlwind that burns through the guilt in your stomach. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I had to.”

“Had to what?”

“Come here. Frank came over, and he gave me the pictures he was planning to use to blackmail me, telling me about how he told his men to back off, but—”

Michael snatches them from Jimmy’s hands, his knuckles white with how hard he is gripping them. 

“I was going crazy,” you say. “I called Scotland Yard, but Inspector Jones put me on his no-call list, so I thought I would write him an email. I was going to use your laptop, but you…you must’ve forgot to close one of the folders, and I accidentally started scrolling, and—”

“Jesus!” He shakes his head. “And you went t’ Jimmy about that?”

“I didn’t have a choice, okay? You said you didn’t want to get involved in anything illegal again, for Anna’s sake, but you lied to me. I don’t blame you. I know I’m not getting out of this, and I don’t want to because you mean the world to me, so I thought I could talk to Jimmy and we could find a compromise. After Frank…I didn’t think there was time to be rational about this. I’m sorry, Michael. I know you told me to sit tight, but I had to.”

“Five hours,” he growls. “You couldn’t wait five hours?”

Jimmy pipes up. “She was curious about Eamon,” he says. “I gave her the answers she was lookin’ for because you wouldn’t.”

Michael’s grip on your arm tightens, and it stings. You try to free yourself, but he won’t let you. 

“Whatever you two discussed,” he snarls, “It’s off the table.”

You glare at him. “What?” 

His fingers dig into your sensitive flesh. “Off the table, pet. You’re not gettin’ involved with this family.”

“What do you mean, I’m not getting involved with this family? I already am!”

“The fuck you are.” He drags you toward the door. 

“Michael,” you choke out, “you’re hurting me.”

You have never seen him like this, and you never would have thought he would grab you like this. 

He loosens his grip, but it’s still not enough to free you from his grasp. “I’m sorry,” his voice is barely above a whisper. 

You scoff. He may be sorry for hurting you, which you know was unintentional because he often underestimates his power, but he isn’t sorry for treating you like a child because he is still pulling you toward the stairs. 

“Michael,” Jimmy stops him. “Maybe we could talk ‘bout this?”

“No. You can get fucked!”

“Jesus,” you snap at him. 

“Home,” Michael tells you. “Now.”

His house isn’t even home to you, but you don’t have a choice. And as you make your way next door again, a feeling settles in the pit of your stomach. A feeling that makes you sick. 

Are you actually scared of him? Meeting his eyes once the door is closed behind you though, you can’t stop imagining your father in front of you, and it makes your heart race up to your throat.

Michael raises his hand to his forehead, the other resting on his hip. “Fuck!” He doesn’t say it to you. He would never. 

He is trying to get rid of his anger to have a normal conversation—to talk this through because he doesn’t understand why you would put yourself at risk like that—but your brain doesn’t function the way it did this morning. To you, he is cursing at nothing but you.  

You see his hand out of the corner of your eye, and you flinch. Your entire body recoils, and the air changes. He seems to realize what he did almost instantly. You hug your arms around yourself, avoiding his eyes, hoping you won’t cry, but the tears are treacherous as they start to pave their way forward. It burns.

“I—I’m sorry,” he says, and his voice is soft again. His hand is gone, but oh, you can’t open yourself up to him again. “My love, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think.” He takes a step forward. 

He didn’t, and he still isn’t thinking, it seems. You take a step back. He is suffocating you. 

“I’m not angry,” he tries again. “I just wanna understand…”

You swallow thickly. “I explained it to you,” the words flow out in a monotone line. 

“Why Jimmy? Why?”

“If I’d asked you, would you have told me the truth?” You meet his eyes, and it hits him like a strike of lightning. “If I’d asked you about the folder, about what the fuck is going on, would you have answered or would you have tried to keep me out of it?” you ask again. 

Michael gnaws at his bottom lip. “I told ya we’d find a way. We’d make a plan,” he says.

He is diverting. He can’t give you the answer you asked of him, and somehow that breaks your heart. It drills a sharp knife through your ribs, causing you to bleed out in front of him. 

“There is no other way,” you argue.

“There is always another way.”

“Not in this case, there isn't.”

“I cannot have you doing dirty work for my family. Fuckin’ Christ!” The whisper turns into a desperate plea, “Why can’t you see that?”

You wipe your cheeks with a furious index finger. “Maybe you should have thought about that before you fucked me.”

“Sorry?” He is taken aback by your tone of voice.

“You made me fall in love with you, knowing that being with you would put me in danger,” you cry. “I’ve always been okay with it, but you have to stop coddling me like I’m a child. I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions.”

“This isn’t fair,” he says. “I’m just tryin’ to keep ya safe.“

“But I’m not the only one who matters.”

“You’re the only one who matters to me!”

The silence that washes over you is charged to the maximum. Michael’s words echo in your mind. 

“I know you love your sister,” he murmurs, “but you promised not to make any rash decisions.”

“I know,” you reply coolly.

“You should’ve waited. You should’ve talked t’me.” Michael shakes his head.

You sniffle. You can’t look at him. “So you own me now, huh?” 

“No, that’s not—”

“You say you want to protect me, to keep me safe, but has it ever crossed your mind, even for a second, that I don’t want to be saved?”

His chest heaves with the breath he inhales. His hands remain on his hips. He fiddles with the fabric of his sweater—he always does it when he’s nervous, or when he’s fuming. You watch his body language and read it like an open book, but there is a distance between you. You thought maybe he would be a little pissed, but this behavior is worse. It tears your soul apart, piece by piece.

Again, he inhales, and he exhales again. “You’re reckless,” he states. Somehow though, he makes it sound like an accusation. 

“So what?” you retort.

“So what? Are you even listening to yerself?”

“Don’t snap at me.”

“I’m not—” he clenches his jaw. “Trust me, if I snapped at ya, it would sound a lot different. I’m just tryin’ to figure you out ‘cause I can’t fuckin’ read ya right now.”

You offer a sarcastic hum. You don’t have to think far to find the words. They are right there on the tip of your tongue. “Maya’s living with a monster who would raise hell if he found out the truth. The same monster who tortured me. The same monster who murdered my sister. Now, I feel like I’m being followed everywhere I go,” you say. “The family of the man I love would rather see me fall than accept me. I can’t go back to London. I can’t go home. I can’t…I can’t even go back to work.”

You sniffle again. “Brewing coffee used to be my life. I was working toward being something more. Someone more. I was writing, I was being creative, and I was somewhat happy. I had a plan, you understand?” With every word out of your mouth, your voice rises to new volumes. “I had a plan to get my revenge eventually and move on, but now...now my life is whatever this shit is, and I hate it. Okay? I hate it.”

You’re not angry; you’re broken, but saying it out loud won’t move mountains, and when the last word passes your lips, still nothing has changed. It won’t change. You can pray, you can beg, and you can scream at the sky in hopes that someone—anyone—will hear you, but it is a losing game. Life is a losing game.

Michael whimpers in the back of his throat. “Don’t,” he begs.

“I hate—” You stare up at the ceiling. The tears taste salty on your tongue. 

“Stop it.”

“I hate it here, Mikey.”

God, he knows that you only call him that when you feel like you have reached a dead end, but this time, he can’t save you; he, himself, has reached a dead end that he can’t escape from, and the ocean between you is far too broad to cross. You sob, and he wants to sob with you. 

“I hate what my life has become,” you cry softly. Your soft cries are the most painful to listen to. “And I hate that loving you hurts so fucking much I can’t breathe.”

This conversation feels oddly familiar. As if you have had it before. As if it is a daily occurrence as your demons fight against each other for dominance.

“I wish I could change that,” Michael whispers back to you. He is so far away, yet you still hear him perfectly.

You shudder. “Make me hate you, you mean?”

“No, not that. Although yes, sometimes.”

“I wish I could hate you sometimes, too,” the admission rolls off your tongue like a bullet from a gun. 

He nods. His eyes never leave your fragile frame, barely holding on by a thread. “I wish I could take it all away from ya,” he says. “The fear, the pain... And I wish it were easier to protect those you love. But I dunno how. And I dunno how t’be…better.”

A better man, he wanted to say. Better for you, better for Anna, and better for anyone else. Michael feels unworthy of your love. He had hope; for a few days, he had hope, but hope never lasts long with him. It always dies because everything he touches eventually withers like a fragile flower. He doesn’t say it though. He doesn’t know how.

You sniffle, shaking your head. “You don’t have to be better. I just need you to understand,” you say.

“I do,” Michael insists. “I do understand.”

“I’m glad you do, but I don’t. I need a chance at ruining the life of the man who caused so much damage I don’t even know what has become of me. I want to ruin his life the same way he ruined mine. I want to put him away for the rest of his miserable life so maybe my mother can get the help she refused to get when I last gave her the chance, and provide my sister with a normal life. That’s what I need.”

But what you need and can have are two different pairs of shoes. 

After a deep breath that lasts several seconds and allows the silence to stretch into a pregnant pause, you find your words again to continue. “The file I have on Ellie’s death is circumstantial, we both know that,” you say. “It won’t be enough. We won’t be enough—” Your voice cracks. “A security detail or killing my father won’t fix this. You telling me you love me won’t fix this. And saying ‘we will figure this out’ while you keep a folder on your family’s dealings that might as well also impact me now that Frank has painted a target on my back from me won’t fix this.”

He says your name in a way that sends an unwelcome shiver down your spine. 

“I just couldn’t wait!” It is unlike you to yell, but you have reached your limit. 

Again, Michael curses, running a hand over his face and through his beard.

You lean back against the wall, defeated beyond relief. “What do you want from me, Michael?” you plead. “Because I feel like no matter what I do, it’s never enough.” 

“C’mon,” he breathes, “I never said that.”

“No, but it certainly feels that way.”

“I don’t want to lose ya, alright? That’s all I’ve got.” He sounds like a broken record. “I…I just found out that I probably have no chance at gettin’ Anna back, even after all I did, and I can’t…I just can’t…” 

The urge to reach out and take him into your arms is overwhelming. Tears glisten in his eyes now, and his body is quivering with agony. He’s holding back. He’s trying not to show you just how scared and in pain he truly is, but he can’t hide the truth from you.

On any other day, you would have crossed the room and hugged him with the promise of never letting him go, but can’t bring yourself up to get any closer because he is not the only one close to falling apart.

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp out.

“I can’t lose you too,” Michael whispers. “If I get involved again with my family—if I choose to fight—that’s another story. I am who I am, and I can’t change that, but yer not; you’re everything to me. And I won’t put the goodness of yer heart at risk. I can’t—”

You silence him with your hand. “I am not Anna.”

“I know, but—”

“I am not Anna,” you repeat. “I can’t replace her. I won’t replace her. I am not a consolation prize, and I am not yours to command.”

Your steps are heavy as you reach for your bag. “No,” he grunts. He reaches for your arm again, but you elude him.

“Don’t touch me.”

You’re not even sure if this can be called fighting. You were arguing until you weren’t. It’s a quiet storm, but it causes the most damage.

The door is calling for you. You can’t stay here. You feel like you’re drowning—like he is taking all the air out of your lungs. You can’t stand here and argue and fight, and you definitely can’t stay and be quiet with him. That hurts a lot more than being yelled at. Silent anger kills, and you’re not sure if you can come back from this. 

How did you get here? When he left this morning, he kissed you. Now, there seem to be a million worlds standing between you, and you can’t find common ground. You’re floating in space, and Michael can’t haul you back, but perhaps that is not the problem. The problem is that you don’t want to be hauled back. 

His hand finds your waist, and he pulls you against him. “You’re not leaving,” he says. The gruff sound of his voice used to be your favorite.

“Let me go,” you murmur.

Michael shakes his head. You suck in a sharp breath when he presses his forehead to yours. He smells of whiskey and rum. Did he have a drink on his way here? Did he drown his sorrows in liquor and God knows what else? You don’t want to think about how miserable he is. You don’t want to think about what could happen. You just don’t want to think at all. 

“Please,” he begs. “Talk t’me.”

For a moment, you bask in the feeling of his skin against yours, but when it starts to hurt, you have to pull back. “I have nothing left to say.”

The arrow hits him straight through the heart. 

“I’m sleeping in my bed tonight.” You throw your bag over your shoulder, and you turn away so he won’t see you cry. “We’re no good for each other right now.”

He scoffs. It is a bitter sound that laces the air like a toxin. “We’ve never been good for each other.” 

You ignore the sting his words leave behind. “Then maybe it’s a good thing I’m leaving,” you say.

The sound of the wall breaking under the weight of his fist is the last thing you hear before you step out into the cold evening air.

Your cheeks are wet with tears, but you don’t look back. You get into your car; you don’t even take another look at the house. You turn on the engine, and you pull out of the parking lot.

Michael’s house and the rest of the Kinsellas disappear behind you, your sobs echoing in the small space of your car. You might have to do this on your own, after all, and with that comes the realization that you might have just lost the love of your life, too. 

The question is just, was it worth it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

[shelikesorchids-archive]

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Warnings: None, just tooth rotting fluff.

Author's Note: Just a lil thing I wrote for my Sweater Weather Challenge! I combined the prompts "Your hands are cold" and "Don't move, you're warm". We appreciate the hell out of Mikey's chest hair in this house!!!!

Word count: Just over 700

---------------------------------------

The walk from your office back to Michael’s flat wasn’t far, but it was far enough that you cursed yourself for leaving your gloves behind. The night air was bitterly cold, and the pockets of your coat just weren’t cutting it. By the time you reached the front door, your hands were almost numb from the cold, so you shook them out and rubbed them together in an attempt to get the blood flowing to your fingers again. 

“Mikey, I’m home, love! Where are ya?” you called out.

“M’upstairs!” he replied. 

You hung up your coat and your scarf and made your way upstairs and to the bedroom, where you found Michael in bed with his shirt off, reading a book. He sat the book to the side with a soft smile on his face, and opened his arms to welcome you home. You toed off your shoes and sidled up next to him to kiss him, and he recoiled slightly when you put your hand on his scruffy cheek. 

“Argh, Mikey! I thought ya’d be happy to see me!” you pouted. 

“I am happy to see ya, but yer hands are cold! C’mere and let me warm ‘em up.” 

He gently took your hands in his and placed them on his bare chest, letting his body heat get your blood flowing again. You could feel his heart beating steadily under your palms, and you leaned over to tuck your head in the crook of his neck. He placed a soft kiss on your forehead, and wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you kept your hands on his chest. You felt a bit of a shiver from him as your cold nose came into contact with his bare skin, but he just held you closer and rubbed your back to warm you up. 

“Sorry I had to work late, but I’m home now, love,” you whispered. 

“Yeah, yer home now,” he hummed in response before placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You melted into his hold, and gently traced patterns with your fingertips on his chest, twirling his chest hair around your fingers. Michael chuckled softly as you slid your head down to rest on his chest, nuzzling it with your still cold nose. 

“What are ya doin’, pet?” he asked with a laugh. 

“Yer so warm, Mikey. Must be this fuzz ya got on ya,” you replied as you stroked his chest.

He laughed again as he wrapped his arms tighter around you, and you burrowed your face further into his chest. You let out a sigh of contentment as you finally felt the blood start to return to your hands and your nose and you inhaled Michael’s scent. He didn’t usually wear cologne, but the smell of his deodorant and soap gave him a natural, musky smell that you always found comfort in. You often wore his t-shirts and his sweaters when he was away, but having the real thing was always the best. Michael slowly scooted down on the bed so he was laying on his back, and he carefully moved you with him so that you were laying on his chest. He pulled the comforter up over the both of you, as you continued playing with his chest hair and listening to the steady thump of his heart. You worried about him quite a bit, but times like this where you were surrounded in the solid comfort of him made you feel like things might just be alright after all. 

You were so relaxed in his embrace and close to sleep when you felt Michael try to gently roll you over. 

“No! Don’t move, yer warm,” you huffed out as you rolled back over and wrapped yourself back around him.

“I was just gonna get up and make some tea, pet. I thought ya may wanna get out of those work clothes, too.” 

You pouted as you sat up and whined, “Okay, fine. But we’ll continue this when ya get back.” 

Michael cupped your cheek with his hand and gently kissed you before he threw back the covers and got up to go make you both some tea. He couldn’t help but smile as he watched you get up and begin to undress, and he called out to you from the doorway of the bedroom, “Of course, love. Ya may have cold hands, but ya’ve got a warm heart.” 

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Mind the Gap, Chapter 1

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader, Matt Murdock & Reader (Platonic)

Rating: E

Word count (per chapter): ~500 (Just to set the story up, future chapters will be longer!)

Story Summary: When Michael gets sent across the pond to fix an issue with the Kinsella clan's drug trade expansion into New York City, he never expected to meet and fall for a pretty law clerk from the office of Nelson, Murdock, and Page. But when she gets abducted by a rival cartel, Michael will have to enlist the help of the very vigilante that's trying to take down his entire operation.

Warnings/Tags: Kin/Daredevil crossover, Canon-typical violence (for both shows), Platonic Matt Murdock/Reader, Smut in later chapters, More tags to come

A/N: After announcing this MONTHS ago, it's finally here -- the Daredevil/Kin crossover no one asked for, but I decided to write anyway. Lol

Note that this is a Michael Kinsella x Reader fic -- there is no love triangle between Mikey, Reader, and Matt.

If you want to be added to the taglist for this or any of my other ongoing stories, or if I was supposed to tag you/tagged you in error, please let me know!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @cheshirecat484 @thornbushrose @shouldbestudying41 @finnishjerseygirl @ednaaa-04 @ebathory997 @beezusvreeland @capylore

Fuckin' hell, let's get this over with, Michael Kinsella thought to himself as he trudged up the driveway to his sister-in-law’s house.

He had just gotten word that the Garda had wrapped up their investigation into his father's and uncle’s deaths and had ruled the case a murder-suicide -- therefore clearing him from further questioning -- when Amanda had texted that she was calling a meeting.

Amanda opened the door before he had even reached it. “Hey,” she said.

Michael walked in. “Hi.”

Amanda closed the door behind him. “Hadn't seen ya in a while.”

Aye, and there's a fuckin' reason for tha’, Michael thought.

As Amanda had started taking over more and more territory and doing whatever she had to in order to stay on top, Michael had realized that it hadn't ever been him that she had wanted, it had been the Kinsella name and the power and prestige that had come with it. 

While he hadn't ever regretted having Jamie, he had regretted sleeping with Amanda when she had come on to him while Jimmy had been in prison all those years ago and again more recently when her marriage had been falling apart and Michael had been dealing with finding out about Molly being engaged.

He shrugged. “Been busy.”

“Wan’ a drink?”

Michael shook his head. What he wanted was to go back home.

Amanda pursed her lips, but before she could say anything else, Birdy arrived.

“So what's ya call a meetin’ for?” Michael asked once they had all sat down at Amanda's kitchen table.

Amanda folded her hands together in front of her and leaned forward. “I called ya over because we're takin’ over some operations in America and I need ya ta go oversee tha transfer. There's been some issues.”

Michael was taken aback. “Me? Why me?”

“Because we're all busy -- I’m tryin’ ta clean up tha mess Bren left while also dealin’ wit' Jimmy's shite, Viking is workin' on getting tha houses reopened, and Birdy's still dealin’ with Frank's estate. Yer’ that only one left who we can trust ta take care a’ things.”

“Plus I think it'll be good for ya to get away for a while ‘till things settle down again,” Birdy added. 

Michael shook his head. “Are ya forgettin’ tha’ I'm a convicted felon? They won' even let me on a plane, much less inta another country.”

“Tha's already taken care of.” Birdy picked up a manilla envelope off of the table and handed it to him. “Everything is in here.”

Michael opened it to find an ID and passport.

He looked at the ID. “Michael O’Brien?”

Amanda shrugged. “Best we could do on short notice. ‘Least ya get ta go by yer first name.”

Birdy cut her eyes over to Amanda briefly before turning back towards Michael. “Flight’s already booked. Ya leave on Thursday.”

Michael sighed, resigned. “Where exactly am I goin?”

A satisfied look spread across Amanda's face as she leaned back. “New York City.”

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Fall Drabbles, Day 9

prompt: cold air in the morning

pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader

summary: After dealing with his family for far too long, Michael is happy to let you care for him.

warnings: Swearing, fluff

a/n: AHHHH this is my first time writing for Mikey so please let me know what you think! This piece is dedicated to @chvoswxtch, my Kin watch buddy! And a huge thank you to @bellaxgiornata for the advice on writing his accent!

w/c: <1k

Trudging up the street in the dim light, Michael grit his teeth against the weariness growing with each step–exhaustion sitting atop his shoulders like a barbell, slowly driving him into the pavement. A stiff breeze battered his cheeks, irritating his already gritty eyes, but he ignored it. He was no stranger to the numbing cold, and its unmatched ability to clear his head of racing thoughts, but he didn’t welcome it today. Rather than anchoring him, it rubbed at his nerves uncomfortably, leaving an almost acidic sting in its wake. 

His breaths were measured, but the tension in his lungs loosened marginally when the familiar structure finally appeared on the horizon. Willing his aching body to move faster, he focused on the dull red of his front door, a shining beacon in the dreary gray morning that promised rest and safety. He was running on fumes, his brain unable to process more than the stench of petrichor in the air and the burning in his lungs. 

Though it couldn’t have been more than a five minute trek, the walk felt like an eternity. Fitting the key into the lock sapped all of his remaining strength and he slumped backwards against the door, shutting it more forcefully than intended. Stifling a grimace at the noise, he swallowed hard as he plodded over to the dining room table and collapsed into a chair–his body folding in on itself until he could hold his pounding head between his palms. Every contraction of his heart sent another pound of pressure to his skull, slowly expanding like a balloon about to pop. He was tired and frustrated and hungry and alone and it was all quickly becoming too much. 

A creaking floorboard above him startled him out of his stupor. Tensing his legs to dart for his gun, which he’d stupidly left by the door, your voice called down the stairs. “Mikey?”

The question was soft, barely loud enough for him to hear downstairs, and your voice was raspy with sleep–but it sent a current of warmth through his senseless limbs. “Ya, pet. It’s me.” His own voice was hoarse after his restless days spent screaming about the family business.

Padding down the stairs, you smiled when you saw him, dashing right into his open arms and giggling drowsily as he pulled you into his lap. You pressed your lips to his, sending a jolt of energy through him like an exposed wire. He couldn’t fathom why you looked so happy to kiss his noticeably chapped lips, but your sweet smile was melting the icy shell of prolonged displeasure around his gut. “I’m sorry to wake ya. What’re ya doin’ here, love?” 

You shrugged, eyes flitting over the myriad of cuts on his face as one of your hands carded through his hair, tenderly untangling the strands. “My place was too quiet so I came here. Did you want me to leave?” 

Michael’s hands instinctively clenched, tightening their grip on your waist. “Fuck no.” 

Chuckling, you leaned your forehead against his. “How was it?” 

“Grand.” He scoffed, averting his eyes as you stroked a thumb over his beard. “Tirin’.” 

You hummed, plush lips tilting into a frown. “I’m sorry, love. Did you sleep at all?” 

“A bit. Not enough.” Your free hand slipped under the hem of his shirt, icy fingers drawing circles on his stomach. “Christ, yer so cold, pet.” He laughed as you wriggled your other hand up his bare skin as well. 

“Come back to bed with me? It’s chilly without you.” Wrapping your arms around him, you nuzzled a kiss against his prickly jawline. 

Nodding sluggishly, he gladly let you tug him out of the chair and up the stairs—more than willing to sleep the day away with you.

[yarrystyleeza]

Ok actually I didn't have to think long, lol.

What would your ideal first date with Mikey (aka our favorite Irish mob daddy) consist of??? 👀

I am really really REALLY sorry it took me (5) months to finish this piece, a lot of stuff was going on (my life was a complete mess, still tho). But since it's Valentine's day, I HAD to post something, and what's better than a date with Mikey for a Valentine's gift?

Something else I had to say, is that I had no idea how to write HCs—which is the vibe that I got from your ask (hehe), so, I improvised, and made up a whole story of what would your first date with Mikey would be (with a back story as well).

That being said, let's jump right into the act! And thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, for submitting this request and for your patience, please enjoy! 💖💖💖

It's Always Raining In Dublin (M.K)

Requested by @loveroftoomanyfandoms

Pairing and dynamic: Michael Kinsella x female!reader (reader is a bookshop owner), strangers to friends (?) to lovers

Prompt: fluff, first date goes wrong but then perfect, rain, rain, and more rain.

Word Count: 4.3k!

Writer's note: this was supposed to be finished back in September, which was five months ago, but I was struggling for a while with both a terrible writer's block and life and then BOOM I got the inspiration to finish it. Also, this is the very first time I ever write anything for Michael, so I'm a little nervous, I hope it's good enough though.

(I proofread this almost a thousand times WITH my bestie as well, so if there's anything wrong with the grammar and/or the lexical content, we were really exhausted and couldn't see shit—we're sorry T-T).

It was a rainy morning when you truly met him, it rained almost everyday in Dublin but that day was a core memory. You had just unlocked the door of your little bookshop and started to sort things out before your costumers arrive.

Usually, your first client doesn't show up before nine-thirty in the morning, which gives you spare time to dust off the shelves and pick up a big cup of coffee from the nearby coffeeshop down the street—in this never-ending autumn.

That morning was no different. It was pouring heavily but you're used to opening your shop on rainy days, it's always raining in Dublin anyway, and if you had to take each rainy day off—you'd end up with a couple of fingers on your hands as you count the days you worked on per year.

You were organizing the children's books section when you heard the sweet chime of the little bell hanging on your front door. It was barely eight and you happened to just finished your coffee and breakfast, getting ready to start your day. But it began earlier than you expected it to.

Your costumer was a man, you assumed he was in his early forties, maybe for the dark thick beard that covers most of his face. His face was strangely familiar to you, you just couldn't exactly remember when it was when you saw him.

But you're sure that this was the prettiest face of a man you've seen in a while. His greenish hazel brown eyes sparkled like a kaleidoscope with a hint of an exquisite permanent-sadness, and his flushed skin and dampened hair glistened due to the torrent outside.

You felt your breath stuck in your throat for a moment before you could clear it to speak.

"good morning, sir, how may I help ya today?" you faced him fully and your skirt swirled—following your motion with a swoosh in the air, you catch him glance down at it for a second before returning his eyes on you.

"I... The book ye suggested ta me the other day..." he starts gently and the memory comes back rushing immediately. You remember that warm tone, you had indeed met this gentleman before.

A week ago, he came over to your shop and you recall how lost he was in his search for the perfect book to read. And you, being a bookworm, and also the owner of this little corner bookshop— you had to help him. You gave him a suggestion for a book out of his box—out of his comfort readings.

And from the gentle look on his face, you suppose that he liked it.

"I'was grand," the man smiles softly and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, you find yourself grinning back at him.

"Ye finished it quickly!" you commented in excitement and he looked a bit puzzled, a smile softly drawn on his lips with a little crease of confusion. It was adorable.

"I mean—I'm glad t'was grand that ya finished it quickly." He lipped a silent "oh" before his cheeks burn red as he smiled and his eyes almost disappeared.

"Are ya here for another book?" you asked when the silence fell on the place, raindrops kept knocking on the glass front nonstop, music to your ears with this handsome man smiling and radiating joy to your eyes.

"Ye can say that..." his voice was quiet but you can hear it in this downpour noise, he tilted his head to the side and shrugged, and it was impossible for you to not aw at it.

"How about we go with somethin' even newer for today?" you suggested, he nods to the side with a little smile, you walk and he follows you down the aisle.

"Romance or crime and mystery?" you stop at the novels sections, "pride and prejudice, I guess ya must've heard of it before," you pick the book off the shelf, he gently takes it from your hand and examines the cover thoroughly with his amber eyes, and he looked so interested.

"Or, we can go with Agatha Christie's illustrious murder on the orient express," you take the book and hand it to him, "or... Take a whole new genre and check Mary Shelley's horror Frankenstein? It's one of me favorites," you hand him the third book after strolling down the aisle a little more.

The man looked puzzled now, he seemed interested in each one of these books. But you patiently wait for him to speak.

"Have ya made up yer mind yet, sir?" you ask.

He shrugged with a sigh, raising his brows high, "they all look grand— can't lie t'ye," he answered.

"They are— but I can make ya an offer, I'll give ya the three books with the price of one and a half—and in return, ye're gonna write me a review of each book to add to me list of reviews and suggestions here on me wall," you tilt your head to the side, eyeing his beautiful features and almost forgetting you were waiting for his answer.

"Tha' seems grand ta me," he chuckled.

"I'm glad it is!" you walk him back to the cashier check, you get back behind your computer to scan the books and add in the discount.

"That'll be 18.46 after the discount," you lean against the wooden surface with your arms supporting you up.

He nods and hands you the money. "There ya go--" you're about to hand him the change. He shook his head, "no, keep tha change, miss..." he cuts you off gently, looking down at the little pin with your name on it.

You tell him your name to catch his eyes back up and he nods with a little smile, "Michael." he says, only taking the receipt and the paper bag of books.

He turns and makes his way to the front door, "Michael?" you loved the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He stops and turns with a puzzled face, "thanks fer the tip," he smiles and you can see the blush on his face a mile away. He leaves and you watch him take a turn to the right before he disappeared under the northern downpour.

The next week, Michael shows up at your shop's door on a Saturday afternoon, a big smile drawn on his face. You were dealing with a little kid trying to choose a book, you turn to see him and he immediately waves at you, a little sweet grin splits the darkness of his thick beard. "Ya can take the book now, pet, momma's gonna send me the money later, 'kay?" The two of you watch the little kid waddle out of the shop.

"Sorry t' interrupt yer work," he says as he crossed the distance between you. You shake your head, "at all, Michael. How was yer read? Which book did ya read first?" you asked, leaning against the shelves.

He smiled wider when you said his name, almost startled to speak. "Um, the-- the mystery one, murder on the orient express," he answered.

"And did ya like it?" you ask him again with enthusiasm and butterflies crowding your lungs. He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh and an apologetic smile. "Ya don't seem like ya liked it, did ya?" you chuckled.

He scrunched his nose and tilts his head to the side, "the ending was unexpected at all ta be honest with ya," he shrugs.

You nodded and hummed to his answer, "Christie is never expected, that's why we love her," he nods back.

You notice the two paper cups of coffee he held in his hand when the smell of freshly baked-and-brewed coffee beans hits your nostrils. You were so confused why you never noticed it before, maybe you were distracted by Michael's presence as a whole, or his always-glistened ambers if you were specific. Michael notices the confused smile on your face. "I— thought I should bring ye coffee, as a thank ya."

Your smile grows with a blush as he hands you a cup, "thank ya, Michael, that's truly sweet of ya," you coo, his face blushes and shyly drops his eyes to the ground.

The sky thunders and you nearly jumped out of your place, both of you stare at the other and you burst out laughing. "Did that scare ya off, pet?" Michael asked with a worried smile, you kept giggling.

"Not really but... It was... Unexpected?" you answer after taking a deep breath.

"Like Christie?" he chuckled, you burst out laughing.

"Like Christie."

The weeks turned into months and Michael began to show up more and more often, and you eagerly waited every morning to see his shiny hazel eyes and his beautiful smile, one that you keep daydreaming about until he steps into your shop with two hot cups of coffee.

He turned from a regular client—to be a resident of this little bookshop. Michael started to stay in with you and help you organizing and monitoring the place—he would even help the little kids in choosing their books, too.

Once, you found him sitting on the oak floor, the little boys and girls gathered and sat around him, while he narrated a children's book. Your heart melted at the sight, and luckily that wouldn't be the last time.

The kids would come into your shop asking you if uncle Michael was there to read for them; Michael was now a part of your place, and you're happy to have someone like him to keep your company.

One evening —after three months of seeing each other daily— when the sky was cloudy and the sunset light was becoming less visible. The weather broadcast had warned about an upcoming rainstorm tonight—so you had to call it a night and leave.

You made sure everything was in the right place and order before you left. You put your autumn coat on and stuff your phone inside your purse. You take the keys out and you make your way towards the exit. Michael was waiting for you by the front door. Both of you get out of the shop and you turn to lock it up.

Michael calls your name gently in a tone barely louder than a whisper before you head on your way home and it makes your stomach churn in the most beautiful way.

You turn to look at him, he's shifting in his place, hands stuffed inside his leather jacket pockets and face all flustered and burning red. "Can I walk ye home tonight? It's a lil' darker than usual, I'd be worried 'bout ye, pet," he asks, voice so desperate. Your heart skips a beat—but it comes back pounding.

Your smile doesn't leave your face and it starts to hurt your cheeks. "Sure thing, Michael, I'd love to," you nodded, he grins and his eyes crinkle and his orbits shine.

The sky darkens but you could still see the perfect smile on Michael's face, little raindrops started sliding against your skins and it was a scene out of a painting, so magical and calm.

You make it to your place and you exchange goodbyes. You watched him walking down the concrete path and disappeared behind the brick wall.

You made your way to your doorstep, almost taking your keychain out when Michael calls out your name, you turn to face him, he's all soaked in water but his beautiful grin never left his face.

"Can I take ya out fer dinner tomorrow night?" your jaw dropped and your head screamed 'yes, yes, yes'.

"Yes! Yes, y'can, Michael!" you could barely make out his silhouette as your grin almost shut your eyes. He's almost jumping in his place, he sighs with a big smile.

"I'll pick ya up tomorrow at seven, is that grand fer ya, pet?" he shouts.

"Of course, Mikey!" you shouted back.

You walked into the warmth of your house soaked and giggly, you ran upstairs straight to your bedroom to plan an outfit, you didn't care about messing up the carpet, you'd deal with that later.

You quickly made up your mind about a floral day dress you had bought recently and you recall thinking of Michael while buying this dress.

You guess he's going to love it, he usually complimented you when you wore dresses and let your hair down and that's what you're going to do.

You took the next Sunday morning off as you started to prepare yourself for the date, pampering yourself with all the skin and hair care products you can find in your house.

You wanted to look perfect for him.

You felt overwhelmed with happiness, making up the scenarios of your evening. Where will he take you out? Is it a fancy restaurant or a local diner? What would he bring you? Flowers definitely, he's a flower-gifting man, as you realized, it was definitely his way of showing affection. He brought flowers every couple days for the shop.

Now it's nearing seven and you happened to just finished your look. You put on your dress and you fix your hair, adding a little floral accessory to the side of your braided bangs. You looked stunning, you hoped that you'd give the same impression to Michael.

The doorbell rings as you slipped into your heels, you look at your mirror for the very last time tonight before opening the door. He looked so fine though he wore his shirt and trousers casually with his leather jacket. You could kiss him already.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours for a brief moment before he exhaled with a stunned smile. "Y—ya look magical, pet," he breathed out and it made you turn completely red.

"I tried me best..." you shyly drive your eyes away and tuck a stray strand back behind your ear.

"Y'don' even have ta try, love, ye're always lookin' good," he shyly says and you could see his cheeks prickling red as he drove his eyes down to his shoes.

"I um... Brought ya these," he revealed a bouquet from behind his back, it was of red roses. It matched your dress perfectly. His head tilted to the side with a smile as he handed it to you.

"They're so wonderful, Mikey, loved them, thank ya," you take the bundle. "Ya look great too, Mikey, loved yer shirt," you had to compliment him, he deserved it.

His face reddened beneath his beard, "thanks, love."

"Ye're ready, aren't ya, love?" he asked with a smile.

"I am, let me get me purse and coat first—"

He shook his head, "take yer time, pet," he countered.

You turn behind the door and take your coat off the hanger. Sliding inside it, you take your purse, grab an umbrella and widen the little crevice of the door to pass outside.

Michael hesitantly held your hand but when he noticed how you instantly wrapped your palm around his—he intertwined his fingers with yours, with no plans on letting go.

You walked down to the main street where Michael tried to stop a taxi for the two of you. "We don't have to take it," you stopped him with a gentle hand on his back, he was a little confused, "I'd prefer walking with ya, Mikey," you explained yourself. A big smile breaks the darkness of his beard and you could swear he beams at you.

As you strolled down the concrete path, the sky thundered vigorously, the voice rumbled and echoed in the air, and it wasn't long before it started dropping tears upon the two of you.

You could see Michael's face turning dark, he cursed under his breath, you rubbed a pat onto his bicep, and pulled the umbrella over your heads, offering him a soft smile. He smiled back but you still felt how uneasy he was.

"It's okay, Mikey, I love walkin' in the rain," you comment, and that kinda eases the tension of his demeanor.

The walk is silent, and you could still feel him timid as you held his forearm, you know he can't control the weather, but you don't really mind if it's sunny or gloomy, as long as you are with Michael, it's all what matters to you.

The two of you made it to the restaurant, and Michael's face turned even darker. A sign on the glass door reads 'electricity outage, sorry for disturbing' was hung on the glass door. You turn to look at Michael, his eyes are glaring with fire.

The receptionist types something on his phone and sticks it to the glass, "it's coming back in a few minutes, we're working on the issue, we truly apologize for such occurrence... See, Mikey? We can wait a few more minutes," you smiled back at him, but Michael wasn't really buying it.

He gulped and closed his eyes, huffing out a stream of hot air. "It's okay, Mikey, we can go somewhere else if ya don' wanna wait..." you suggested.

He shook his head, "no, I booked us a table in there a week ago and I ain't takin' ya anywhere less than that!" he tried to remain calm but his tone was getting angrier, "I can't let this day go wrong like tha'!" he expressed, wiping his mouth and tugging onto his beard, something you noticed he does whenever he feels tensed.

You rubbed his bicep and squeezed it a little, your hand unconsciously walk up to his face and you scratch his thick beard. He smiles a little, but his eyes are glistened with tears like glass balls.

Things weren't going his way, for years and years, and today he wished he could finally do something he wanted. You didn't mind if you got the chance to dine at the restaurant or took your date home, what you only cared for was Michael's presence with you. But to him, it seemed like today too is going wrong and he has no clue how to fix it.

And you truly hated to see Michael angry or sad, he doesn't deserve to feel any of that. He's a sweetheart, he never put you down, so you have to keep him up.

"Have I told ya about the one time I almost died?" you ask him, and he clearly shifts demeanor to your question, you hide a smile waiting for his answer. Your ways might be effective after all.

He shook his head with knitted brows, you nodded and hummed. "Well, that day, I was picking up coffee from the shop I'm a regular for," you start, and you notice him directing all his being to you, "that day, me favorite waiter wasn't there to get me order, and another one got it," you leant onto the glass, after getting closer to him so the umbrella would cover the two of you better.

"But, when me order arrived, it was a wrong one, and I was really mad, I told the waiter to change it, but he couldn't, they can't give the drink to someone else and they're not allowed to throw it away," you got closer, and Michael was so integrated into the story.

"So I had to accept it, but I was still so angry at that, I wasn't seeing things clearly, and I was crossing the street and a car almost hit me!" you tell animatily, Michael was shocked.

"Ya didn't hurt yerself pet, did ya?" he was worried and you loved his face when he was.

You huffed a chuckle and shook your head, "I didn't hurt meself, and didn't spill me coffee either, and when I arrived to the bookshop and took a sip of it, I discovered that it was so much better than me regular order," you shrugged, Michael smiled but he wanted to know more, "and now it's me new regular."

Suddenly, the lights came back, as the night had already fallen. Michael's face lit up a little and you grinned to that. You walk into the place and the receptionist leads you to your table with plenty of apologies. Michael helps you into your seat and settles down his, released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

You reach out for his hand across the table, pulling him out of the cloud forming over his head. "It's okay, Mikey... We're inside now," you offer him a smile, he smiles back, you rub his knuckles with your thumb.

A waitress approaches your table with a note in hand, Michael took a deep breath and looked up at her. She asks for your dinner of choice. You look at Michael, informing him that you want him to order for the two of you, that you want what he wants.

"Two Seared Scallops with Pomegranate and Meyer Lemon," Michael answered after taking a glance at the menu then you. You nodded with a smile.

The waitress nods and takes her way back to the kitchen. Michael smiles at you, but his face drains of all blood when he sees the waitress approaching your table with an apologetic smile. "We truly apologize, sir and ma'am, but we're out of scallops and they won't be arriving today. Ye're gonna have ta change yer order," she tries to break the news as gentle as possible.

Michael is frustrated, his thick brows are firmly knitted over his gentle eyes, you caught them lose their shine, and you had to do something about it.

"It's fine, we can have steak, mashed potatoes, and wine, right Michael?" you had to give him a choice too. He looks up at you, you tilt your head to the side with a soft smile. He nods.

"Alright, two steaks... How d'ya like yer steak, ma'am?" the waitress asks. "Medium well," she nods to your answer and turns to look at Michael.

"And how d'ya like yer steak, sir?" you sneak your hand and place it on his, sending a supportive smile his way. He respires, "same as hers." he answers.

The waitress nods and walks back to the kitchen once again. You turn to face Michael, "I wouldn't mind if we never ate here, I just enjoy sitting with ya, Mikey," you hold his hand, he almost sobs, you reach out for his other hand, now fondling both of them. "It's you Michael, I ain't here fer the fancy dinner or the expensive wine, I'm here fer ya Mikey baby."

He finally smiles. "Thank you, pet," he whispers. You shake your head, "t's notin', Mikey."

Another waiter arrives with a tray of wine and globular glasses. The waiter pours your glass first and turns to pour Michael's—when he accidentally smacks your glass and he spills it onto your dress.

You hiss at the sudden cold wetness, trying your best not to curse or cry—because you too feel the world isn't working its best way with you today.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to stop the tears from forming.

The waiter keeps apologizing, and you already know how Michael's reaction might be without even opening your eyes and looking at him.

But you can't let this day go bad, you still have a chance to fix it, you can make it 100% better with your reaction, you can stop the chain of bad occurrences.

You open your eyes and look up at the waiter, "it's alright I... I just need a towel..." he rushes back to the kitchen. You grabbed a napkin off the table and tried to absorb the wine spilled on your dress.

"Tha' fuckin' idiot..." Michael curses.

You chuckle, "it's okay, Mikey, me dress is red, it won't change notin', I'll be fine."

Once you made sure most of the dampness was gone, you readjusted yourself in front of Michael, wearing a beaming smile on your pretty face.

His eyes fondly meet yours and you're flustered, looking down at the silverware displayed on the table.

"How are ya like tha'?" Michael asked, resting his cheek in his palm. You looked up at him, and he's got the sweetest smile you've ever seen him doing. His eyes beautifully sparkled to the golden lights of the candles.

"Like what?" you answer with a question. He gestures at you with his chin.

"How're ya such a beam of light?" you turn red at his question, "how are ya, after all tha', still smilin' and tryin' ta make it work?"

"Well," you swallowed with a smile, "bad things won't stop happenin' t'ya, Mikey love, that's somethin' ya should keep in mind, but they can't stop ya from looking at the bright side of it all." Michael furrowed in participation.

"Y'know? I'll never get a chance ta make that day perfect more than it is now," you simply say, "and if I would get a chance ta fix anythin', I wouldn't, because it's already going perfect f'me."

The two of you spend the rest of the evening on nibbling and chattering. Your dress was now cold and sticking to your thighs but you didn't mind, the food turned stale and cold but you didn't care; as long as it was Michael with you, you didn't mind anything else in the world.

Michael pays for the dinner and accompanies you to the exit. The two of you look outside, the rain is heavily pouring over the city, and it's loud enough you could hear it from behind the glass door.

You turn to look at him, he smiles and nods, pushing the door and escorting you with an arm wrapping you to his side.

You step into the street under the rain and you're immediately showered. You snicker, holding Michael's hand and looking at him, your eyes asking him to join you. Michael giggles as he follows you, now holding the two of your hands softly as the skies decanted its whole heart on the two of you.

"Y'know ya can't wait for the rain ta stop. It's always raining in Dublin anyway, Mikey." you whisper, he smiles and cradles your cheeks and he pulls you into a kiss, warming your hearts under the cold downpour.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for coming to my sleepover celebration! 💞💞💞

[shiorimakibawrites]

Hi shiori, congratulations on your 300 followers dear! (again haha) 💗💗💗 I am requesting a warm and fuzzy feelings with our baby boy Mikey where he and reader take a walk in the rain and giggling as they're unable to stop kissing! 😇🤭💗💗💗

Thank you so much for making an exception for me for coming late to the party! 😅💗💗💗 Enjoy your day lovely! 💋💗💗💗

Thank you for submitting Yuna! I hope you enjoy this little story.

Warnings: Tooth-rotting fluff, cute dogs Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza, @lulukings92

Sharing An Umbrella

Walks were part of your routine.

It was simply part of having a dog. Your Irish Setter, creatively named Red, needed daily walks. At least. But it was good exercise for you. Got you out of the house regularly, getting all that fresh air and sunshine that everyone was always raving about.

Sunshine didn’t seem to be in the cards. It had been overcast all day. Rain had been predicted but you hoped to have finished Red’s walk before it came. Luck was not on your side as it began to rain halfway to Michael’s place.

Despite the weather, Michael was still waiting to join you with his own dog. Foggy, a beautiful Golden Retriever, loved the rain and prancing around the forming puddles with tail-wagging excitement.

“Ello, pet,” Michael greeted you, falling in step with you and Red.

“Hi Mikey!” You said, smiling as you shifted the position of your umbrella to cover Michael too. You were so happy. You had been dating Michael for the last couple of months. Things had been going very well. He was incredibly handsome. Sweet despite the darkness in his past. Your dogs liked each other.

All this despite your disastrous first meeting. You had taken Red out of her walk, on the leash since you were still training her. She had selective hearing about coming when called. Especially when there were squirrels to chase. And it was attempting to chase a squirrel that lead to you and Michael getting both your legs thoroughly entangled in Red’s leash.

By the time you had sorted out the mess, Michael had asked you out. And the rest, as they say, was history.

“Rather quiet there, pet,” Michael remarked. “What are ya thinkin’ about?”

“Just remembering how we met,” you said.

“Ah yes,” he said, smiling. “Our first kiss.”

“Michael!” You protested. “That wasn’t a kiss!”

When you and Michael had gotten tangled, you were pressed so close that your lips had brushed together. For some reason, Michael kept saying that was the first kiss you shared.

“What do ya mean?” Michael asked, feigning confusion. “We had our arms ‘round each other and yer lips were against mine. How’s that not a kiss?”

You laughed. “More like we have my dog’s leash around each other. And a kiss is more than just your lips touching mine.

“It does?”

He was fishing. You knew it. He knew it. But you indulged him anyway, leaning over and pressing your lips to his cheek. His beard was a little prickly but you didn’t mind. It was worth the shy smile that Michael gave you in return. Little gestures of affection had that effect on him.

“So lips pressed against the cheek are kisses,” he mused aloud, pretending to be thoughtful. “What about this?”

He leaned down and pressed a kiss on your forehead. You giggled. “Yes, that one qualifies.”

“And what about this one?” Michael cupped your face in his hands, then pressed his lips against yours. It started off as chaste as the first two but it didn’t take long for the kiss to turn passionate. You barely even noticed dropping your umbrella or the rain pouring down on your heads. It was only Red yanking on her leash that forced your mouths apart.

The critters that captured her interest this time were some frogs hopping across the path. You shake your head at your silly dog, leaning down to pick up your umbrella. Not that it would really make much of a difference as both of you were wet already. For reasons you couldn’t explain, this got you giggling.

Your laughter was apparently contagious as Michael’s chuckles soon joined in as he drew you against his side. Something you welcomed as Michael was not only very cuddly but also very warm. Even soaked by the rain, he was still so warm . . .

“Yer shivering,” he said. “My place is closer, let’s get ya warmed up.”

“That’ll be grand,” you said.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Cheesy Hash (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

Author’s Note: So this is probably not great and I apologize in advance. I've only watched the pilot episode of Kin because it's the only one that's been available where I am without having to buy another streaming service our buy by the episode, but I'm obsessed with the gifs and clips I've seen and the fics I've read I just had to write this idea when I had it. It's definitely a fluffier and lighter fic for him, but, he deserves it! Enjoy! :)

Summary: Things are new and exciting with Michael, but at the same time, they feel established and comforting, and nothing is more established and comforting than waking up with Michael on a Saturday and him making you breakfast.

Warnings: Fluff (kissing and tooth-rotting sweetness), angst (Michael's trauma and family baggage), implied smut, a sprinkle of swears

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 990

The pins and needles that begin to prick at your hand is the thing to stir you from your sleep. The gentle trace of warm, calloused fingertips running up and down your arm help pull you from your sleep entirely as you slowly open your eyes to the bright light starting to stream in through the blinds. 

“I didn’t mean ta wake ya, love,” Michael rasps softly, trying to preserve the quiet of the peaceful early morning—something you know he doesn’t get to enjoy often, if at all. 

“Y’didn’t,” you hum as you open your eyes and look up at him and his gorgeous honey hazel orbs sparkling down at you. “Hand fell asleep.”

“Ah,” he tuts with a soft smile before he leans down to press a kiss into your neck, slowly dragging his lips to your shoulder and collarbone before slotting his lips over yours. You hum into his lips, chuckling softly as his beard tickles at your face. 

“Good morning, (Y/N),” he murmurs against your lips. 

“Good morning, Michael.”

He softly runs his hand up and down your arm in adoration. “What d’ya want fer breakfast, pet?”

“Mm, I get breakfast, too?”

He smirks and pulls you closer to him in bed. “Course ya do. I have no intention of lettin’ ya leave all weekend.”

“Ooh, scandalous, Mikey.“

Michael smiles and kisses you once more. “What d’ya have a hankering fer, princess?”

“Surprise me.”

“Alright. But you stay here. It’s a surprise, after all.”

“‘Kay,” you grin. Michael leans forward for one final kiss, twisting you back into the mattress and kissing you deeply, making you giggle into the embrace. 

“Stay,” he murmurs against your mouth before pressing a final kiss into your lips before he rolls away. You get a very lovely view of his butt as he looks for his discarded boxers on the floor, shimmying them on just enough for them to stay on his hips. “Roll yer tongue back in’ta yer mouth,” he chuckles. 

“Sorry, Mikey,” you hum. “Just enjoying one of the lovely views of Ireland.”

He just chuckles some more and shakes his head as he walks out of the bathroom. “Yer a menace.”

You watch him leave, wondering how the stars aligned where you could be with this amazing man, so kind and gentle despite all the hardships, the heartaches he’s gone through  and demons he battles night and day. The way that he never tries to burden you with the darkness that weighs on him over and over, the way that when he finally cracks and breaks down, how he weeps when it all becomes too much, how he can turn into a towering, dominant figure when he needs to work through frustrations with intense passion. . .

You’re pulled from your thoughts when you hear a clatter from the kitchen. 

“Mikey?” you call. “You alright?” You don’t hear him respond, and he sounds like he’s fine in the kitchen, but you can’t help your mind from wandering. “Michael?”

You know he told you to wait, but you can’t help yourself. With a sigh—and against your better judgment, knowing you should stick to what he requested— you slide out from under the covers and find Michael’s discarded sweater on the ground. Sliding it on, you’re immediately wrapped in Michael’s smell, as if he's wrapping you in his signature warm, tender hug. Slowly shuffling down the stairs, you turn into the kitchen and find Michael happily working at the stove, shuffling something in his pan before flipping it with a flick of his wrist.

Mm, so sexy.

With a smile, you shuffle over to him, not so quiet where you scare him, but not as loud as an elephant shuffling about. You can tell by how Michael stands at the stove that he hears you, slightly adjusting his posture, readily accepting your arms that slink around his waist.

"What're you doin', pet?" Michael says in amused surprise as he looks over his shoulder while you rest your cheek on his bare back. "I told ya to stay in bed."

"I missed you. And you took all the warmth with you,” you hum. “Whatcha cookin’?”

“Don’t laugh, okay?” he says with a chuckle of his own. “I really don’t have much and need to run to the market. But I had some eggs, cilantro, Parmesan, and potatoes. ‘M goin’ for a cheesy hash and eggs sort of somethin'.”

“Sounds delicious.” You press a kiss right between his shoulder blades. “Reminds me—I need to go grocery shopping, too. We can make a little date of it.”

“I like that idea.”

“Maybe I can convince you to get a beer that isn’t so shitty.”

“Yer an American—you don’t know anything about good beer,” he laughs, turning around from the pan with the cooking shredded potatoes to kiss you and sit you down on the island. “Now sit and behave.”

“And if I don’t?”

“Well, yer eggs and hash will burn, and we won’t do the fun little activity I had in mind after we eat.”

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really meant all weekend.”

“‘Course I did. ‘M a man of m’word.” Turning around, he has two plates of fried cheesy hash brown circles with two sunny side up eggs on top, extending one of them toward you. “Fer you.”

“Mm, why thank you,” you say with a big smile as you take the plate. “This looks delicious. It smells delicious.”

“T'ank ya,” he says with a kiss, twisting around to get you a fork. You each cut off a bite with your forks, clinking them together before you take your bites. “Damn, I’m a fuckin’ good cook.”

You giggle as you pull him as close to you and the kitchen island that you can, leaning forward to kiss his shoulder. “Yes you are. Good at a few other things, too.”

“And ya say I only have one t'ing on my mind.”

Permanent Taglist: @majesticavenger​ @steampowerednightvaler​ @themusingsofmany @just-the-hiddles​ @toozmanykids​ @dangertoozmanykids101 @clints-worldavengers @theburningbookshop​ @itwasthereaminuteago​ @peter1ismybrother@hellskitchens-whore​​ @dpaccione​ @catnip987​

[bellaxgiornata]

Whatever You Want

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: You've been having a difficult year adjusting to your life in Dublin, struggling with a few things that you've kept hidden from Michael so as not to burden him further. Though when he comes home unexpectedly early from a family meeting, you realize he's been reading you better than you'd thought.

Warnings/Tags: light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff, soft Michael

a/n: Just a short little comfort fic to wrap up my Comfort Fic Week! Always love me a soft Mikey. Feedback is always appreciated!

Grabbing one of Michael’s shirts from the laundry basket on the bed next to you, you proceeded to fold it, your eyes staring absently out of the bedroom window beside the bed. The sky was overcast today, gray clouds hanging low despite the fact that it wasn’t supposed to rain this morning. Somehow it seemed like the weather was reflecting your mood–or maybe amplifying it. 

Hands moving of their own accord, you neatly stacked the now folded shirt on top of the pile of Michael’s other shirts before reaching into the laundry basket and removing another one to fold. Your hands continued to move mechanically as you worked, folding clothing item after clothing item as you removed each one from the basket. 

Inevitably your mind began to wander.

Michael had already been gone by the time you'd awoken this morning. He had yet another family meeting to attend early today despite the fact that it was now Sunday. He'd been busy this entire past week taking care of a 'problem' with the family's supplier before spending the rest of the week cleaning up some issues on the business end of things. You’d barely seen him for days now, which wasn’t the usual between the two of you. And although he’d been excited to see you the handful of times you’d both run into each other at home this week, you had been distant. 

Admittedly you’d been struggling for this entire past year that you’d officially been living in Dublin. Struggling under the weight of your own family issues that you often kept from Michael–because he already had enough problems to deal with when it came to his family. You’d also been struggling under the pressures of things at work, forced into playing the mediator between the two owners of your company who fought with each other like actual children on a near daily basis. It had been wearing on you for months now, but you yet again never revealed any of this to Michael. He was busy enough as it was, and even though he was nothing but loving and attentive to you when he was home, you knew he had enough on his mind to worry about. So you always greeted him with a smile when you two were together, choosing to shove everything down, down, down until you couldn’t feel it for a bit.

But truthfully? You felt like you were drowning. You missed your family now that you were living abroad in Ireland so you could be with Michael; a feat accomplished with the help of his family–the one good thing they had managed to accomplish for you both when they had fast tracked your visa. But all the health complications back home had you missing your family even more. And you had quickly begun to hate your job with a passion ever since the owners had begun to bicker and fight, leaving you to solve the company's problems. And the office work you were doing wasn't even remotely your dream job, but you knew it wasn't realistic for you to quit just to pursue a dream.

The sound of the front door opening and closing downstairs met your ears, causing your hands to momentarily pause their movements, the shirt partially folded in between them. You could hear the sound of Michael downstairs, opening the closet door and putting away his jacket and shoes. Brows furrowing together, you wondered why he was home so soon.

“Where ya at, love?”

Michael’s voice rang out through the house, the sound of it drowning out the noise in your head–for now. Stacking another shirt of his onto the pile, you turned over your shoulder and called back to him.

“Upstairs, Mikey. Just doing the laundry.”

You grabbed another pair of jeans from the basket, hearing the heavy and tired footfalls of Michael as he made his way up the stairs. As you sorted the pair of pants in your hands with the others, leaning across the bed to reach the pile, you heard Michael making his way across the bedroom before you felt him come up behind you. His arms were soon wrapping around your waist, his nose brushing back and forth against the side of your neck as he let out a pleased hum. 

“Missed ya, pet,” he murmured.

Straightening back up, your hands landed on his forearms, giving them a gentle squeeze before you unwrapped them from around you. You felt the way Michael stiffened against the back of you, his face soon drawing away from your neck. Glancing over your shoulder at him, you sent him a brief, tense smile. He took a step back, his eyes narrowing as he studied you.

“Wasn’t expecting to see you back this morning,” you said, turning back towards the bed and reaching a hand into the basket, pulling out another piece of clothing to fold. “The meeting go alright?”

“Yeah, it was grand,” Michael answered distractedly. “Ya alright, love?”

“Mhmm,” you hummed out. “Just trying to catch up on laundry. Figured you’d be gone most of the day. Knew you were low on fresh clothes with how busy you’ve been this week. Thought I’d take care of it for you today.”

“Pet, ya know I could’ve done the laundry myself later today,” he told you.

You neatly stacked yet another one of his shirts onto the pile beside you, nodding as you reached your hand into the basket. You drew out the last piece of clothing, about to fold it, but Michael pulled the pair of pants from your hands. 

“Hey, stop,” he said softly, catching your eye. “Is somethin’ wrong? Ya haven’t been acting like yourself all week.”

You bit back the urge to point out that he hadn’t actually seen you much this past week. Instead, you sent him another tense smile.

“I’m fine, Mikey,” you said, gesturing to the pants in his hands. “Now can I finish the laundry? I’ve got other things to take care of today.”

Michael drew the pants out of your reach, his dark brows knitting together. His lips thinned along his face as concern washed over his features.

“What other things have ya got to take care of?” he asked.

You sighed in irritation, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance with how he was slowing down your list of chores and errands for the day. Michael certainly helped out with many things around the house, but usually when the Kinsellas came to him to solve a plethora of problems for them, you were left to pick up the slack. Which is exactly what had happened this week on top of everything else you’d been silently dealing with.

“The house needs to be cleaned, Mikey,” you pointed out. “And the kitchen is an absolute disaster. I haven’t even managed to finish working my way through all of the dishes from the other night when Jimmy and Viking decided to eat every last damned thing in the house. Which also means I need to pick up groceries from the market still, and I haven’t even had a chance to sit down to make the list. Not to mention, I still have another two loads of laundry to take care of, so can you please just let me finish?”

A frown pulled the corners of Michael’s lips down, his hazel eyes softening as they held yours. A second later he expelled a rough breath, his shoulders dropping at the movement. When he tossed the unfolded pair of pants onto the bed, your eyes widened in shock. Your mouth opened, ready to chastise him for being so uncharacteristically callous, but he’d so tenderly grabbed your hands and drew you towards himself that the gesture quickly left you stunned and speechless. All you could do was stare in confusion at him as he drew you into himself.

“Forget ‘bout all o' that today,” he told you. “I’ll handle it tomorrow. All of it, I promise.”

“But don’t you have things you need to do?” you asked.

Michael wrapped his arms around your shoulders, one of his hands gently guiding your head to rest against his chest. Reluctantly you allowed it, though you were tense in his embrace, your body unable to relax. You really needed to get these things done because you didn’t feel like grabbing groceries at the market after work tomorrow. 

“I’ll take the day off,” he replied. “Handle everythin’ at home. Even have dinner ready for us when ya finish work. Yeah?”

“Mikey, don’t promise me something that you can’t follow through on,” you warned him. “I know how your family is. I know they’re going to–”

“Hey, shh,” he hushed you, one of his hands soothingly running up and down your back. “I’ll tell ‘em no. Not to bother me tomorrow. Doesn’t matter what they say. Ya deserve some help ‘round here. Been takin’ care of everythin’ this past week–everythin’ this past year, really. And I wanna show ya that I appreciate it, love.”

“It’s not a big deal, I can handle it,” you told him, the lie almost automatic.

You felt him shift above you, resting his cheek against the top of your head. His hand continued to soothingly run the length of your back over and over, the calming feel of it slowly easing the tension in your muscles. 

“I can tell ya have been stressed, pet,” Michael murmured. “Can see it on your face. Somethin’s been goin’ on with ya. It has me worried.”

Nervously your tongue slipped out, wetting your lips. You couldn’t believe he’d picked up on anything being off with you. You thought you’d been hiding everything from him so well. And you certainly didn’t need him worrying about you, too.

“I’m fine,” you whispered.

“Don’t lie to me,” Michael said, voice firm but not angry. “I know ya too well, love. I know ya aren’t alright.”

Turning your head, you buried your face into Michael’s chest, breathing in the scent of him. He smelled faintly like his leather jacket and gasoline, probably from riding his motorcycle this morning to the family meeting. Just beneath the scent of both of those you could smell the bit of his soap that always seemed to linger on his skin. It was something with sandalwood–you knew that because the nights he’d be out working a job and not coming home to you, you’d purposely shower with his soap. Just to feel like he was still there in bed with you. You couldn’t fall asleep otherwise. 

“Tell ya what,” Michael said, breaking the silence that had fallen. “How ‘bout I take ya for coffee this mornin’? Your favorite shop. Then we can visit that little bookstore ya love so much. The one just on the corner? I’ll buy ya whatever ya want.”

A small smile slipped onto your lips and you reluctantly withdrew your face from where it had been buried against Michael’s chest, his own head withdrawing itself from the top of yours. Looking up at him, he was smiling warmly down at you, his eyes full of affection and love.

“Yeah?” you asked him softly.

“Buy ya the whole damn store if ya want,” he said, tone light and teasing as he grinned back at you. “And ya know I would, love. ‘S’not like I don’t have the money.”

“Okay,” you answered slowly, your attention shifting back to the laundry on the bed. “As long as you really will have time to take care of everything tomorrow though. Because I have to–”

Michael’s hand gently cupping your cheek and turning your face back towards him quickly quieted you. That warm smile was back on his face, the brightness of it reaching his eyes.

“Go get ready,” he ordered. “I’ll finish the rest of this. And the other stuff I’ll do tomorrow. Promise. Forget ‘bout it already, yeah? Just go take a few minutes for yourself.” His smile briefly faltered as he nervously added, “Then maybe afterwards ya can tell me ‘bout what’s been goin’ on? Ya keep lockin’ me out, pet, and I really wish ya would let me in. I want to help.”

“You just–just always have so much going on, Mikey,” you told him softly. “You don’t need my shit, too.”

“Hey,” he said firmly, his eyes narrowing as he lowered his face towards yours. “It isn’t shit, ya hear me? Ya matter to me. More than ya know. Don’t brush yourself off when it comes to me, love, alright? Talk to me. I’m beggin’ ya.”

Chewing the inside of your cheek, you slowly nodded. “Okay,” you agreed. “Later, I will.”

“Good,” he replied, gesturing his head towards the bathroom as a smile curved his lips upwards. “Now get your adorable arse ready. ‘Cause I wanna spoil my girl today. I’ll take care of the rest o’ the laundry.”

Feeling giddy at the prospect of having a day to spend where it was just you and Michael, grabbing coffee and buying books, you spun on your heel without further encouragement, hurrying your way to the bathroom to get ready.

°•°•°•°•°•°

You hummed out a curious noise, skimming over the summary on the back of the book in your hands for the second time. Behind you, you heard Michael huff out an amused, light laugh. The sound caught your attention and you looked up from the back cover, eyeing Michael’s smiling face curiously from his place beside you. He held up the small stack of books in his hands, gesturing his head towards the one you were still holding.

“Add it to the pile, love,” he urged. “Ya know ya want to. I can see it on your face with the way you’re lookin’ at it.”

Rolling your eyes you held out the book, a grin on your lips as you added it onto the stack Michael was holding. He shot you a flirtatious wink that only had you grinning wider, but when your eyes landed on the clock on the wall behind him, the grin faded. Surprise washed over you instead, a pang of guilt hitting you instantly.

“Why didn’t you tell me we’d been here for over two hours already?” you exclaimed, wide eyes landing back on Michael. “I’m so sorry, Mikey. I didn’t mean to be here so long!”

Michael only laughed, shaking his head back at you. “Pet, I told ya this mornin’ like I told ya over coffee before we came here–take as much time here as ya want. Buy whatever ya want. I’ve seen how much ya have been workin’ your arse off at that office this year. I know ya haven’t been goin’ shoppin’ or out to dinners with your friends as much lately.” Something like guilt spread across his face as he continued. “And I–I know I haven’t been ‘round as much the past few months, what with everythin’ goin’ on with the family. But I wanna change that. Startin’ today. Besides,” he said, suddenly looking a little shy, “I could honestly spend my day watchin’ the way ya wander ‘round in a bookstore. The way your face lights up when ya find a book–" he paused, that shy smile still on his mouth directed at you, "–the only other time ya look like that is when you’re lookin’ at me," he finished softly. 

“Because you make me happy,” you told him, the grin returning to your lips.

“I know,” he replied with a nod.

“And coffee also makes me happy,” you added before gesturing a hand at the shelf beside you. “So do books. Best way to relieve stress is with a good book and some coffee.”

Michael chuckled, nodding his head even more as his own smile widened. "Exactly why I suggested gettin' coffee before buyin' books, love." 

The corner of his lips twitched before his expression changed to something serious, his lips thinning as he shifted his weight back and forth on his feet, looking like he wanted to say something else. You hadn’t missed the shift in his mood as you curiously eyed him in return, wondering what was now suddenly on his mind.

"How has work been?" he asked carefully. "Ya seem stressed more than usual lately. Been worried 'bout ya."

Expelling a sigh at the topic change, you turned and made your way out of the aisle of books you both were in, searching for another one in particular as you mulled over his question. Michael followed closely behind you, still carrying the stack of your books in his arms as he walked.

"It's been difficult this year," you admitted slowly, eyes scanning the aisles as you looked at the different genre signs hanging above them. "I can't stand it lately, if I'm being honest," you finally confessed. "My bosses literally bicker in every meeting I have with them and I'm always trapped playing their mediator, always left cleaning up the company problems they don’t even deal with." Hands curling into fists at your sides, you could feel your irritation returning at the thought of work tomorrow. "They don't even talk about work most of the time anymore, either. I swear, they're going to run their business into the ground if they keep it up."

"Then quit."

You abruptly stopped in front of the aisle you'd been looking for at his blunt suggestion.  Turning swiftly on your heel, you looked back at Michael in confusion and shock. 

" Quit ?" you asked him in disbelief. 

He shrugged easily. "Yeah," he answered. "Quit. You've always hated it there and now it's upsettin' ya. So quit. 'S'not like ya need the money. Ya know I'll take care of ya."

"Mikey," you said, pulling a face, "I'm not going to just sit at home and be some–" you waved a hand through the air, "–trophy wife. Or–or girlfriend or whatever," you awkwardly added when Michael’s smile grew at your word choice. "I like feeling productive."

"Your choice, love, but I happen to think ya would make a fine trophy wife," he playfully teased, shooting you another wink. "But ya know I've got ya. So quit. Find somethin' ya like. Because I know that's not what you're passionate 'bout."

With a huff you turned, focusing back on the aisle before you. You stepped into it, eyeing the books on the shelves as you looked for one in particular. 

"Say it like it's that easy," you muttered, eyes scanning the various titles.

"It is," Michael pressed. "Give 'em your notice tomorrow. Quit. Do what you're passionate about. Because I know you've been dying to do photography instead. And you're damn good at it, love. And I know ya been dyin' to work for yourself.”

Chewing your lip, you let his suggestion settle in your mind. He was right, you did want to do photography. You'd been talking about it since you'd first met him. And you had been dying to work for yourself, especially with how your bosses had been this past year. It would be nice to do something you were actually passionate about, and you did know that Michael would take care of you while you started up the business–he'd already told you he wanted to marry you. He certainly wasn’t planning to go anywhere.

You hummed out a noise, your hand reaching out and pulling the book you'd been looking for off of the shelf. "Alright," you told him, turning around and placing the book on the stack in his hands. "I'll quit tomorrow," you told him. "You're right, photography is my passion. And if you're going to push me–"

"I absolutely insist ya do, love," he cut you off.

"Alright," you repeated, nodding your head. "I'll do it."

Michael's smile grew even wider, the warmth of it reaching his eyes as they fondly gazed back at you. You couldn’t fight the smile on your own face knowing that you’d never get over how lucky you were to have met him–or how handsome he looked when he smiled at you like that. 

Eventually Michael's eyes curiously glanced down to the book you'd so quickly placed onto the pile he was carrying. A look of confusion crossed his face, brows drawing together as he looked back up at you.

"One Hundred Years of Solitude?" he asked.

"Yeah," you said, your smile turning cheeky as you made your way out of the aisle and over towards the register. "It's for you. About time you read something that wasn't a Steinbeck, babe."

[saintmurd0ck]

in flagrante delicto

frank masterlist | michael masterlist | part two (ish)

pairing: frank castle x f!reader x michael kinsella

summary: maybe it was the wrong idea to sneak away during a kinsella party, especially when michael's there to catch you in the act.

warnings: minor drug use, mentions of alcohol, threesome, dp, unprotected sex, m and f receiving oral, ass eating/ass play, amanda kinsella slander, cum... the list goes on

a/n: now let me tell you. this is an unholy abomination. enjoy the culmination of 4 months of writers block pretty much 💗

song recommendation: bad drugs (king kavalier)

The party is a distant blur in the courtyard below, fogged with your heavy breaths against the cool glass. “We shouldn’t be doing this here, Frank.”

His laugh mimics a deep, rolling purr as he presses you harder against the window, digging his fingers into your waist. The glow of the fairy lights dance across his face, faintly illuminating the handprints now marking the glass. You try not to wince at the evidence you’ve left, but Frank’s teeth on your neck clears every single worry running through your mind.

Some marker of relief glitters in your veins as you hear shouting, then as a crowd gathers around a shit-faced Eric, knocking back shot after shot with no care for the world. Frank’s clearly been distracting you far too long — to the point where you’ve forgotten where you are. At a Kinsella party. 

You can guarantee what you’re doing isn’t the worst thing happening in this house. 

Frank’s eyelashes flutter against your cheek as his lips ghost your skin, mouth finding yours as he pivots you around. He murmurs your name as you palm him through his jeans, savouring every thick inch of him with your lazy strokes. His fingers latch onto the button of your jeans, moving deftly to undo them, and then to wedge his hand between your legs. He feels for the soft lace edges of your underwear, tracking the wetness pooling between your legs. The outside world fades away as his finger slips over your aching clit, his low chuckle ringing in your ears as you arch into his touch. 

Your sharp intake of breath echoes throughout the hallway at the quiet drawl that sounds.

“So tha’s where you’ve been all night.”

Fuck. You’re screwed.

You cast a subtle glance past Frank’s shoulder, surveying the man leaning against the adjacent doorway, clumsily fixing the mess that’s become of your clothes. Michael looks the two of you up and down, tongue clicking as he strides towards you. He opens his mouth to say something, but he stills instead, eyebrows arching as he folds his arms across his chest. 

He’s the perfect portrait of a prom chaperone… waiting to catch someone in the act.

Heat blooms in your face as Michael inclines his head, mouth upturning into a knowing smile. “Well? D’ya have anythin’ to say?”

Words have long since failed you, so you try something else. A gentle nudge to Frank’s ribs has him clawing your elbow away, but your idea pays off.

He clears his throat. “Party was too loud.”

Michael nods, tapping his foot impatiently on the hardwood floor. “I see.” He pauses, jerking his chin towards Frank. “Jimmy’s lookin’ for ‘ya.”

You study his face for a moment, eyes narrowing at his tone, at his clipped words. There’s an edge to him tonight, and if the past has taught you anything at all, now’s the time to be careful.

Frank bristles at Michael’s attempt to separate the two of you. “If you’re jealous, you could’ve said so.”

There it is.

Michael runs his tongue over his teeth, a clear marker of his irritation. And the fact that Frank is well and truly right. “‘M not jealous, Frank.”

“Then what are you doin’, spying on us, huh?” There’s a challenge in his voice, and it thrums in your blood. “Think I didn’t notice ‘ya creepin’ behind, thinking you’re all stealthy and shit? You’ve been out of the game too long.”

“Besides,” Frank continues, clocking in the way Michael’s eyes dart upwards, “I never said I wouldn’t share.”

Michael scoffs. “You must be jokin’.”

Frank clamps his hands on your shoulders, pulling them backwards so you stand up straighter. He grunts as your top rides up, as Michael stares at the now-exposed sliver of your midriff. You barely have time to register as Frank’s lips brush past your ear, mumbling a quick ‘this okay, sweetheart?’, and then as he waits for your approval. To put on a show, most likely.

“Yes, Frankie,” you murmur, tipping your head back to feel his stubble scratching against your cheek. To bare your neck, so Michael can see exactly where you want his mouth. To begin with.

“You think I’m joking, Mikey?” Frank says, voice dipping low, hands running up your sides to cup your breasts. It seems as if Michael’s frozen in place as Frank squeezes them, fingers dipping beneath the cup of your bra to thumb your nipples. You open your mouth to moan at the friction of the fabric rubbing against your breasts. 

As usual, Michael’s a man of few words, either stony-faced or completely neutral. Not tonight, though. Tonight, all his tells lay open across his face.

“C’mere,” you breathe, watching his chest rise unevenly, noticing the breaths that start to catch in his throat.

You feel yourself falling apart as Frank nips your pulse, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat. He slides his hands under your shirt, hissing at the sensation of your silken skin on his calluses, at your raging warmth underneath his palms. 

It’s becoming increasingly difficult, but your focus remains on Michael. Any second now. 

He presses his lips together, throwing a glance behind his shoulder, checking to make sure no-one’s about to interrupt. 

“Fuck,” he says, and walks right over to you. 

. . .

As every semblance of self-control melts away, you feel yourself sinking into the feeling of two pairs of lips on your body, of the undiluted want radiating from the three of you.

It surprises you — how gentle Michael’s kisses are. How he asks for permission before slipping his tongue into your mouth, by running it across your bottom lip. You let him in with a groan, though you know part of that noise comes from the man kneeling at your back, tugging your jeans down your legs. Frank kisses your hip as he shimmies the fabric down your thighs, stopping for a second only to capture the waistband of your panties in his teeth. He pulls it away before letting it go, satisfied only when he hears the snap of the elastic against your skin. 

Your breathing goes shaky as Michael becomes more insistent, moving to cup your face while Frank drags his fingertips up your inner thighs. It’s as if they can’t drink you up fast enough, as if this is a fever dream about to vanish. A whimper tumbles from your mouth as Michael brushes his thumb over your cheek, stepping closer to slot himself between your legs. He shifts into you, grinding exactly where you need him, grunting at the newfound contact. 

Where Frank is rough, Michael’s soft instead. Yielding. Not what you expect at all, coming from a man with his… reputation, but you can guarantee one thing: none of this makes him any less fearsome. Not as he beholds you, desire deepening in his eyes, settling over his features. Lips hovering over your neck, just above the spot he marked earlier, Michael slips your top off, exhaling at the goosebumps now prickling your skin. Frank trails his kisses down your ass, kneading the flesh in his hands, spreading you apart. It’s scandalous, doing this by the window, knowing full well about the party raging on just below.

And with Amanda in such close proximity. You almost huff at the thought of her walking up the stairs and discovering this.

Frank’s low grumble of approval breaks your concentration. “Let’s get her naked.”

Michael hums in agreement, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as the straps come off your shoulders. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, shaking his head in almost disbelief. “Struck gold, didn’t ‘ya, Frank?”

“Sure did,” Frank chuckles, knuckles grazing your clit, making you yelp in the process. He moves out of the way as Michael grips your waist, guiding you backwards until the cold glass bites your skin. It’s nothing to you; not with the pounding in your heart and the heat in your blood with the thought of what’s to come. As he slots his forearm between your waist and the glass, Michael’s tongue snakes out of his mouth to wet his lips. 

You loosen a breath, not being aware of how long you’ve held it, and look him in the eyes. He swallows, dipping his hand between your legs, dragging his finger up your centre before it stops on your clit. 

“Oh,” you groan, bucking your hips, desperate for more. You have half a mind to reach for his hand, to guide him until you find your release, but it seems he has something else on his mind.

“Stay right there, pet. Can you do that f’me?”

You nod, eyes glassy, watching him stalk to the bedroom across the hall. He jerks his head at Frank, who flashes Michael a cheeky grin before turning to you. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, darlin’. M’gonna make you cum, alright? But you gotta stay quiet. Deal?”

You’re a panting, wet mess, but you manage a small ‘yes’. You gaze down at Frank, watching him take his place between your legs, then as his mouth makes its way up your thighs. The throbbing in your core is insistent now, begging, pleading, to be taken care of. 

His eyes widen as you spread your legs for him. “Good girl,” he breathes, tongue darting out to flick your clit.

It’s an effort not to scream his name out loud, not when his tongue feels like that. You clamp a hand over your mouth, the other scrambling for purchase in his hair. He licks your clit in tight, little circles, paying close attention to the spot that makes you tremble the hardest, that threatens to make your voice break if you deign to open your mouth. He switches his rhythm, going back and forth, experimenting with touch and pressure until you– 

Your voice is hoarse as you say his name. “Frank. Frank, I’m gonna–”

He pulls away from your clit, slipping into the deepest parts of you, letting your taste coat his tongue. He groans in delight, mumbling something that sounds like ‘youtastesofuckinggood’ but you’re too in your own head to decipher the tangle of noise – no, you’re thrashing against the window, eyes squeezed shut, fingers curling in the hair close to his nape.

“Please, please, please,” you start to beg, muscles going tight, savouring the feeling of his mouth on your pussy. You start to ride his tongue, and he lets you. He lets you take control, to position him where you want him. The cord tethering you to reality snaps, taking your body with it. Your orgasm is almost blinding as it hits, cresting over your body until your shoulders slump against the window.

“Fuckin’ hell, pet,” Michael hisses, palming himself through his jeans, standing just in front of you. You don’t know when he got back—in fact, nothing is comprehensible at the moment—but you reach out to him, nevermind the thin layer of sweat now coating your skin.

Frank gets up off his knees to wipe his mouth as Michael fishes something out of his back pocket. It’s a little baggie, filled to the brim with what you and Frank affectionately label, ‘The Kinsella Special’. 

“Wan’ some?” Michael asks the both of you, tipping a little onto the back of his hand. Frank shakes his head, going to help you upright instead. You politely decline, considering how much you’d had earlier in the kitchen with Eric and Jimmy. The white powder coats Michael’s nostril as he snorts it, doubling back as it hits his system. 

“Too much of that shit’ll kill ‘ya,” Frank comments, cracking a smile.

Michael scoffs as he puts the baggie away, placing his hand on the small of your back. “Let’s go,” he says, head inclining towards the bedroom. You lick your lips, eyes glittering with delight as you let him guide you.

Frank merely follows suit, smacking your ass on the way there.

. . .

The door slams shut, a little too loud for your liking, but the feeling of Michael’s lips crashing on yours overrides any semblance of apprehension lurking in your brain. He sweeps a hand into your hair, coiling the strands around his fingers. Your breathing is shallow as his mouth grazes the skin of your jaw, while his other hand cups your face.

Frank’s pullover is nowhere to be seen as he tugs you away from Michael, sweeping you towards him until your bodies are touching, the delicious warmth of his skin spreading to yours. You flatten a palm against his chest, feeling the hardened muscle underneath as he grazes his mouth against yours, hungry for all you could possibly give. You’re utterly breathless— mesmerised by him, by the both of them, and their sole priority: you. 

You let out a low moan as Michael’s hands reach around to grab your breasts, rolling your nipples in his fingers. He leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, moving upwards to gently nip the shell of your ear. Your face grows taut as Frank moans your name, eyes fluttering shut at the sound of it coming from his mouth.

The word catches in your throat even as you don a purr. “Sensitive?”

Frank growls his agreement as his abs contract underneath your fingertips. He inches further forwards until there’s no space between the two of you at all, and then he takes your hand, not breaking contact once, guiding it down, down, down. 

He grunts as you stroke him through his jeans, moving your hand over the swell of his cock. You reach behind you to palm Michael at the same time, running the juncture of your thumb over his length, and for a moment, there’s no other sound except for your shared breaths, and the low grunts that slip from both men. The wetness pooling in your core – and the urge to do something about it – sends heat up your spine, wending its way into every last nerve ending.

Your mouth goes dry as Michael steps away to pull his shirt off, revealing a torso rippling with muscle, and several adorning tattoos. 

“Hey,” Frank chastises, sensing the shift in your attention, “eyes up here.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, swallowing deeply as you rake your eyes over their bodies. “You’ll forgive me if I’m being vain.”

Michael averts his gaze, but he makes little effort to hide his grin. “Lighten up, Frank.”

The atmosphere instantly goes tense, silence weaving its way into every dark corner of the bedroom. Michael stiffens as Frank glares at him, boring past his softened exterior and into the Kinsella core inside. To the man you’d be scared to cross paths with, being the Punisher or not.  

But Frank sputters instead, shaking his head as he cracks a mischievous smile. There’s a lightness to his face, in his now-relaxed shoulders, and it makes you soar. 

“Now,” Frank drawls, “where were we?”

You only have a moment to nudge Frank in the ribs before Michael latches himself to you, his mouth like heaven on your tits. The three of you are a wildfire, desperate to get each other’s clothes off, barely pausing to breathe. Michael sits on the edge of the bed, fingers shaking as he fumbles for his belt. You knock his hands aside, groaning as he drags his tongue down your sternum, eyes dipping to the trail of hair leading below his waistband. 

“Want you to do the same,” you say, motioning to Frank as you unbuckle Michael’s belt. 

Frank nods silently, and your ears prick at the clinking of his buckle, then at the shuffle of fabric as he kicks his jeans away. You look towards him for a second, sizing up the bulge in his underwear. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you turn around to find Michael sitting before you, legs spread and his cock in hand. He pumps it with a loose fist, biting his lip as he runs his thumb over the head. The corners of his mouth upturn as he meets your gaze. 

‘Blow me?’ it says. 

Lucky you’re more than happy to oblige. 

You sink down to your knees, hinging forwards to brace his thighs. You kiss along the hard plane of his stomach, tracing the ridges of his abs with the tip of your tongue. His cock twitches as your mouth nears. 

“Fuck,” he grits, carding his fingers through your hair. Your eyes flicker with delight as you swirl your tongue over his sensitive head, as he bucks his hips into your mouth. 

Frank’s lips brush past your ear as you take Michael fully, the tip of his cock almost touching your throat. “Bend over for me, sweet girl?”

Frank takes his place behind you as he listens to your hum of approval, chuckling as Michael groans your name. You’re throbbing hard now, core pounding as Frank spreads you apart, lapping up your glistening arousal. You moan with your lips still wrapped around Michael’s cock, digging your fingernails into his thighs as Frank pushes his tongue inside you. 

“Remember what I said about being quiet?” Frank asks, swapping his tongue for two of his fingers. 

“Yes, Frank,” you exhale, contracting around his fingers as he strokes that spot inside you.

“Gonna let you off the hook for a bit. I think you’d agree with me, wouldn’t you Mikey?”

Colour stains Michael’s cheeks as he opens his mouth to reply, utterly blissed out from the way you’re working him with your hand and mouth. “Mmh— yeah—“

Your eyes roll back into your head as Frank replaces his fingers with his cock, nudging it against your entrance. You bite your lip, hand freezing around Michael, stunned in place at the burn of Frank stretching you out. He hisses a frantic ‘good girl’ as you envelop him, little by little. 

“Did I say you could stop?” Frank grunts, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp thrust. Shuddering, you shake your head and try to put your mouth back on Michael, but no coherent thoughts run through your head. Frank feels too good. 

“Suck him off or I’ll stop, princess.”

“Fuck,” you grit, wiping away the blooming tears in your eyes. “Fu—“

Michael guides himself into your open mouth, parting your lips with his head, gripping your chin as he looks down at you. “Look how pretty y’are, pet. Takin’ it so good.”

You nod furiously, a breathy moan loosening from your lips at the praise, and then as Frank slows his pace. Michael doesn’t seem to mind as you pull away from him, watching intently instead at the string of spit still connecting himself to you. His darkening gaze snaps to Frank’s at the sudden wet slap of his body against yours, nostrils flaring as you grip Michael’s thighs hard enough to bruise.

Your legs tremble as Frank withdraws himself to the tip, chuckling at your efforts to press up against him for more. You could groan at the emptiness inside you, at the feeling of your core going tight with impatience.

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he grunts, knotting your hair in his fist. He thrusts back into you, rolling his hips at a pace that almost has you screaming for more. He bends forwards, lips roving down the column of your spine, whispering his dirty sweet nothings until your thoughts are nothing more than a thunderous roar in your ears.

Michael lifts your chin with a sweep of his finger, running his tongue over the seam of your lips. You moan into his mouth, letting him in without hesitation. He laughs dryly at the guttural sound of Frank hitting that spot inside you, leaving you breathless as his tongue brushes against yours.

Your skin prickles with heat at the thought of having more, of being selfishly theirs. Only theirs. 

And with that thought, Frank pulls you over the edge, relishing in the way you tip your head back, eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure coursing through your blood.

Not letting you get even one moment of reprieve, Michael sits back on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh for you to sit. 

On him.

Your lips twitch into a sly smile. “You want me to…?”

His mouth curves upwards. “Tha’ too much to ask?”

You bite your lip as you get on your feet, hips swaying as you let him rake his gaze up and down. A flicker of amusement flashes across his face as he grips his cock at the base, spreading his legs to show you exactly what you’re missing with every passing second.

You lunge for him, pressing your back against his chest to straddle his thighs. You lower yourself on him, loosening a breath at the sudden fullness, at the way his cock fills you but still feels wholly different from Frank’s. 

“There ‘ya go,” he moans, hands finding your waist. He guides you up and down his length, cursing at how tight your pussy is, at how wet you are for him. Frank’s wicked smile only grows as he traces his fingers over the outline of your lips. You open up for him, nearly choking as he shoves them into your mouth. With one hand anchored to the bed, you lift the other to his cock, squeezing him as you jerk him off, just the way he likes.

“Hey Mikey,” Frank grunts, hips bucking into your hand, “you wanna know what I see right now?”

Michael lifts an eyebrow, thrusts starting to match the rhythm of your hips. “Yeah?”

“She gets that look in her eyes when she wants to be used.”

You whimper at the words, and Michael stills for a moment. “Oh?”

Frank smiles sweetly at you, nevermind that his fingers are almost touching the back of your throat. “That what you want, darlin’?”

“Mmmm.” That’s all you can muster, when you’re riding Michael like your life depends on it, with Frank throbbing in your hand.

“Say it.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please. I want you two to use—“

“Dirty girl,” Michael drawls, teeth closing in on the side of your neck, his tongue flicking out once to soothe the sting of his bite. He stutters into you, slamming your body down into his cock. His hands knead your breasts as he groans your name, frenzied at the feeling of your cum dripping down his balls.

Tilting your chin upwards, Frank sweeps in to kiss you, taking over your efforts in jerking him off. His breath fans over the skin of your jaw, tickling the shell of your ear. “If I knew you’d fuck her this good…” he says to Michael, dark eyes ravaging you to the bone.

“Yeah, and?” Michael pants.

“Woulda asked you to do this a long, long time ago.”

Your head lolls to the side as you cum around Michael’s cock, squeezing him so hard he curses.

“Fuckin’ hell, Frank,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “you’d better not be bullshittin’ me, yeah?”

Frank’s smirk glints in the dim light of the room. “Now why would I ever do that?”

Michael drums his fingers along your ass, prompting you to get up, to use every bit of strength left in your flailing limbs to stand. 

“We’re far from done, princess,” Frank drawls, helping you onto the bed. You’re half-tempted to tell him to heave you on it instead, when your legs feel like jelly and your skin sears with the imprints of their touch. 

With your back cushioned by the soft sheets, you stretch your body, arcing your spine off the bed. You’re more than aware of the way you’re being watched in this moment, of the way you’re ensnared like prey to two apex predators. 

“Attagirl,” Frank grunts, licking his lips at the writhing, squirmy display beneath him. His eyes snap to Michael’s. “Ain’t that right?”

“Spread ‘er apart, will ‘ya, Frank?” 

Frank’s lips press into a line at the quiet command in Michael’s voice, inclining his head in acknowledgement. He does as he’s told, knocking your thighs apart with his knee, leaning forwards to lick circles on your clit.

Wedging his hands under your shoulder blades, Michael pulls you to the edge of the bed, making sure your head tips over the side. He brushes a thumb over your lips and you part your mouth instinctively, lurching forwards for a taste, any taste of him.

Michael’s voice drops an octave, and you swear his Irish lilt becomes more pronounced. “Eager, aren’t ‘ya?”

No retort comes out of your mouth, not when Frank buries himself inside you. Not when Michael stuffs his cock in your mouth at the same time.

But the excitement is short-lived, because the sound of slamming doors and shouting from downstairs drags their attention away from you. The party—

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, Mikey?” Frank says, raising his eyebrows.

Michael looks to the ceiling as he runs his tongue over his teeth, lost in a moment of contemplation. “Yeah,” he starts, nodding, “yeah. Who cares? We’re busy.”

“If they hear somethin’ they don’t like, it’s their problem,” Frank agrees, looking to you. “You okay with that, angel?”

You raise your hips to fuck yourself against Frank’s cock, breathing your ‘yes’ into Michael’s thighs. He guides himself back into your mouth, hissing as he watches his length disappear past your lips, the angle deeper now with the position of your head. His hand flutters over the bulge in your throat, pace faltering as he listens to the sloppy, obscene noises you can’t help but make. They spur you on, almost as much as the sound of Frank’s low groans, and he lets you use him, grind on him, until you find your release yet again. 

“More,” you gasp, breaking away from Michael’s cock, lifting your ass to go deeper. “Please.”

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” Frank exhales, abs contracting at the sight of your need, your desperation. There’s no more challenge, no more taunting in his words. It’s just Frank, laid completely bare, wanting you to take.

Unable to hold himself back, Michael spills down your throat with a roar, the syllables of your name ripping from his throat. You unravel with him, your cry muffled around his cock, knowing it almost takes Frank with you.

The aftershock ebbs away slowly with Michael slumping over you, palms flattening at your sides as he withdraws himself from your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “sorry, pet. Didn’t mean to do tha’.”

Your eyes glisten with hunger as you lick your lips, throat bobbing as you swallow every last drop. “Anything for you, Michael.”

He grits his jaw at the promise in your tone. “On your front.”

He starts to harden at the wink you flash, at the sly ‘yes, sir’ you decide in a split-second to say. The sound of moving fabric rustles in your ears as you flip over, propping yourself up with your forearms. In a tiny moment of defiance, you arch your back, wiggling your ass in the air as if to say, ‘I haven’t got all night, boys.’ Frank counters with a smug smile, settling down near the headboard, resting his hands behind his head. He widens his legs, cock twitching with anticipation as he flexes his hips upwards. I haven’t got all night, either.

He makes a show out of touching himself, amused at the effect it has on you. You let out a long moan as Michael’s tongue laps at your pussy, but it’s cut short as his tongue travels further up, higher, until his mouth hovers…

“Mikey,” you breathe, hands fisting the sheets.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and the words melt against your skin, fringed with a gentleness you rarely get to hear.

“Of course,” you exhale, shivering at the warmth of him, so close to that part of you— “Fuck!” Your toes curl as he dives into you, feasting as though he’s been starved his whole life. He has you clawing at the sheets as he worships you, an infinite well of pleasure crackling through your body.

A muscle feathers in Frank’s jaw as he hands Michael a bottle of lube, one hand still gripping his cock, content with just watching for now. The cap pops open with a small click that reverberates in your skull, filling your mind with nothing more than embers about to spark.

Michael’s husky voice pulls you from the daydream, his finger starting to circle the outline of your asshole. “I’ll start slow, okay? You let me know if you need a break.” 

Your nose scrunches as the lube stings with the cold, but it warms quickly with Michael’s gentle touches. He eases a finger in, pausing at your sudden sharp inhale, but you nod for him to keep going. 

It doesn’t take long for him to slip the second finger in, then his third. He takes his time warming you up, always watching for signs of discomfort, but discovering instead that your moans are getting louder, that they’re turning into little pleas for his cock. 

“You gotta speak up, sweetheart,” Frank chuckles, gliding his fingers along your pulse. 

You angle your head around to Michael, who slaps his cock against your ass cheek, making a point of how quickly you managed to get him hard again. Your body tenses as he nudges the tip in, stretching you out inch-by-inch. It takes a second for you to adjust to his length, but then… then he begins to move. 

“You look so good gettin’ fucked out, sweetheart. You know that?” Frank groans, pumping himself harder. You dart forwards to lick his broad head, to lap up the precum beading there.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Michael puts his body weight on you with long, languid thrusts filling you as much as you can take. You shove your hand between your legs, fingers rubbing your swollen clit, desperate for friction. Every breath comes out shaky as he anchors himself — one hand on your shoulder, the other on the bed — and begins to snap his hips. He fucks you the way you deserve, and he knows it.  The knot building in the bottom of your stomach threatens to unravel with every movement, your impending release singing through every nerve. 

As if sensing it, Michael pulls out, leaving you empty. Unfulfilled. 

“Hey,” you grumble, shooting daggers at him. “I was so close.”

“Jus’ savin’ the best for last, darlin’,” Michael winks, Frank echoing the sentiment seconds later.

Coaxing you off your stomach, Frank hauls you over him, dragging a finger through your slick folds before lining himself up with your pussy. You fight the urge to scream as you sink onto him, toeing the line between pain and pleasure with the thickness of his cock. 

“God fucking damn,” you grit, flattening your palms against his chest, rolling your hips in large, smooth circles. He beckons Michael forward, grabbing your ass to spread you apart. Keeping his momentum going, Frank plants his hands on your hips to lock you in place, drilling into you at a pace that has you seeing stars. 

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock,” he groans, letting out a half-cry, slanting his lips over yours as he feels you squeeze around him. 

Your body barely reacts as Michael assumes a position behind you, waiting for your breathing to calm before guiding himself into you. 

“Oh God,” you whimper, “ohgodohgodohgod.”

Something catches fire inside of you as they start to move in tandem, and you’re full; you’re so full you can’t think. You can’t help the panting, your dragged out moans… it’s more than intense— a feeling you can’t link to anything else you’ve ever experienced. 

White fringes your vision as they sync their rhythms together, moving faster than before, leaning into each other— into you. Your fingernails dig into Frank’s shoulders as their voices start to blur together; their grunted praise and hushed degradation almost indistinguishable from the sound of your whimpers. 

Your head tips back as you clench on their cocks, and Frank surges upwards to capture your nipple in his mouth, nibbling on the pebbled flesh, if only to make you squeeze once again. His low groans and Michael’s soft curses distill in the room, suspended in the air around your bodies, as this becomes all you know. 

Words don’t exist— thoughts don’t exist in this moment in time; it’s just you, and Frank, and Michael. Just the three of you, caught in a whirlwind with no beginning or end. 

There is no end, even as they destroy you, even as they shatter within you, rendering every last drop they have to give. 

. . .

You crack an eye open at the covers lifting off your body, then as Michael pads across the room towards the door. He shuts it softly, but he stands close enough that it’s easy to hear the conversation.

Amanda’s hushed voice comes through. “What’d you get up to last night? Didn’t see ‘ya very much.”

Michael pauses. Too long. “Yeah– uh, Frank and I had somethin’ to do.” 

You choke.

Their words drown out as a sleepy Frank wraps his thick arm around your body, pulling you in tight, nuzzling against the crook of your neck. “Eavesdropping, sweetheart?”

You swat him away, to no avail, craning your head to hear the last of the conversation. “Shh.”

He growls, nipping at your shoulder, nudging your legs apart to slot in between. His voice, still gravelly from the effects of sleep, prickles your skin. “How about I get you all nice and warmed up for him by the time he gets back here, huh? Figured he’d need the distraction, after talking to her.”

There’s no masking the wetness pooling between your legs, or the heat licking up your spine. “Alright, Castle,” you smirk. “Do your worst.”

tags {x} @marvelswh0re @murdock-and-the-sea @pedrito-friskito @itwasthereaminuteago @mattmurdocksscars @e-dubbc11 @mindidjarin @phoebe-danvers @munsonownsmyass @briefcasejuice @simple-lovebot @stress--relief @castlesnchurches

[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 4

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse, mentions of SA

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

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Dividers by @cafekitsune

“Hiya,” Bessie, your coworker, greeted you as you sat in her car. “How are ya today?”

“Better,” you smiled while buckling your seatbelt.

Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. It just couldn’t. And if Bessie noticed, she said nothing. Or maybe, she truly didn’t see the difference. It didn’t matter anyway. You just wanted to get through your day.

You had gone through your morning, getting ready for work, on autopilot. Trying to shake off that feeling of dread that had taken residence in the pit of your stomach. The nightmare had unsettled you, threw you off balance. It was just a terrifying dream. You let out a shaky breath before sipping your coffee. Your heart, beneath your ribcage, was thumping irregularly. It went from too fast to too slow. You were too much aware of your heart fluttering under your ribcage. And that feeling of impending doom was plaguing you, making it hard to breathe. Your chest felt tight, your lungs were struggling to expand as though there wasn’t enough room for them in your chest.

When you stepped out of your house, you made sure your door was locked at least twice. Ensuring that no one would walk into your home while you were gone for work. You pushed out a sigh. Your eyes moved to your next-door neighbor’s house. Somehow, you were slightly disappointed not to see him that morning. You didn’t know what good it would do to even catch a glimpse of him. It wasn’t as though you would spill all of your secrets, your fears, the story of your broken families. In some twisted ways, thinking about the criminal next door, had brought you comfort the night before. And seeing him that morning may have brought more. But he wasn’t there.

You let out a deep breath, reaching into your pockets. You pulled out fifty euros and handed them to Bessie. She jus looked at you confused.

“What’s that for?” She asked you.

“Petrol.” You replied.

“No, no, thanks but—ya don’t have to.” Bessie shook her head, refusing the money.

“Take it, Bessie.” You insisted. “You’ve been picking me up for months, the least I can do is to pay for petrol.”

Bessie took the money and shoved it in her pockets. It wasn’t the first time you had offered her money for the trouble. You didn’t have a car and she was driving you to work every day. You were aware that cars didn’t run for free. So, it was only natural and sensible to give her some money for petrol. And whether she liked or not, you would keep on doing it.

You moved through your day on autopilot, answering calls, filing up insurance claims. A deep sigh pushed past your lips.

“Hiya, love,” Bessie pulled a chair to sit next to you, in your cubicle.

“Hey,” You smiled at her. “Can I help you with anything?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I just wanted to check on ya.”

“Oh, that’s nice.” You smiled at her. You lifted one of your shoulders in a shrug. “I’m alright.”

“Are ya? Really?” Her eyes roamed your face.

You pushed out a sigh, and turned to face her. “I’m fine, I’m just—dealing with some family stuff. That’s all.”  

“Ah, family, yeah?” Bessie nodded. “There’s nothing more fucking complicated.”

You scoffed. “Tell me about it.”

“Wanna talk about it?” She asked you softly.

You exhaled deeply. “I don’t even want to think about it. So, no. Not really. But thanks.”

If you could forget about it all, you would.  Blocking their numbers may have stopped the calls, but it did not erase this plaguing feeling of dread, in the pit of your stomach. As though something terrible was about to happen. You just didn’t know what or when.

You dropped your keys on the kitchen counter. You pushed out a long breath. You dropped in your couch. Your stomach dropped at the sound of your ringtone. Your heart raced beneath your ribcage. You stood up on shaky legs to pick it up. It was silly to be afraid of your own phone. You had blocked their numbers, so it couldn’t be any of them calling you, right? You reached in your bag with shaky hands. By the time you fished out your phone, it had stopped ringing. It rang again. You gasped and flinched. Reading the caller ID, you let out an annoyed groaned. It was your brother Dave.

“What do you want?” You answered the call.  

“Well, hello to you too, sis.” His voice was dripping with sarcasm.

“What do you want?” You repeated, angrily.

“Well, your phone’s working. So, I was wondering why you weren't answering Mom.”

“Because I don’t want to talk to her.” You shot back. “It is as simple as that.”

“Look, you need to talk to mom.” He spoke.

“Why the fuck I would want that, now?” Your heart beating faster with anger.

“We only heard one side of the story, okay?” He argued with you. “You don’t know half of the things Dad put her through.”

“I don’t need to know.” You told him. “I don’t want to know. I don’t care.”

“You should care. Especially, after everything you put her through.”  He hissed at you, through the line.

“I put her through. I put her—” You exhaled through your nose, running a hand on your forehead. “Riddle me this, brother. How did you go from hating her to defending her? When she walked out on us, you told everyone that she was dead. And now, you want me to talk to her. Why?”

“She is our mother.” He said. “And I was a kid. You need to make amends for the lies you told Dad. For the things you put her through.”

“How dare you?” You snapped, slamming your free hand on the counter. “How dare you defend her of all people?”

“You knew better than to spread stories.”

“I was a child and he was being a creep.” You said through gritted teeth. “You don’t get to tell me that there were stories. You don’t get to make demands regarding our mother. You want her in your life, fine. But you don’t get to force me to make room in mine just because she’s mom.” Your veins were boiling with rage. “And don’t ever call me on her behalf, ever again.”

You hung up the phone before he could reply. You didn’t need this. You took a deep breath before grabbing a glass from your cabinet. You filled it with water in an attempt to slow your own heartrate, to calm yourself down. To let go of the anger, your brother just put you in. How dare he make demands? How dare he diminish what your mother had done to you? How dare he call what happened to you stories and lies? Your brother was clearly taking your mother’s side on things. You hated him for it because you knew you would never do that to him.

You roared and threw the glass. It smashed into the wall, breaking in tiny pieces, water spreading everywhere. Tears pressed against your eyes; “shit,” you cursed quietly. Your throat clogged up; frustration was clawing in your chest. You couldn’t believe that your own brother called you a liar. That he was ready to tarnish your father’s character, to defend her.

You crouched down to pick up the broken glass. Your heart was hurting. You loved your brother, you did. So, why couldn’t he just do this one thing for you? Why couldn’t he just respect that you didn’t want a relationship with your mother? You respected his choice of having one with her. The least he could do was to respect that you didn’t. A knock on the door snapped you out of your thoughts, startling, and causing you to cut your hand with a broken shard.

“Coming;” you yelled through the door; you threw the broken pieces you had already gathered before opening the door.

Michael had an appointment with a councilor that day. He had been hopeful before it. He knew that getting access to Anna would be a long and difficult process. He knew that. But it had not seemed impossible. At least, not in the way Donal Creehan had described it. If he stayed out of trouble, had a job, he would have a chance to see Anna. To have her back in his life. And he did all of that.

It all had been pointless.

His hopes had been snuffed out, like one would a candle. How could they think that him having access to Anna would harm her in any way? He would never let anything happen to her. She was his daughter. The only person that really mattered. All he ever wanted was to see her. They didn’t allow her to visit him in prison. And now they would use it against him, saying that he had not seen her in eight years. Of course, he had not, they didn’t allow it.

They were going to use this and his past, his family name, and his family’s business to keep Anna away from him. Getting a job, staying away from trouble had all been for nothing.  He was already condemned and punished for being a Kinsella. Leaving him no chance to prove that he could be a good father to his daughter. It was all hopeless.

What was the point of saying no to Jimmy? What was the point of it all? Whether he had a honest and proper job or he went back working with his family, it wouldn’t change anything. He would not be allowed to see her. He knew that. His councilor may had said that it wouldn’t be easy, implying that he might still have a chance. But he knew better. He had none. He would lose his daughter in the end. If only because he had been charged with the death of his wife; Alison.

So, when Jimmy came back and asked once again for his help. Michael had said yes. He would help his brother put things right. It wouldn’t change a thing regarding his chances of accessing Anna.

Michael wished he had seen you that day. Maybe, the sight of you would have made things slightly better. He would not tell you everything that was going wrong in his life. You already knew enough. You needn’t know about his appointment with the councilor or his agreeing to put things right. Even if it was for a brief moment, he would have offered him a little peace.

He stepped out of his house about to go on walk. He saw the light coming out of your large window, meaning you had come back home already. He paused, debating whether he should go knock on your door or not, when he heard it. You had screamed, startling him. He took one step towards your house, and rushed the rest of the way when he heard the glass shattering.

You had wrapped your hand in a kitchen towel before opening the door. Michael was standing on the other side, looking worried.

“Michael. Hi.” You smiled at him, although it didn’t reach your eyes.

“Are you alrigh’? I heard ya scream.” Michael asked you, his eyes searching your face.

“Yeah, I’m—I’m good. It’s nothing really.” You shook your head quickly.

“Didn’t sound like nothin’. Ya sure everythin’ alright, Pet?” He asked you again.

You smiled at him using the term of endearment. You were going to answer, when your phone rang. You sighed through your nose. It was probably your brother calling you back. You invited Michael in quickly before going to pick up your phone.

Michael stepped into your home, his eyes landed on the broken glass on the floor or what was left of it. The water that was spread on the wall and floor. His eyes landed on you in the kitchen. You looked agitated as you spoke angrily on the phone. Your eyes found his across the room. You looked away from quickly before you hung up.

You put down your phone, screen down on the counter. It rang again. You let it go through to voicemail. You no longer wanted to talk to your brother.

“Sorry about that.” You apologized moving to the closet in the corridor.

“No worries.” Michael waved it off. You pulled out a broom and a duster pan. “I’ll clean it up for ya.”

“What? No.” You pulled the broom away from him. “It’s my mess. I’ll—I’ll fix it.”

“Let me take care of it, yeah?” He reached out for the broom and duster pan.

You reluctantly let him take the items from you. “Coffee?” You offered.

“Ya should probably do something about yer hand first.” He said as he started sweeping.

“Yeah.”

You put down the cup of fresh coffee in front of Michael. You pulled the chair before sitting down, across from him. You pushed out a sigh before having a sip.

“Who was that on the phone?” Michael questioned you.

“My brother. Dave.” You replied, not looking up from your cup.

“Didn’t sound like a pleasant conversation.” He remarked.

“It wasn’t.” You looked down at your now freshly bandaged hand. The cut was pretty shallow but it had bled quite a bit.

“Hey, ya can talk to me.” Michael assured you.

You looked up at him. You let out another sigh. Could you really tell him what was going on? And how much should you tell him? You looked over his shoulder at the wall, against which you had smashed your glass in anger. Maybe you could tell him a few things.

“My brother wants me to get in contact with our mother.” You spoke. “I don’t want to because—well, she walked out on us. And I don’t like her new husband. He’s a creep. Always has been.”

“S’ that why you smashed a glass against your wall?”

You huffed out a laugh. You dropped your chin in the palm of your good hand, the clog in your throat was back. You did everything you could to keep the tears at bay.

“He told her where I was. Gave her all my information. Which means her husband knows too.” Your voice cracked; your lips turned down. “I’m scared they are going to show up.” The first tears fell. “I can’t believe my own brother would do this to me.”

Michael’s chair scraped on the floor, as he stood up. He pulled you into his arm. His hand rubbed soothing circles on your back. You fisted his shirt as you cried into his chest while Michael comforted you, whispering soft words of reassurance. Michael didn’t really know why you were scared of your stepfather and mother. And he didn’t need to know. Knowing you were scared was enough for him.

“I won’t let anyone hurt ya.” He said quietly in your ears. “I won’t let that happen.” He pulled away from you so he could look you in the eye. “Ya hear me? I will not let him hurt ya, yeah?”

You nodded. You believed him. He looked determined, almost angry on your behalf. He didn’t know anything and yet, he was ready to protect you. He didn’t have to say the words, you knew that was a promise on his part.

“Yeah.”

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[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 27: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You fight for your life as the paramedics take you to the hospital. The first time, you wake up without Michael but in the presence of your best friend. The second time, Sarah has accepted defeat.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of injury, blood, mentions of violence, medical setting, flashback, descriptions of child abuse & abuse in general, fight or flight response, trauma triggers

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: I was hoping to get this done sooner, but then I got sick and swamped by uni work, so I only now got it done. The next chapter will be Michael's POV of this. I wanted to make that a separate part, so I focused on Reader's POV for this one, and then you guys will figure out what Michael was really up when he didn't pick up.

Your hands are wet. Slippery. They smell like citrus and rosemary, a mixture of scents you have never quite enjoyed. Why would your blood smell like chicken seasoning, anyway? And why would it foam clearly in your hands, almost as though it was mostly water?

You look up with your eyebrows furrowed. The walls are anything but dark. Ivory wallpaper without accents; you swore you would never paint the walls of your home the same color. It is utterly tryst and boring for a house that has harbored many horrors in your lifetime. 

You’re standing before the sink, the dishes running through your hands like quicksand. And they’re so much smaller. Bruises litter your skin like a mosaic masterpiece. Purple and blue blend into green, which doesn’t make any sense; blue and green should not make purple, but the skin is somehow wired that way. 

All you remember is the creaking of your floorboards, Dublin eerily quiet outside as your heart beat up to your throat, and then the light went out and someone—a stranger who had not anticipated your arrival—attacked you. The shards from your favorite vase were a weapon of opportunity. It felt like someone was draining the air from your lungs with a rough cut. He sliced you open without a care. You tried calling Michael and screaming for him, but it was all a gurgle. And then, you remember, the world went dark.

The streets of London’s suburbs are quiet. You’re not supposed to be here. 

“This is wrong,” you murmur. “This is all wrong.”

Maybe you died and went to hell? Looking down at yourself, you don’t find any evidence of blood. Your skin remains undisturbed. The radio is playing an early 2000s ballad. You don’t remember hearing it in a while. A chill runs down your spine. 

The volume is just loud enough to tune out the screaming from the room across the hall. The snapping of leather that cuts through the air like a lightning bolt and does not care about the sound barrier has always been so deafening. Your bruises sting when you listen closely, and the music moves into the background as it had too many times back then. You could still hear everything. Every cry for help, every one of his disgusting words against her because she never did the dishes right. 

You should be washing the, going over it a million times until you can see your reflection in the porcelain, or you will be next. It’s then that the screaming stops. Your pulse spikes. The air in your lungs gets trapped by a thin rubber band. It’s straining, and your heart feels like it’s bleeding out. You can’t breathe. 

He calls your name. Your hands are still wet. Slippery. You can’t turn to the sink fast enough. 

Ever since you can remember, you have been looking for someone to blame other than yourself for the way he treated you. Your mother never even tried to protect you when he laid his hands on you, but you would hear her cries every night when he let whatever frustrations he had left out on her. Maya and Ellie were never planned, and it makes you sick to your stomach to think about it. There is a certain amount of guilt that comes with blaming someone who can’t be blamed because she, too, is only a victim. But she has never felt like a mother to you, to begin with; she has always resented you because, in a way, you will always remind her of him. She’s so deep in it, you could never pull her out. And maybe that is why, in your mind, you blame her for all the times he hurt you and she wasn’t there. But it wasn’t her fault.

Part of you wonders if she would be able to get better once he’s gone, but she has always refused to believe in him as the devil. Stockholm syndrome. He looks so innocent, but he holds a power your mother’s fragile mind has never been able to withstand, and unless she wants to leave him, you won’t be able to help her. 

But oh, it is so easy to blame someone other than your father—to blame everyone around you who only stood by and watched and continues to trust him blindly even now. 

You were never good enough because you dared to disagree, never living up to expectations. Maya hit the spot better than you ever could, and Ellie was just collateral damage. God, your heart burns. Everything about you is on fire. It has always been a game to him. If he can’t control and manipulate someone else, he will fall apart. And in trying to break the cycle, you inevitably put a target on everyone else’s back. 

The echo of the belt whipping through the air is forever tattooed on your brain. He calls your name from the hallway, and the floorboards creak like they did in your apartment. His steps are heavy, always landing with the back first to make the most noise. And he’s wearing those steel boots again he was issued for work. They hurt the most when they fracture your ribs. 

You grab the plate just as his face appears in the doorway. He’s distorted. Your mind refuses to let him in, knowing it will break you. The pictures caught him so clearly, but nothing does your memory justice. The way he used to look at you, as though he was dead inside. 

Your hands are so slippery though. The porcelain falls, and before you can catch it, it shatters. The pain tears through your side. Your lungs are sucking in air, but it isn’t to sustain them; they are falling apart. 

The soap turns crimson. Black holes start to dance in your vision. The air gets trapped in your skin, and soon enough, you’re falling again, through the wood and into the atmosphere. 

“She’s comin’ back,” a strange voice sounds through the endless void. 

You blink your eyes open against the harsh light trying to blind you. Blue and yellow and white. Hell looks a lot different than you expected. It doesn’t hurt though, it’s just heavy. A cloud settles over you, and this constant obnoxious beeping next to your ear pulls you out of the thick syrup you landed in. 

The smell of antiseptic fills your nose next, harsh and unforgiving. It’s not citrus and rosemary. You can’t hear his voice anymore, but you didn’t dry your hands. They’re still wet, not slippery but sticky now. And they’re so heavy, you can’t move them. The world around you morphs into a pit of oil instead. 

You try to move again, but your limbs feel like they’re encased in cement. Something is covering your face. Plastic. So much oxygen in your lungs, and they keep burning. Why is no one helping you? You’re breathing, and the air is so clear you might go into shock because no human is supposed to breathe air this clean, right? You don’t understand, and you don’t remember... 

“Easy, easy,” the same voice says softly. You can’t make out her face. “You gave us quite a scare. Your lung collapsed, but you’re gonna be okay.”

You try to lift the mask from your face, but a gentle hand stops you. “You’ve gotta keep that on, dear,” she tells you. And then the light gets brighter as she shines it directly into your eyes. “It’s best if you don’t try to talk. We’re almost at the hospital. Can you give me a nod yes if you remember what happened to ya?”

It’s your responsibility, you think. You try to nod your head, but it’s so heavy. 

“Alright, good girl. Do you remember your name?”

Again, you nod. 

“That’s good. Perfect. Pupils equal and reactive. Breath sounds equal. And the patient is responsive,” she says toward you, but you know it’s not directed at you. Right now, she’s just a blotch of light in a world full of darkness.

You still lift the mask from your mouth because if you’re responsive, you have to respond. “Mi—” you cut yourself off. Your tongue hurts. He didn’t pick up when you called. Why do you want to say his name when he seems to be done with you? 

Your lung collapsed and the first person you think of is him, but you don’t seem to be on his mind. And you can’t count on him. Not right now. Maybe not ever again, but that isn’t his fault. You walked out. If you die, at least he can’t blame himself. Or is it more of a question of when?

“Sarah,” you slur instead. Whatever pain medication they gave you, it’s working wonderfully; you’re as high as a kite. 

The strange voice asks, “Sarah?” 

She must think you’re not as lucid as she suspected. You shake your head, or maybe you’re nodding. “Call… Sarah,” you finally manage to say. And two words are better than none. 

“Sarah,” the paramedic repeats, nodding as if to assure you she understands. You can see the halo moving. “Okay. We’ll call Sarah for ya. Just try to relax.”

You let the mask fall back into place, too exhausted to protest further. They’re calling Sarah. Because you don’t have anyone else. A pain spreads through your chest, but it is nowhere physical. It spreads through your soul like wildfire, and even through the fog, you can feel the tear slipping from your eye and down your cheek. The salt burns in the cut on your lip. 

The angel is right there with you. As your vision becomes clearer, your body seems to thaw. You grunt. “Looks like you’re in pain,” she says. “I’ll give two more milligrams of morphine.”

Morphine. That’s what it is. Before the pain in your side can come back with a vengeance, it is stopped by the delicious liquid she administers to your infusion. The world grows instantly fuzzier again. 

The ambulance rocks gently as it speeds towards the hospital, at least that is where you are starting to suspect you are, and the world outside the windows blurs into streaks of light. Hypnotizing streaks of light. Your eyes roll back into your skull. 

The darkness engulfs you. You’re floating in a black sea full of nothing. The tide carries you for miles and miles and then some. You flail around helplessly until you eventually decide to give up. It’s of no use anyway. You float for a while, carried for an eternity more until the rushing of the ocean turns into the unmistakable sound of your own heart. 

The first real thing you feel is a dull ache in your skull. Your nerve endings are desperately tearing at each other. The beeping gets louder, accompanied by a throbbing in your ribcage. It’s not your heart; the pain tears through your skin and the muscles below, and every time you try to take a conscious breath, you’re inhaling toxic smoke. 

You open your eyes. The light is less bright here. It’s blurry, at first, but the world slowly comes to life again. You’re sore all over, but as far as you can tell, you’re alive and no longer high on opioids. How long have you been out? It must have been hours.

And then it hits you again—what happened. The intruder, the missing file, the broken vase, and his hands all over you. Your neck still aches. You can feel his fingers trying to squeeze the life out of you, but you wouldn’t budge. You remember contemplating how to take your life when you were just a child, but tonight, you chose to fight back. And it landed you here. 

You have been in worse pain. The feeling of waking up alone has therefore become more than familiar over the years. Just you and the beeping monitors. You wonder if they can show a broken heart. 

Lifting your tired arm, you reach for the cannulas in your nose. You can breathe fine; you don’t need them. You don’t even need to be here. 

“Hey, don’t…” The blur turns into a person. You can’t quite believe your eyes.

Sarah crosses the room and stops your eager fingers in their tracks, and upon looking at her worry-stricken face you realize that you did not just wake up alone; they called her, after all. Like you asked them to. And you’re not alone. 

The monitor picks up speed. “Sarah,” you whisper. 

“It’s me,” she says. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital, but you’re okay.” From the sound of her voice, you can tell she’s been crying. Sarah never cries.

You smack your lips. “Uh, what… what happened?”

You know what happened, but you can’t see it. You can’t close your eyes and pull up a visual of the events because every time you do, you see nothing but darkness. Your memory isn’t working the way it should—nothing is. 

She wipes her cheeks. Vulnerability seeps out of her pores like body odor. The pity in her eyes turns into knives to your chest. “Someone broke into your flat and… they attacked you,” she says. Her voice still has a certain edge to it. “Your lung collapsed, but they managed to put a needle in there and now you’re all better. You didn’t even need surgery, just a blood transfusion. I actually donated while I was waiting ‘cause it was killin’ me that it took them so long to fix you up.”

The needle would explain the pain in your lungs. You reach for her hand.

“When they called, I thought… God, I thought you were dead. I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“What were you thinking?” There it is, the anger. “You should’ve called the police.”

“I know, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah raises her voice, “I almost lost you tonight!” 

The echo drills into your ears. You flinch. The guilt hadn’t already been eating you alive, it certainly would start now. The burning behind your eyes returns, and this time, you don’t stand a chance. You try to blink them away, but it’s futile. 

“I know, and I’m… I didn’t mean to do this to you.” You swallow. 

“Does this have anything to do with Michael? Did he get you into this? ‘Cause if he did, I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“No!” You try to sit up, but the sudden movement tears at the stitches in your side. Every nerve under your skin protests. You stretch, and it burns. With a grunt, you fall back against the mattress. “No,” you repeat. “He didn’t…” 

This is what you were worried about. It crossed your mind before it happened that the person in your apartment might have been hired by the Kinsellas to steal the valuable information you collected; it was the only thing you had to fuel your agenda, and someone took it. You didn’t tell anyone but Michael, so it would make sense that his family had something to do with it, but after talking to Jimmy, you seriously doubt it. You almost died. If they wanted you dead, you would be dead. It’s a terrifyingly sober thought, but it’s the truth. 

But if the Kinsellas aren’t behind it, someone else must have found out. Someone from your past, perhaps. And how do you tell the police that someone broke into your apartment not to steal money but to steal a mere paper file?

Sarah sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The police are going to want to talk to you,” she says, expertly changing the subject. “They said nothing seems to have been stolen, but they need your confirmation, and they’re hoping you can identify the man who did this to you.”

Again, you shake your head. “I didn’t see his face,” you admit.

“I figured, but I think they need to know who you’ve been associating yourself with.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who I’ve been–” you grunt again when you move against the clear protest of your wound. “Who’s side are you on?” you ask her. 

She looks so guilty, afraid to even meet your eyes. 

“Michael’s family has nothing to do with this. Don’t ask me how I know, I just… I just know.”

“Then where is he, huh?” Her voice takes on a slightly accusatory tone. You’re not sure if it’s directed at you or Michael, but you’re not in the mood to have this conversation. 

You shake your head. The lump in your throat is stuck. You can’t speak. 

Sarah utters your name, but it only sets fire to the gasoline. “You almost died and Michael isn’t here,” she says. “Who knows, maybe it was him? You can’t know if you didn’t see his face! I mean, why are you protecting him and his family when he couldn’t even be bothered to be here?”

It hurts to hear her say that. It hurts to even imagine that scenario to be true. You know it isn’t, but she believes it, and that breaks your already shattered heart beyond repair.

“I’m not,” you choke out. “He has nothing to do with this. I…” You find yourself unable to speak, too caught up in the pain that spreads through your body and your soul. 

You can see his face when you close your eyes, and God, you miss him. 

“Then where is he?” she asks again. It’s almost as though she believes she has the whole thing figured out just because she was so worried about you. But she doesn’t. 

You grit your teeth. A tear makes its salty path south. “We broke up!” you snap, your voice echoing across the room like a sharp arrow penetrating the sound barrier. “We had a fight and then I left, and that’s probably why he didn’t pick up because he was just as hurt as me, but–” You have to cut yourself off to catch a strangled breath. Your lungs barely have the same capacity they had before. 

Sarah’s jaw slacks at the revelation. The words take a second to sink in, but when they do, it dawns on her like a gigantic shadow. Instead of an ‘I told you so’, she exhales shakily, “Oh.” Nothing else seems to come to her mind at that moment. 

Your heart drums against your ribcage. You inhale, sitting further up to ease the pressure on your wound and calm your racing pulse that is starting to upset the monitor beside your bed. 

Another pained groan passes your lips. “My gut is telling me his family isn’t behind this because whoever broke into my apartment was an idiot, and the Kinsellas are not,” you tell her. “You want to blame Michael for not being here? Fine! But he would never hurt me. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You begin to see it again; the blood on the dark floorboards transferring to your phone as you tried to dial his number with the last of your strength, but he didn’t pick up. He was the only person you could think of when you thought you were going to die, and he wasn’t there. He didn’t even come.

Finally, the lump lodges free in a devastating sob, landing like a burning meteor from the depth of your chest. 

Sarah wraps her arm around your shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t fight it; you bury your face in her chest, clinging to her instead of letting go. Pieces of drywall start coming off the borders around your heart. The sobs wreck your body with an intensity that could match the force of a landmine. 

When you woke up, you were hoping, even if just for a second, Michael would be there to hold your hand. You would have given up your belief that the two of you were meant to be dysfunctional for a taste of the comfort you know only he can provide you. But it’s all just a fever dream, and he isn’t here.

You beg yourself to breathe through the inferno spreading from your wound to the remaining space of your chest cavity. This pain can’t easily be fixed by morphine or a high flow of oxygen. It’s a deep-rooted and emotional pain; everything around you becomes secondary. 

The sobs wrack your body, but you can’t stop. You can't fight back against the avalanche heading for your town. You’ve lost everything. Trying to keep your head above water only pulled you further under. You can still feel the stranger's hands on your body, the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor. You were trying to steer off the inevitable like a fool, and in the process, you have made things a million times worse. Admitting defeat would lead to the demise of what you love, but what else can you do when the danger is no longer trying to hide, lying in wait?

The door swings open. A nurse steps in, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Heart rate and pulse ox are climbing,” you faintly hear her say. “She’s having a panic attack.”

You want to protest. You’re okay; you’re just crying, and they should take care of the ticking bomb next to your ear first. It beeps and beeps and beeps even louder. It takes you forever to notice that the bomb you’re hearing is actually your heart about to explode. 

“Well, do something!” Sarah shrieks, her chest shaking under you. “She’s going to hurt herself.”

Someone calls your name, and they tell you something about a sedative, but your ears are under a thick stream of water. The sterile walls start to close in around you. You can feel your heart racing in your throat like you’re going to throw it up on a silver platter and everyone will see how damaged you truly are.

You thrash weakly, your lips moving without your mind’s approval. “No,” you sob. You don't want them to sedate you. “Please…” Your pleas meet an empty void. 

The nurse swiftly prepares a syringe that, out of the corner of your eye looks almost like a loaded gun. You don't want to sleep. You can’t. You deserve this. “This will help you relax,” she says. “Just breathe, okay? We don't want your lung collapsing again.”

The needle doesn’t pierce your skin, but it might as well have. A sudden cool rush spreads through your veins. The world blurs at the edges, colors bleeding into each other until they turn black. Your sobs slow down. You try to scream, but every muscle in your body slacks against your will. The clock stops ticking. The wave catches up to you as you’re swimming away, and with jaws made of glass, the depths of the ocean finally take you under, eating you alive. 

Someone whispers, “You’re going to be okay,” into the darkness, but the angel doesn’t have a face. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to hold on or keep floating. There is no beginning or end where you are. The ground is gone. It’s never going to end, you fear, drowning in your tears until you’re sucked into another black hole for the rest of your life. 

You succumb to it. You let the current drag you down, and then, you drown. 

You drown for the longest time, closing your eyes and accepting your fate. Until a hand dives into the water, searching for you. You blink, and you reach for it, not knowing who it belongs to but someone is trying to save you, so why not allow them to? An eerily familiar feeling fills you with warmth. 

The closer you inch to the surface, the louder the real world around you gets. You hear the beeping again, steadier this time. Someone must have defused the bomb. And there is a soft touch against your forehead, fingertips grazing your burning skin. Your eyes flutter.

A soft baritone calls for you. It’s familiar, but the sensations around you are dulled to an extent you can barely feel your legs. You adjust to the light in the room, and the heaviness of your eyelids that seems to want to drag you back down. His silhouette is a blur, at first, but once you find those comforting brown eyes staring down at you with a river of tears inside, you recognize him, and you’re suddenly wide awake. 

“Michael?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart contracts. Instead of conflict, all you feel is the sheer pleasure of relief when you see his face. His tired, beautiful face. And he’s real. He’s not a dream. You may not feel your body, but your mind is coming back to you, and you see him so clearly next to you, a sight for sore eyes and a balm for your broken heart. 

He came.

A tear slides down his cheek, but he wipes it before you can comment on it. Your throat is dry. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bopping with the silence that engulfs you. The air crackles. You’re not sure how to react. Your entire body vibrates with a need you have never felt before, but how can you get over what happened? It’s right there between you; you can feel the tension that has spun a net between you, and it’s almost like your lungs are collapsing all over again. 

But then Michael reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing your tear-stained cheek. “Yeah. I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, my love.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck with a broken exhale. He has never engulfed you faster, building a secure cocoon around you where nothing and no one can touch you. Your breaths are strangled. He wasn’t there before, but now he is, and it’s like you were never apart in the first place. Because you needed him like air, and he is the only one who knows how to make the pain go away because he knows you. 

“You didn’t pick up,” you mutter against his sweater. I thought we were over, you want to say.

He nods, squeezing you tighter. Your stitches protest, but you ignore them. He can tear them open one by one if he pleases, as long as he just holds you. “I know,” he says, barely keeping it together. “I’m so sorry. I was… I was meetin’ with Jimmy, and… I turned it off. I turned it off.” His voice cracks. So much guilt can’t possibly fit into one person.

Your nails dig into his back. “It’s okay,” now you’re the one comforting him. 

“No. If I’d known… Fuck! I thought… I thought I lost ya.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael pulls away, eyes boring into yours. He cups your face. “Don’t do tha’,” he growls. “Don’t do this to yerself. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”

You close your eyes. His gaze is so intense. He nudges you back to look at him. “Who did this to ya, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I didn’t… I didn’t see his face. But he, uh… he stole the… the file. On my sister. And when I tried to stop him, he… he…”

“Wha’?” The look on his face is nothing short of terrifying, even as it blurs through your tears. “Did he touch you?” When he gets angry, his eyes tend to black out. It usually sends a chill down your spine, but tonight, you need him to look at you like that. You need him to be angry because anger is the strongest motivator, and you are too weak to display the true intensity of your feelings.

You motion to your throat with shaky fingers. “He ch–” The word refuses to come out. “Mhh–” You try to regulate your breathing. “He ch–choked me.” 

You have not yet looked into a mirror, but the soreness suggests quite a bit of bruising. Sarah didn’t say anything. You went through hell and the most obvious injury, the wound on your side, seems bad enough to think about. They probably swabbed under your fingernails already to get what little DNA evidence you tried to gather by fighting back, but you have little hope that the assailant is to be found in any database. And he wore gloves, that much you know. You can still taste the leather. Talking about it makes you eerily sick to your stomach. 

Another sob bubbles up in your chest; you choke on it. “And then he stabbed me,” you cry. “He stabbed me, and my lung collapsed, and… I thought I was going to die.”

Michael growls, physically forcing your face back into the crook of his neck. 

“Don’t leave me.”

You were the first to leave, and it was a mistake. You regret it with your entire bruised being to have ever let him go. You’re not entitled to his love, but if he left you now, you know you wouldn’t survive—because losing him is worse than dying. 

He presses your face further into the crook of his neck. “I’m not leavin’,” he says. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna lay a hand on ya again.”

The words break the dam. “Please,” you beg, not knowing what for. 

“Shhh,” he shushes you. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you ramble. “I was just sad and angry, and… we were both going through something. Hell, you told me about Anna and all I thought of doing was leave. I’m so fucking sorry, Michael. I don’t know how to make this up to you. I don’t…”

Michael tugs you back, seeing it as the only way you will listen to him. “Hey!” His fingers dig into your scalp. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m not angry. I… I thought I lost ya, and it almost killed me. I don’t care ‘bout one stupid fight. I don’t.” He chuckles softly, his eyes stained with tears again. “I care about you. I’m gonna fix this, you hear? Even if I have to kill the fuckin’ bastard who did this. God knows I want to. And I’m gonna get Anna back, too,” he says. “‘cause I’m still her father and I won’t let them take her from me. What I’m not gonna do is let you leave again without reason, so we’re gonna talk and we’re gonna find a way through this, alright? I promise you, so you have to promise me. Let me love you better. Please.”

Please. He breaks in your hand like wet sand struck by lightning. Though this time, you can’t pick up his broken pieces and glue him back together for it is his turn now to fix you. To love you better, as he said. 

You wipe your cheek on the palm of his hand, and his thumb instantly darts out to take over. It’s so rough yet so gentle against your sensitive skin. “I promise,” you whisper then, only honesty on your cracked lips.

He lets go of your scalp to pull you back in. “That’s my girl,” Michael murmurs. 

There is nothing quite as toxic as guilt, but you are each other’s antidote. You cling to him like a lifeline, and he clings to you. Where Sarah has gone, you’re not sure, but you also don’t care. She called him. She said horrible things about him, then saw your reaction, the sincere belief in his innocence and the love that is still very much there, and then she called him because there is no other way he could have found out. She called him because you didn’t need her; you needed Michael, and no drugs in the world could have changed that. 

“C’mon, lie back.” You comply almost instantly with his demand, scooting aside to make space for him. The frame of the bed creaks in protest, but he seems to neither care about the hospital’s property nor his comfort as he urges you to rest against his chest. “The police are gonna ask questions,” he tells you, tugging the blanket further around your body. You only now realize that you’re freezing. “I told them you had to rest, so they’re gonna come by in the mornin’, but I assure ya, I’m gonna be there. And then Jimmy’s gonna take us home.”

You blink up at him. “Jimmy?” you ask. It’s the only thing that strikes you as odd. You suspected the police would come by, Sarah already told you the same thing, but Michael conspiring with his brother to get you out of here is a new development. 

“Yeah. No one takes a shot at a Kinsella and gets away with it.”

“But I’m not–”

He cuts you off, “You are now.”

Your heart stops a beat in your chest before it starts racing a million miles per hour, so fast you can barely catch up. 

It’s odd, all of it. His family expressed their disdain for you at great lengths just to retaliate back when your blood is shed, but instead of dread and overwhelming suspicion, you only feel terrifyingly content. 

You’re a Kinsella now, Michael said, and what else can you do but embrace it?

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