#kin fanficiton

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Twelve]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.6k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: This is a long one where we finally get their first date! And there's angst at the end of it, too... Also big thanks to @loveroftoomanyfandoms for figuring out what Michael is actually reading in Kin! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky @the-nursery @lionalsowrites

Drawing the warm ceramic mug to your lips, you drank down more of your vanilla latte. The hot liquid was surprisingly not too sweet, the bold taste of the roast actually coming through as it passed over your tongue. You decided you liked this coffee shop, and not just because it was now going to hold the memory of your first date with Michael, but they apparently knew how to make a good cup of coffee. 

Across from you at the table, Michael’s fingers were tapping against the side of his steaming mug of coffee, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand. His eyes were locked on yours, crinkles forming at the corners of them and that dimple visible just beneath his beard on his right cheek. He sat there silently, continuing to simply smile at you. 

He had just been contentedly watching you as if that alone was enough for him for the past couple of minutes. You swore if he kept looking at you like he’d been doing ever since you’d both sat down, you’d end up throwing yourself over the small table separating the pair of you and crushing your mouth to his. Just that look of enraptured interest he had for you so plainly written across his face was alone increasing your arousal–or maybe it had just been vastly too long since either of you had last had sex. Either way, you were getting turned on and you could feel the sexual tension increasing to a palpable level in the air around the pair of you. Didn’t matter that you were both in public in a coffee shop and Michael was wearing a bulletproof vest under his sweater and jacket. Somehow that only added to your increasing desire.

“You just going to stare at me for the duration of this date?” you asked him, lowering the mug back to the table and wrapping both of your hands around it. “Or do you actually want to talk to me?”

Michael chuckled, that intense look of fondness never leaving his face. “Well I have a beautiful woman sittin’ across from me, and it’s quite early in the mornin’. Maybe I’m a bit distracted?” he teased.

That also didn’t help you control the desire to jump him publicly.

“Laying it on thick, I see,” you joked, unable to fight the smile on your own mouth.

“Well I told ya it may be a bit before I can take ya on another proper date again,” he explained. “And it did take me two times to get ya to say yes to me to begin with.” He shrugged. “Maybe I just want to make sure it won’t take ya six times before ya say yes next time?”

You laughed, surprised at how funny he actually was when you got a little bit past the awkward, brooding, mysterious exterior. Shaking your head at him, your eyes dropped down to the mug of coffee before you. On your walk to the coffee shop this morning Michael had been noticeably more comfortable with you than he had been the last time the pair of you had taken a walk together. Although there had unfortunately been no kissing or hand holding, he had somehow still managed to slip in a bit of overt flirting despite the main topic of conversation. 

As you’d both walked to the shop for your date, Michael had been explaining how he really shouldn’t be out of his house because of the feud that had been started between his family and their supplier–this Eamon character that Birdy had initially accused you of getting close to Michael for the Serpents for. Apparently anyone selling for Eamon that had a gun was going to be on the lookout for a Kinsella or anyone working with the family. There had been a very high bounty put on Michael’s head and it wasn’t exactly safe for him to be out–even in public. Which didn’t exactly surprise you, considering how he’d walked into a crowded bar himself a few nights ago and shot the man who’d been responsible for Jamie’s death. But Michael had repeatedly assured you the bounty was still such early news that there wasn’t a high risk of anyone tailing him yet. He’d made sure no one was before he’d come to get you from your sister’s this morning. 

To you, it sounded like this feud was more of a war. Especially with the way he was wearing a bulletproof vest under his clothes and occasionally scanning out the window to make sure no one suspicious was watching the pair of you. He’d even intentionally picked a table near a back exit in case the pair of you needed to bolt, and he’d positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the door and still be between you and it. Which was a detail you hadn’t missed. 

“So you’re a writer, yeah?” he asked. 

His question drew your eyes back up from your mug and to his face. He’d sat up straighter in his chair now, his chin no longer resting in his palm. You watched as he drew his mug to his lips, your eyes momentarily distracted by the movement–and his mouth. It had been too long since you’d last had the opportunity to kiss him, and you really had wanted to pick up where you’d left off the other morning.

“Yeah, I am,” you answered, your eyes finally meeting his again.

“What’s that like?” he asked next.

You shrugged a shoulder, mulling over the question. “It’s nice, I suppose,” you told him. “I get to work from wherever I want–clearly,” you said, shooting him a small smile to which he returned. “Other than making deadlines there’s not too much daily stress during the writing part of things. I mean, besides the pressure I put on myself to actually, you know, write.”

Michael chuckled, leaning his elbows onto the table as he drew himself closer towards you. “And what exactly do you write about?” he questioned.

“I uh, have a series about a family,” you began awkwardly, your eyes dropping down to your coffee mug. “And they do…nefarious things to make money.” 

“Such as…?” he prompted curiously.

“Drug trafficking,” you answered, eyes still averted. “Money laundering. Blackmail. Murder.”

“Well that’s…rather dark,” he mused.

Your eyes slid up towards his, one of your brows arching back at him. The corner of his lip twitched upwards in response.

“I am aware of the irony,” he replied, grinning. “I take it ya took inspiration from your life?”

“Something like that,” you admitted. 

Michael’s dark brows pulled together on his forehead, a crease forming between them. “I’m surprised your ex-fiance allowed that. He knew that’s what ya wrote ‘bout?”

Nodding, you drew your mug back up to your lips for another drink. You swallowed down the coffee before you answered.

“He knew,” you simply said. “My sister had actually gotten in with one of the Serpents back in the day–before I’d ever met Victor. He’d gone by the nickname Lucky. He actually had epilepsy and was the reason why I knew what to do that other night when I…met you.”

“Mmm,” Michael hummed out, his gaze still intently watching you. “Wondered 'bout that.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes dropped back down to your nervously fidgeting hands. Your fingers began to drum along the ceramic mug as you spoke; you didn’t particularly like to think about the outlaw MC.

“I’d started writing the series back then,” you told him. “My sister and I, we didn’t exactly have a great childhood. I’d stayed behind and forwent college just to make sure she’d been safe and taken care of until she graduated. I worked two jobs just trying to pay the bills while our mom just…” you slowly trailed off, shaking your head. “But Megan she–she fell for Lucky when he was still a prospect for the Serpents, right before she graduated high school. She was really serious about him. And I started hearing these stories–in the news and from my sister–and I just…I don’t know, I started writing,” you finished lamely with a shrug.

“So ya published them before ya met your ex?” Michael asked.

“The first one, yeah,” you said, your focus returning to his curious face. “The series name The Road to Hell was a quiet nod to the Serpents of Hell MC. Even though it's not actually about a motorcycle club and doesn’t specifically mention any real crimes they committed–because I’m not an idiot and wasn’t trying to get myself killed. But I was apparently good at it. At writing. And I needed the money because a high school education wasn’t getting me shit. So my publisher picked it up. They loved it and contracted me for more and well, that’s what I do, I guess.”  

“I’m assumin’ somethin’ happened to this Lucky considerin’ Megan isn’t with him now?” Michael asked.

“Killed,” you answered with a nod. “He’s the reason why Megan went to school to become a nurse.”

Michael frowned at your response. “’M sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged, bringing your coffee back to your mouth for another drink. Swallowing the warm liquid down, you eyed his handsome face across the table from you. This wasn't exactly what you wanted to talk about. 

“Not a very light topic for a date,” you mused as you lowered the mug. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? Something not depressing unlike what I just told you.”

A small smile returned to Michael’s face, one of his hands sliding across the wooden table towards yours. He reached up, gripping onto your right hand and pulling it away from your coffee mug down to the table with his. The gesture instantly stilled your nervous fidgeting, your eyes dropping down to watch as he slowly entwined his fingers with yours. Your heart beat a little harder in your chest.

“What d’ya want to know?” he asked.

Eyes slowly making their way up towards his face, you felt your breath coming in shallower. That look from earlier had returned to his face, and in turn, so had your previous state of arousal.

How fast can I get you home and in my bed?

Bottom lip slipping between your teeth, you tried hard to fight that question from accidentally falling out of your mouth. Michael’s gaze had inevitably dropped down to where you were chewing your lip, his own tongue slowly sliding out to wet his lips as his eyes lingered.

If you didn’t get ahold of yourself soon you’d be dragging him out the back door behind you and seeing how far you could get with him before your mind brought reason back to you. And as tempting as that sounded, that’s not what you were doing here. Blinking hard a few times, your eyes darted out of the window beside you, trying to break whatever trance his eyes had somehow put you into again.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “Any hobbies?”

Michael huffed out a laugh, the sound catching your attention again. He was shaking his head as he raised his mug to his lips with his other hand. You watched as his throat bobbed while he drank the coffee down, your tongue running along the back of your teeth as you shifted in your seat, all too aware of the heat from his hand wrapped around yours.

“Ya know where I’ve been the past eight years, yeah?” he asked, lowering his mug back to the table. “Didn’ exactly have the opportunity for hobbies.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So you go back home after this and then you do what? Sit on your sofa and stare into the void? There’s got to be something you enjoy.”

He chuckled as his hand not holding yours rose up to scratch at his beard. Your left hand curled around your mug, desperately trying to ignore the way your fingers itched to feel the rasp of it beneath them. 

“So I’m goin’ home alone after this?” Michael teased. “That what you’re sayin’?”

Your own brows rose onto your forehead, lips parting in surprise as you gaped back at him. “I–I wasn’t saying that, exactly,” you stammered out.

A slow smile spread along Michael’s mouth, his hand rubbing along his chin as he continued to watch you from across the table. There was definitely some sort of look in his eye, something that had your pulse at a consistent, increased pace again.

“I enjoy readin’,” he said. “‘M not really into watchin’ shows, but I read.”

It took you a moment to realize he was answering your question about his hobbies. But as you sat across from him, your coffee almost finished, you’d found your brain was still stuck on one thing. Shifting again in your seat, you tried hard to focus on the conversation and not how badly you wanted the man you were talking to. The fact that he enjoyed reading was only adding to his attractiveness.

“And uh, what exactly do you like to read?” you asked, the question coming out unintentionally a little breathless.

Michael seemed to catch the change in your tone, his head tilting to the side as he quietly studied you for a moment. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting to keep yourself from inviting him back to your place right here and now. Though it was beginning to feel like a losing battle. You felt like you might combust if you sat here much longer with him staring at you like that and you pretending like you weren’t dying to do more than just talk.

Clearing your throat, you tried to shove those thoughts away again. 

"Actually, let me guess," you began, trying to focus on the conversation. "You don't seem like you'd be into horror and suspense."

"Get enough o' that in my life already," Michael agreed, nodding.

Your eyes narrowed as you examined him closely. "Not romance, either. Or science fiction," you ruled out, noticing the way his smile grew. "Nonfiction?"

Michael shrugged a shoulder. "Dependin' on the topic, yeah."

Becoming interested in this guessing game, you rested your elbow on the table and leaned forward, your right hand still entwined with his. Michael copied the gesture, that flicker of something still in his eyes, his mouth seemingly permanently drawn up into a grin as he lessened the gap between the pair of you at the table.

"Historical fiction?" you asked.

"On occasion," he replied huskily. 

Pressing your lips together, you wondered how the hell he was making this conversation so hot. The way he’d gripped your hand a bit firmer in his wasn’t helping.

"Mmm, not a mystery reader," you continued, watching as he shook his head. "Classic lit?"

Michael’s grin widened further. "I enjoy some, yeah," he answered. 

Resting your chin in your hand, your index finger absently tapped against your lips as you thought. You only became aware of the gesture when Michael’s eyes dropped down, staring at your mouth yet again. That's when you'd intentionally began running your finger back and forth along your bottom lip slowly, enjoying the way his eyes followed the movement. Apparently you weren't the only one thinking about that right now.

"I'm guessing you're not into bodice rippers," you teased, intentionally directing the conversation towards sex.

Michael’s brows shot up onto his forehead, his eyes returning to yours. "Bodice rippers?" he asked with a laugh. "Is that what I'm thinkin' it is?"

You grinned, nodding. "Yeah, you know, smut. Those books with the overly buff men on the cover and a woman who's heaving bosom looks like it's about to pop out of her top?"

Michael cracked up, his eyes creasing as he tried to contain his laughter. "No Grace," he answered, his shoulders shaking with his barely contained mirth, "I can't say that I read… bodice rippers . But now ya got me wonderin' if you do."

A large smile drew wide across your own face. "Oh I have an entire series of them I wrote," you told him enthusiastically, fighting down your own laughter when his mouth dropped open in shock. "About a pirate and a virgin–well, I guess she's not a virgin anymore. Not with everything they've done with the buried treasure they've found…"

Michael continued to gawk at you from across the table and you swore you saw pink tinge his cheeks. When you saw him struggling to form a coherent thought, you burst into a laugh. 

"I'm kidding," you assured him. "I don't have a smutty series about a pirate–but I bet you I’d make a fortune if I did."

He visibly relaxed in his seat, a laugh falling out of him. "Ya definitely had me there," he said. "Wasn't sure if ya were serious and how I was s'posed to respond to that."

"Yeah, I could tell," you said with a laugh of your own. "Pretty sure I made you blush, Mr. Kinsella."

His hand squeezed yours as he chuckled again, his eyes falling back down to his mug. “I don’ know ‘bout that,” he muttered.

“So what are you reading?” you asked him finally. 

“Currently?” he asked, continuing when you nodded. “ East of Eden.”

Eyebrows raising onto your forehead, you hummed out a curious noise. The corner of his lip twitched.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said innocently with a shrug. “You seem like you’d read Steinbeck is all.”

His eyes narrowed playfully at you. "And what's that s'posed to mean?" he asked.

"That you should probably find something lighter to read," you teased. 

You picked up your coffee mug and downed the rest of your latte, enjoying the bemused expression on Michael’s face as he watched you. Setting the empty mug back onto the table, your eyes dropped back down to your enjoined hands. His thumb suddenly brushed a light stroke across your knuckles and you felt that excited, giddy feeling wash over you. Yet again you found yourself wishing you weren't in a public setting.

“D’ya want another coffee?” he asked, head gesturing to your now empty mug.

“Actually,” you began slowly, eyes gradually returning to his face, “Do you…maybe want to head back?”

Something flickered across his face at your question, an expression so fleeting you barely just caught it before you saw him quickly control his reaction. He cleared his throat, picking up his almost empty mug of coffee, his focus on the remaining liquid as he spoke.

“Already wantin’ an end to this date?” he asked.

“I was thinking more like…moving the date back to my place?” you suggested. “Megan isn’t home and well, you wouldn’t have to keep glancing out the window and being on edge.”

“If that’s what ya would like to do,” he said casually, his eyes still almost nervously avoiding yours as he downed the rest of his coffee.

“And is that what you would like to do?” you questioned back.

Michael paused, his gaze very gradually drawing up from his mug to meet yours. That flicker of something was in his eyes again as he stared back at you for a moment. You felt a heat rising up to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment this time. You wanted to see where this was going to go, and you certainly weren’t thinking about stopping things like last time.

“I’d like that, yeah,” he eventually answered.

You tried to fight back the smile on your lips as Michael released your hand finally, grabbing your empty coffee cup along with his and telling you that he’d take care of them. Your eyes lingered on Michael’s back as he stepped away to deposit them on a nearby cart. Rising from your own chair, you slipped your jacket back on and mentally prepared to face the chilly morning air that seemed to be a constant in Dublin. 

When Michael had made his way back to you, your heart skipped in your chest at the sight of his offered hand. Eagerly you slipped yours into it, smiling when you saw his own smile light up his entire face. He led the pair of you out of the coffee shop, his head darting around looking out the shop windows as he walked, clearly keeping an eye out for anyone who looked suspicious. 

He’d held the door of the shop open for you, only releasing the hold he had on your hand to do so until you were outside on the sidewalk. His hand swiftly grasped back onto yours, entwining his fingers through your own when you both fell in step beside each other. Biting your lip, your gaze dropped down to your feet as you walked, your shoulder brushing alongside his with each step. 

For a few minutes the pair of you had walked in comfortable silence, your mind on the things you’d like to do to him back at Megan’s place. Though you found yourself wondering what he was thinking about right now and if it was something along the same lines. 

“I hope–hope ya had a good time,” Michael said nervously, finally breaking the silence.

Your hand squeezed his reassuringly as you glanced at him beside you over your shoulder. His head turned, a small smile on his mouth as he took in the look on your face.

“I did,” you assured him. “Wouldn’t be inviting you back with me if I hadn’t.”

“Quite bold of ya, too,” he mused.

A coy smile spread along your lips in response. “And quite bold of you to assume that’s what I meant,” you countered.

Michael’s expression quickly shifted to something sheepish, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. He looked absolutely adorable as his pace slowed beside you and he grew further flustered.

“Oh, I–I just thought–I mean, you’re right, I shouldn’ have–” he broke off, clearly trying to find the right words.

You laughed, shaking your head and watching his expression slightly relax at the sound. “I did mean that, actually,” you told him. “But you’re cute when you get flustered.”

Michael breathed out a laugh, his head ducking down as his other hand came to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’ think anyone’s called me cute before,” he muttered.

“Well I just did. And I think you are,” you pointed out, eyes still lingering on his handsome face. “Among other things,” you added, the words spilling out of you before you could stop them.

Michael looked up at you from underneath his lashes; there was something undeniably hungry in his eyes as he held you in his stare. That desire you’d been feeling all morning was only steadily growing within you as you saw his eyes scanning your face in the silence that followed, searching for something that you sincerely hoped he found there. But something caught his eye just past your shoulder, his focus shifting as his lips thinned. His expression quickly became serious and your eyes narrowed curiously back at him. 

Michael straightened beside you, his posture going rigid as his head spun forward. His hand tightened around yours as he quickened his pace. You were forced to increase your stride to keep up as he pulled you along beside him. 

“What–”

“Can’ tell if we’re bein’ followed,” he responded in a hushed tone. “Just keep your head down, pet. Act normal. Don' want somethin' happenin' to ya."

Your heart sped up in your chest for a different reason now, adrenaline flooding you at his words. Someone was following you? Someone looking for that bounty on Michael’s head he’d told you about this morning? The familiar cold prickle of fear rose the hairs along the back of your neck, your jaw tensing as you grit your teeth together.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone on the other side of the street. There was a  black hood pulled up over their head, making it impossible to make out their face. Their hands were stuffed in the pockets of their sweatshirt, but with them so far across the street, you couldn’t tell if there was a gun in one of their pockets or not. It looked as if they had turned their head towards the pair of you across the street before focusing back on the sidewalk before them. 

Were they following Michael then? Here to shoot him and claim the bounty Eamon had put out?

Michael abruptly tugged you sideways, startling you as he pulled you down a small side street. You willingly followed after him, still practically being dragged behind him until he suddenly stopped and turned, grabbing both of your shoulders in his hands. He pushed your back up into the brick wall of the nearby building without warning, a surprised gasp falling out of you at the impact. Michael's arms were soon caging you in between them, the front of him coming to press against the front of you. His face was just inches from yours now, panic and fear written plainly in his eyes as yours met his. 

"Just stay right there, pet. I got ya," he murmured, his left hand moving from off the wall to gently cradle the back of your head, easing it down to rest against his chest. "'M so sorry. Didn' think anyone was followin' us when we left."

You didn't respond, too busy trying to control your own increasing panic. Your hands fisted the material of his sweater as your heart thundered loudly in your own ears. Eyes snapping shut, you tried to focus on the smokey cinnamon scent of him, letting it fill your nose as you buried it further into his chest. Michael pressed himself more firmly to the front of you when you'd exhaled an audible, shuddering breath. 

"'S'alrigh', I got ya," he whispered, his cheek resting along the top of your head, his other hand still firmly cradling the back of your head to him. "Won' let anythin' happen to ya."

Seconds later you felt Michael tense against you, his entire body going rigid as he covered you with himself. Your fingers curled tighter around his sweater, the solid bulletproof vest underneath it reassuring you in this moment that he would be alright–he had to be. You heard his breath catch in his throat with how closely you were burrowed against him as you waited for what felt like the inevitable, tears pricking at your eyes. 

But nothing happened.

The moment felt like it dragged on for minutes, time slowing down, but no gunshot ever rang out. Very slowly Michael raised his head from the top of yours, but he didn't release his hold on you so you remained latched to the front of him. Whoever had been across the street must’ve passed by already now, but Michael was clearly trying to wait them out to make sure they really weren’t about to double back and shoot him. It was a few minutes before he finally broke the silence, your body feeling like it was stuck in a state of panic while you waited. 

"I–I think they're gone," Michael whispered. "Musta been nothin' after all."

His hand on the back of your head gently smoothed down your hair a few times, the comforting feel of it drawing a shudder out of you. Gradually you pulled away from his chest, finally releasing the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Michael was looking down at you, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Ya alrigh’, Grace?” he asked softly. 

Nodding, your hands continued to keep a firm hold to his sweater underneath his open jacket. Michael’s hand on the back of your head slid forward, gently cupping your cheek and tilting your face up towards his. That sorrowful, regretful look was back in his eyes again as they held yours. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest from a mixture of the residual fear and adrenaline, along with the admiration at how easily Michael chose to shield you with himself in the heat of the moment. 

“‘M so sorry, Grace,” he repeated. “Fuck, I shouldn’ have taken ya out this mornin’. I didn’ think it’d be a worry today because–”

You lunged forward, closing the brief space between the pair of you and cutting him off when you pressed your mouth to his. Hands releasing the death grip you’d had on his sweater, they came up to grab either side of his face, holding him firmly to you. It took Michael a second to recover from the shock of your action before he was kissing you back, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other gripping your hip. You gasped into his mouth when he pushed you back into the brick wall, his tongue slipping inside when you did. 

You moaned next–a loud, throaty sound that only spurred him on. Michael’s tongue was feverishly lapping at yours, the feeling leaving you breathless as your hands made their way back into his hair, gripping the dark strands firmly in your fists. You didn’t know if it was due to the fear of being shot, the flirty, lustful thoughts you’d been having for the duration of the date, or a combination of the two, but you found yourself needing him. 

Without thinking, completely forgetting that you were still in public, your hips pressed forward into Michael. His tongue slid back out of your mouth, his teeth biting down on your lip and tugging in response. He rumbled out a noise from deep within his chest as he nipped at your lip. You whined at the sound, pulling at his hair and trying to urge him to continue. Releasing your lip from between his teeth, Michael shook his head briefly. The pair of you stood there on the side street, clinging to each other and breathing heavily. 

“Not here,” Michael panted out. 

Eyelids falling shut, your head rolled back against the brick building behind you. He was right, now wasn’t the time. Reluctantly you released the grip you had on his hair, your hands instead coming to land against Michael’s chest. You took a moment, trying to catch your breath and calm your body down–from the kiss and the panic–as you felt both of his hands coming to rest along your hips. You could hear the way he was breathing heavily before you, just as out of breath as you were.  

After a minute you finally opened your eyes, focusing back on him in front of you. Michael’s shoulders were heaving a little less visibly now, one corner of his mouth curling upwards at you. Licking your lips, you tried hard to push those thoughts aside for the duration of the walk back to your place with him. 

“Why don’t we just–just continue this when we get back?” you suggested.

“Probably a better idea,” he agreed. 

Michael extended his hand towards you and you easily slipped your hand back into his. The pair of you made your way down the side street and towards the sidewalk, but Michael had come to a stop just before it, making you wait behind him while he surveyed the area. When he seemed satisfied you were safe, he gave your hand a little tug and the two of you continued on your walk. 

The entire walk back felt like it had taken forever with every flirtatious look the pair of you kept sending each other. You’d both tried to make conversation, but it seemed only one thing was on either of your minds, making it difficult to keep a topic going for long. By the time you’d reached your street, Michael had already convinced you to come back to his place instead because it was always empty, unlike your place where Megan could theoretically show up unexpectedly. 

That was how the pair of you found yourselves once again wrapped around each other. Michael had been reaching for his house key in his pocket to unlock his front door. Unable to wait, you’d grabbed onto the edge of his jacket and pulled him towards you. He didn’t hesitate to respond to you this time, his mouth diving straight down towards yours. 

He was kissing you feverishly again, clearly still as worked up from earlier as you were. His hands flew back to your hips, gripping them tight as he walked you the handful of steps backwards until you’d hit the stone fence behind you. Your own hands slid up his chest, wishing you could rip the vest off of him now that you were back because you wanted to feel him beneath your hands instead. 

His mouth soon broke from yours, his lips making their way down to your jaw. His beard lightly tickled against your skin as he trailed a few open mouthed kisses along the length of it, a moan vibrating in your throat. The moment he sucked a patch of your skin into his mouth, your eyes rolled back and your head landed against the brick wall behind you. Your arms wound around his neck, fingers digging into the thick material of his jacket as you sighed out a noise of pleasure. His mouth felt so goddamn good. 

As he continued to focus on your neck, one of his hands slid down from your hip, making its way around to palm your ass over your jeans. His large hand squeezed and the sound that it drew from your throat would’ve been mortifying if it hadn’t caused him to suck another patch of skin along your neck into his mouth. 

“ Fuck, Michael,” you breathed out.

You could feel the wet heat building between your thighs when he drew back from your neck, his plush lips damp with his saliva. His face was slightly flushed, that hungry look in his eyes again. God, you needed him badly.

Throwing all thought out, you pulled him towards you with the arms you had wrapped around his neck. Your lips crashed onto his, kissing him with every bit of that urgent hunger you felt burning inside of you. The pair of you were panting for air against each others' mouths, the kiss a mix of teeth and tongue as you gave yourself over to your desire. When you’d sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, your tongue dancing along the length of it, Michael had let out a groan that had your cunt clenching around nothing.

Releasing his lip from your mouth, your heated gaze locked onto Michael’s. The pair of you were still wrapped around each other, lips swollen from all of the kissing. Michael’s hand was still slowly kneading at your ass over your jeans as your lips parted, the words ‘I want you’ about to fall from them, but then an irritated voice rang out from just behind Michael and the pair of you froze.

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me, Michael!”

He immediately broke away from you, taking a few steps back as your hands inevitably fell to your sides with him now out of reach. Breath still coming in shallow pants, you felt a sharp pang hit you in the chest at how quickly he’d broken apart from you at the appearance of Amanda. 

“I've been callin' ya all mornin', Michael," she continued bitterly. "I came over here to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’ important and I find ya over here pawin' at her? Ya shouldn' even be draggin’ an outsider into our shite with everythin' goin' on!” Amanda snapped. 

"Amanda," Michael began, his tone placating.

“What if somethin' had happened and I couldn' get ahold o' ya, huh?" she barreled on. "Somethin' like what happened to Jaime? Because ya were too busy lookin’ for a quick fuck with the neighbor?”

Michael ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he eyed her. “Now’s not really the time for this, Amanda,” Michael shot back.

For some reason the fact that he hadn’t immediately clarified that you weren’t just a quick fuck had your chest tightening uncomfortably. Surely you meant more to him than that, even if you two didn’t know each other quite that well yet, right? It had seemed like you’d had a good date, and Birdy had said he seemed interested in you. Yet still, it hurt all the more that he’d not corrected her because you knew that Amanda had certainly meant something to him in the past, considering he’d had an affair with her despite her being married to his brother. 

Did she still mean something to him?

“It’s important, Michael,” Amanda said, her eyes taking a moment to rake you over with a look of disdain. “Certainly more important than whatever is goin' on here.”

“Can’t it wait?” he pressed.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed back at Michael. “ No, Michael, it can’t. Your family needs ya. More than your neighbor needs ya for a fuck,” she growled, gesturing a hand at you. “ She’s not important. Family is.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at her words and the blatant disrespect in them. Gaze flying towards Michael, you expected him to say something–anything at all–but all he did was sigh, his shoulders sagging as he did. Slowly his head turned over his shoulder back towards you, a sad, apologetic look in his eyes. 

“Grace,” he began, “I’m gonna have to deal with this right now.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. Was he serious? He was going to let her talk about you like that and then just ask you to leave? As if that’s all you really were was a quick fuck at what was now becoming an inconvenient time? 

Eyes hardening back at him, you felt anger and jealousy beginning to burn inside of you. How had you misread this situation so badly? You thought there was more going on between the pair of you, but apparently that was one-sided. Of course he’d just want a fuck fresh out of prison, and you were easy pussy next door, weren’t you? Seemingly desperate yourself. 

Michael’s brows drew together at the change in your expression, confusion slowly drawing across his face as he turned towards you more fully. His mouth opened as if he was going to say more, but you cut him off. 

“Don’t worry about it, Michael,” you retorted coldly, beginning to make your way past him. 

“Grace–”

“And don’t call me, either,” you added. 

“Grace,” he tried again.

You saw Michael reach out to grab your arm as you passed by, but you pulled it out of his reach. At the end of the driveway, you saw a faint smirk spread on Amanda’s lips as she watched the scene unfolding before her, crossing her arms over her chest as you neared. When you walked past her, it took every bit of your strength to resist smacking that pleased look right from her face. 

You rounded the stone fence and made your way back to Megan’s house, ignoring the sound of Michael’s voice behind you. He only stopped calling your name when you heard Amanda tell him to–as if she apparently still had some pull over him.

Drawing the house key out of your coat pocket, you bit the tip of your tongue as you unlocked the front door. You didn’t want either of them to hear you crying; you were waiting to do that after you’d locked the door behind you and buried yourself in your sister’s couch cushions where no one could witness the tears.

Because of course he must still want her, even after eight years in prison. What an idiot you were to think you were more than easy sex to him. You were just a distraction from her.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Surprising Inspiration

I hadn't really listen to any of Taylor Swift's songs before but I was feeling curious so I opened up Spotify, typed in her name, and hit play. It's set on shuffle so has been bouncing around her albums.

Like what I'm hearing so far.

And to my surprise, some of the songs have given some inspiration for a Michael Kinsella x Reader series. The three songs that grabbed my imagination are Blank Space, Wildest Dream, and Don't Blame Me.

Thinking that a Reader with a weakness for bad boys meets Michael at a bar. Starts off casual but soon there are feelings.

My mutuals who are Swifties (or anyone else who finds this post), any songs to recommend?

[dragon1d]

I've realized that I only read fanfiction of ships in which I kin one or both of the people because that way I can live through them and I'm lonely irl

[peachy-blinderss]

One of Us: A Tommy Shelby Fanficiton 

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of death, Suicidal Ideation. 

1624 words. Hello Peaky Peaches,  please go easy on me as this is my first Peaky Blinders fanfiction. It is more of an angsty set up then anything because I am an angsty person. If the mood strikes I may write a few parts of this, but who knows what will happen. The formatting of this is probably going to look weird, so I’m very sorry about that. I am not a techy person so if you know why it is being weird let me know. Please give it a read, and let me know what you think. Should I write more? Do you want to read more? Drop a comment. 

Love Lexi

Looking back, everything made sense. You let out a sardonic laugh as you thought back to your past. Were you always so dead inside? You didn’t think so, but it had been so long since you felt anything in your heart besides bitterness, regret, and pain. You imagined if you cut your chest open there would be nothing but a black mass where you heart used to beat furiously.    

It took a lot to get your dead heart beating these days. You had been different since the war, that’s what everyone always said anyway. Your smiles were forced, laughter rarely meeting your eyes. Your eyes were cold, and dead. There had been no emotions inside them for years.

You paraded around as a shell of your former self praying day after day to be released from this fleshy hell. Pain never scared you, nothing ever scared you, so the thought of death was soothing as it caressed your cheeks most nights. You thought of death as an old friend, something so familiar that you did not fear it. Death whispered sweet nothings into your ear as you went through your days, tempting you to join him. He was a persuasive bastard, and he had almost bested you many times before. But live on you did, even when most days you didn’t want to.

The only thing that kept you tethered to your miserable life was your brother. He needed you, and you needed him. Like you, the war changed him. He came back with many visible scars, but those weren't the ones that scared you most. You knew the scars you couldn’t see were the deadliest of all. A cut you can bandage, a mind you cannot. The will to live for him got you out of bed each day. He was all you had left since the war took your two other brothers, and pestilence took your parents. War was unforgiving, and you were reminded of it each day when you looked at him. Your brother was never the same. He was such a charming boy before he left, dimples for miles, and a laugh that would give anyone a stitch in their side. He came back a broken man. Now all he loved was the drink. You put him to bed more times then you could count, and cleaned up his vomit way more than you should have. His spent most of his days with his ass in a bar stool, and a whiskey in his hand. You didn't hate him for it, but your life would’ve been so much different if he chose to spend his time elsewhere.

So you were left to provide. Since the war you had been through many odd jobs, but you never turned to prostitution despite many propositions, and much desperation. Instead you were a maid, a nanny, and as of late a barmaid at the Garrison. You didn’t mind your job. It was a distraction from your demons, and it kept you busy. Your brother’s constant patronage to the Garrison is actually what got you your job. You see, the Garrison was his pub of choice. He claimed they had the best whiskey in all of Birmingham but you knew his love of it was due to the closeness to your house, as well as his relationships with the owners. He had been best friends with Arthur Shelby since boyhood. They did everything together. They shared their first smoke together, first beer, and even saw their first killing together during the war. Your other brothers also used to run with the Shelby boys as children. Even so, you also knew his presence at the Garrison had to do with the two little razors you’d sewn into his cap a few months back.

You’d spent many nights there trying to corral your brother into going home. Many nights you helped carry his drunk body home with the help of Arthur. Arthur was always good to you. He was like another brother to you, and he became even more important in your life after the death of your other two brothers. He was always quick with a smile, and a joke. After all those years, he still also had the habit of pulling on your braids to get a rise out of you. Things never change, especially not older brothers. Their worry never changes either.

After some time, Arthur began to notice the squalor you and your brother were living in. It broke his heart to see you barely managing. His solution was a simple one he said, come work for him at the Garrison. At first you refused, not wanting to be a burden. Despite this, you were a smart woman and knew you couldn’t subsist much longer on the low wages your side jobs were bringing in. Within days you were tending bar at the Garrison. All of your nights were spent there effectively tiring you out. This new routine offered a nice escape from the nightmares that awaited you when you weren’t exhausted enough. To quiet the voices, your threw yourself into work, picking up as many extra shifts as possible. You can’t feel anything when you work yourself to the bone.

In this time, you began to rekindle your friendships with the other two Shelby brothers. They had always been around you, but you always preferred Ada over them and they preferred your brothers over you. The funny thing about war and death is that it makes everyone kin once it’s done wrecking it’s havoc. Since you spent most of your days working at the Garrison, you spent most of your days in the company of the Shelby boys. They were crass, they drank too much, they swore too much, and they definitely fucked too much, but they were one of the only things that brought the tiniest amount of warmth into your heart. You especially liked that they didn’t treat you like most other men did. They didn’t tip toe around you, or treat you like a porcelain doll. They knew what you had gone through, and respected you immensely for it. They treated you like one of them, so you were often exposed to the dirtier sides of their lives. They cursed in front of you, and talked about their many conquests without sparring any details. You quite liked their crude jokes. Being one of the boys brought some normalcy back into your life. It reminded you of growing up in a house full of brothers. They made you laugh your real laugh, not the one you used around everyone else. You also liked to make them laugh, and you looked forward to the nights when it was just you and the Shelby boys in the bar.

Despite all the good that came from your job, you knew what the Shelby boys did. You also knew what your brother did with them. It didn’t bother you in the slightest as there had been blood on your own hands for years.

The Shelby boys and the other blinders were often brought to the Garrison to be mended by you when fights had gotten out of hand. You plucked bullets out of flesh with ease, and had the ability to stitch quickly and effectively, skills that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you wanted them to. Through these almost nightly clean ups, you became invaluable to the boys and the blinders.

After a particularly nasty fight, Tommy was brought to you just as you were about to lock the doors of the Garrison. He was carried in by John, Arthur, and your brother. Blood never scared you, but the sight of him made your dead heart flinch for a split second. He looked bad. He had a deep gash running along the left side of his face. Stitches would be needed no doubt. He also was bleeding heavily from his right side, and his face was covered in bruises. Never one to cower away you immediately began directing the boys to lay Tommy on the nearest table. Pulling a switchblade out of your garter, you began to cut his shirt off of him, immediately realizing what had happened. There was a small bullet hole on his right side.

“John, grab me a bottle of whiskey, and my kit now,” you yelled quickly.

You weren’t one to be disobeyed in situations like this. When he came back you began taking out the metal pliers you would need to pull the bullet from Tommy’s side. You also cut off a piece of your slip so Tommy could have something to bite into as you had no pain killers to give the man. You began to extract the bullet from his side. Luckily for him the bullet hadn’t fragmented too terribly, so you only had to do minimal digging to get it out. He certainly didn’t feel that way as he howled in pain.

As quickly as the boys stormed in you had Tommy all patched up. He now sported a few stitches on his head, and white bandages wrapped around his side. You offered him a drink which he gladly accepted.

“You haven’t lost your touch, eh?” He said with a mirthless smile. You nodded briefly at him.

“I almost wish I had. It brings back too many bad memories,” you say as you down your whiskey in one go. The fire burning your throat was something you quite liked. The pain of the burn made you feel almost human again.

You looked over at Tommy, catching his eyes. They were such a beautiful blue. They always used to be windows into his soul, now they were cold and dead just like yours.

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter One]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.3k [Series Masterlist]

Summary: Contracted to work on your next novel, you leave the States and move in with your sister in Dublin in hopes of a quieter, peaceful place to work on your writing. And somewhere safe to hide. But you weren't expecting to meet your sister's attractive and curious neighbor, the one fresh out of prison–Michael Kinsella. And you certainly weren't expecting to become his safe haven, or for him to become yours–especially when your past eventually finds you.

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: In this series, Reader is American and has a backstory and family (though if you'd like to pretend Reader was adopted at birth to feel more like a reader-insert to fit you, feel free). She will use a fake name as well. This story is also fairly dark at times, but if you watched the show you should be just fine. Though it's not all dark, because I just really want to give our man Mikey some happiness and comfort! You get Mikey in chapter two though, sorry! You can find the chapter list for this series here.

Also I apologize in advance for incorrect terms of things--I'm American but I am trying my hardest to get correct terms/slang/dialect as I go. But I know there will be mistakes. Feel free to kindly point them out to me if you know something is incorrect!

Head resting against the car window, your eyes scanned the row of houses as your sister drove slowly down the street she’d just turned onto. With each passing moment since you’d left the Dublin Airport, you’d felt a weight steadily easing off of your shoulders. You were free. For now, at least. 

Your body was aching from your time trapped in that cramped seat in the airplane for the more than seven hour flight from Chicago to Dublin, and you were certainly worn out from the time change. In Chicago it would’ve been the middle of the night, but here it was just after nine in the morning. Despite the sun shining bright with the promise of a brand new day, you were desperate for sleep. 

As Megan turned and pulled the car into the driveway of the house at the end of the street, you began to unfasten your seatbelt. You were eager to get out of the car and grab your bags before settling in. Maybe you’d manage to grab a nap after your long trip. It had certainly been exhausting.

Your sister turned off the engine before shifting in the driver’s seat, shooting you a bright smile. "Well, this is home," she told you. "What do you think?"

You leaned forward to look out of the windshield, eyeing the white house with the bit of brick on the front. It was the last house on the corner, with a tall stone fence surrounding the driveway and separating it from the one just next door. Your eyes shifted, taking in the sight of the house just beside it from what you could see over the stone fence. They looked almost identical. 

"It's nice," you told your sister, settling back into the seat and focusing on her again. A tired smile made its way onto your face. "Looks cozy. How do you afford it with just a nurse’s salary at Dublin Central?”

Megan’s shoulders sagged at the question, her bottom lip catching between her teeth as she stared at you quietly for a moment. And then her mouth curled into a sheepish grin. “I suppose I can be honest now that you’re here,” she said.

“And what is that supposed to mean, Megan?” you asked her.

“The house actually sold for a bit under value,” she admitted. “Because of the neighbors.”

Your eyes narrowed instantly at her, one brow rising curiously up onto your forehead. “The neighbors? What do you mean?” you asked. “Are they noisy or something?”

Megan’s eyes dropped down to her lap, an awkward laugh leaving her as she fidgeted with her car keys. “I mean sometimes, sure. But no, it’s uh, it’s because of who they are.”

You rolled your eyes with an amused huff, your attention returning to the house before you. “What? Like you live next door to a damn crime syndicate or something?” you teased.

A heavy silence fell over the pair of you in the car. When she still hadn’t answered, you turned to look at your sister beside you. That sheepish smile was still on her face and it immediately had the amusement on your own dying instantly. Shaking your head roughly at her, your eyebrows flew up onto your forehead.

“You’re kidding, right?” you pressed. “This is a joke?”

The sheepish smile didn’t fall off of her face. Eyelids slowly lowering, you muttered a curse as your right hand came to rub at your forehead. 

“The Kinsella’s,” Megan said softly. “They’ve got a house across the street and the two next door to me. Though the one right next door has been empty for a bit. But uh, Birdy was telling me that’s changing. In a couple of days now, actually.”

Your eyes landed back on the house beside Megan’s, the one that looked almost identical. “Who’s Birdy?” you asked. “And why was that house vacant?”

“Her name’s Bridget but she goes by Birdy,” Megan answered. “She’s the sweet lady across the street. The one with the curly, dark hair. She was interested in meeting you, actually. Very welcoming woman. Brought me a nice housewarming gift when I moved in just over a year ago.”

“She’s part of this crime family?” you questioned.

“Uh, well, yeah,” Megan admitted awkwardly. “But she’s real sweet. And none of them have really been any trouble since I’ve lived here.”

Your attention returned back to your younger sister beside you, eyeing her carefully. You gestured your head at the neighboring house. “So why is that one about to not be empty this week?” you questioned.

“It belongs to Jimmy Kinsella’s brother,” she answered slowly. “He lives in the big, fancy gated house just next door to it with his wife and two sons.”

You shot your sister a pointed look. “You’re avoiding answering the question,” you stated.

“Okay, fine,” Megan said with a huff. “The house belongs to Michael Kinsella. He’s been in prison for eight years–and no, I have no idea for what because I don’t really go poking around into their business. So don’t even ask. But I guess he’s being released on Wednesday. Though Birdy was saying she’s not sure if he’s going to even want to stay there anyway, so it may remain empty.”

“Fucking hell, Megan,” you growled, throwing your head back onto the headrest. Two fingers flew up to pinch the bridge of your nose as you squeezed your eyes shut. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me about this before I agreed to move to Dublin?”

“Because you needed somewhere to go!” Megan answered earnestly. “And I just wanted you here and safe with me. I promise you, they’re not going to be a problem.”

“You know I’m trying to keep a low profile out here, Meg,” you shot. “You know that.”

Megan’s hand gently rested along your shoulder as she softly said your name. You bristled instantly, your body tensing.

“I told you not to call me that here,” you warned her. “Not my real name.”

“Alright Grace ,” Megan corrected herself, overly emphasizing the name you’d chosen. “I promise, they’re not going to go digging into you. You’ll remain private and hidden for as long as you want here, I promise. You tell them you’re Grace Moore and you’re my half-sister and no one will bat an eye. I swear. They’re too wrapped up in their own shit to care.”

Holding your sister’s gaze, a frown spread across your lips. “I hope for both our sake’s your right, Meg,” you told her, tone firm. “Because if word gets out that I’m here–”

“It won’t ,” she pressed. 

Your eyes narrowed back at your sister as you continued, “If word gets out that I’m here, we’re probably both as good as dead.”

“Yeah, I understand the situation,” Megan replied. “You can drop the doom and gloom, though. You’ll be fine here.”

A knock on the window just beside you caused you to startle in your seat, a hand flying up to cover your chest, just over your racing heart. Spinning quickly towards the noise, you spotted a dark haired woman standing just beside the car door wearing a dress and heels. A bright smile was spread across her lips. She sent you a wave with one hand, holding up a bottle of wine in the other.

“That’s Birdy,” Megan whispered.

You forced a smile onto your face as you gazed back up at the woman through the car window. Through the smile and gritted teeth you whispered back, “Just remember my name is Grace Moore here, sis.”

Reaching a hand out, you opened the car door as Birdy took a step back, giving you room to exit the vehicle. The smile on your face felt stiff and worn-out, but you kept it plastered along your lips.

“Well good morning to ya both,” the woman said, her bright blue eyes fixed on you. “Your sister told me she was picking ya up from the airport this morning. Thought I’d stop by and introduce myself.” 

She held out a hand towards you, the gesture drawing your eyes instantly at the movement. For a moment your gaze lingered on her offered hand. 

“Bridget Goggins, though you can call me Birdy,” she introduced herself, her accented voice drawing your attention back up to her smiling face. “And you must be Megan’s sister, yes?”

“Half-sister,” you corrected quickly, your hand sliding into hers. “Grace Moore.”

“Oh well that’s such a lovely name, dear,” Birdy said.

The smile never wavered from her lips as your hand returned to your side, but the calculated and scrutinizing look in her eyes wasn’t lost on you. You were going to have to be careful around her, be extra cautious that you didn’t slip up. She looked like the type who’d notice the tiniest detail and store it away for later, all while still displaying the friendly facade. 

What the hell had Megan done keeping her goddamn criminal neighbors a secret from you?

“Oh, and this is for you, Grace,” Birdy said, holding out the expensive looking bottle of merlot to you. “Consider it a welcome to the neighborhood gift.”

Your mouth felt strained with the effort of maintaining the tight smile on your face as you accepted the wine. “Thank you, that’s very kind of you,” you replied. 

“Your sister Megan is such a lovely young lady, I’ve truly enjoyed having her in the neighborhood,” Birdy continued, her blue eyes piercing through you as she spoke. “I certainly expect you’ll be just as wonderful an addition as she has been.”

Teeth gritting together, you felt the edge of something like a threat in her words. A warning to stay out of their business. 

“I’m rather a private person,” you replied, noticing the faint arch to her brow at your words, “but I’m sure we’ll get along just fine, Birdy.”

“Ahh, lovely then,” Birdy said easily. “I suppose I’ll let ya get settled in, dear. I’m sure it was a long flight for ya from the States. Wonderful chatting with you both.”

“You as well,” you told her. “And thank you–” you said, raising the bottle of wine in your hand, “–for the welcoming gift.”

Birdy’s smile somehow only grew, though whether the smile was genuine or still meant as a warning you couldn’t quite decipher. But it had unsettled you a bit.

“Of course, dear," she replied. "I’m sure we’ll chat again quite soon.”

You watched as she turned, her heels clicking along the pavement as she sauntered off down the driveway and across the street. She’d left you with a strange feeling in your stomach, wondering whether she truly was as friendly and safe as Megan made her out to be or not. But there was certainly more to her than just being the sweet lady from across the street.

Spinning on your heel when Birdy had disappeared, you turned and raised a brow at your sister on the other side of the car. Megan rolled her eyes.

"What?" she asked in exasperation. "She was nice ."

You pointed a thumb over your shoulder in the direction Birdy had just left. "That's nice to you? Because to me that screamed keep your fucking head down and stay out of our shit."

Megan shrugged, making her way to the trunk of her car. "So? You'll be doing exactly that anyway, why does it matter?" Megan asked.

"Because I'd like to keep my head," you told her, making your way over to the trunk.

Your sister opened it, grabbing one of your suitcases and pulling it out with a huff. You reached in, tossing your duffle bag over your shoulder before pulling out the last suitcase. As you adjusted the strap of the bag on your shoulder, Megan reached up and closed the trunk. She hesitated, eyeing you seriously as her hand wrapped around the handle of your luggage.

“I’ve already told you, they’re not going to take an interest in you,” she pressed.

“Oh, really? Is that why I’m getting a welcoming gift from what I presume is probably the damn matriarch?” you whispered harshly.

“Good lord you have written too many of those damn mafia books,” she muttered, turning and dragging your suitcase to the front door with her.

“Well I certainly had enough fucking inspiration for them,” you whispered under your breath.

You followed up the driveway behind your sister, coming to a stop as she took a minute to unlock the door. A moment later she opened it and you were stepping inside behind her, your eyes examining every inch of her house. It was certainly cozy, with a small kitchen and table just off of the front little entryway. Everything looked clean and well organized. You spotted a few plants near the big window.

“So, this is the kitchen, obviously,” Megan said, gesturing a hand at the space as she kept walking forward. “Here is the living room,” she continued as she pointed out the big room just past the kitchen and a staircase to your left. “Though here they call it a sitting room.” She paused, shooting you a smile over her shoulder. “You’re going to sound very American for a while here.”

“That’d be because I am,” you replied.

She rolled her eyes playfully at you before gesturing to a door just in the corner of the space. “Half bathroom.” She turned, gesturing to a sliding glass door on the far end of the living room. “The backyard. Or the garden I suppose is the term here. And then,” she said, hefting your bag up into her arms as she began to ascend the stairs, “the bedrooms are up here.”

Getting a good hold on your bag, you followed your sister up the handful of stairs. Eventually you came to a short landing, setting your bag down as your sister tried to catch her breath.

“Feels like this weighs a hundred pounds,” she complained, pushing some hair off of her forehead. “Right, well, my room is just here,” she told you, pointing at the door on the far left. “Full bathroom here,” she said, gesturing to a door in the middle. “And then your room.”

Megan led the way to the room on the far right, pushing the door open with her shoulder as she pulled your suitcase inside. Dragging your other bag behind her, you made your way in and took in the sight of where you’d be staying for a while. The room wasn’t large, just big enough for a queen sized bed and a small, upright dresser in the far corner. There was a big window just beside the dresser too, a curtain drawn across it.

“You like it?” Megan asked hopefully as she set your luggage by the bed’s footboard.

Nodding, you stepped over to the bed, rolling your suitcase up against it before dropping your duffle bag onto the mattress. “Yeah,” you told her. “It’s bright in here. And you always had a knack for decor.”

“It’s nothing extravagant,” she told you as you made your way over to the window. “But it’s big enough for the both of us. And the garden is nice, you’ll love it out there.”

Pushing back the curtain, the first thing your eyes saw was another window directly across from it. It looked like it was barely ten feet away from yours. There were curtains drawn over the window, but despite that you could easily surmise it was probably the bedroom window of the aforementioned Michael Kinsella. A frown settled onto your lips at that realization. 

Great, so the man fresh out of prison could easily peep into your room while you slept. That certainly didn’t make you uncomfortable. 

Sighing, you turned back around towards your sister, crossing your arms over your chest. You sent her a smile, one which she readily returned.

“Sorry I’ve been an ass,” you apologized. “I appreciate what you’re doing, letting me stay here. Really. It’s just been a long trip and the time difference is killing me. And I’m–I’m a little stressed knowing there’s people just next door who’d probably be very uncomfortable knowing a neighbor is living here under a false identity.”

“Not like you’re a threat to them,” Megan said.

You blew out a rough breath, your head turning over your shoulder to glance out the window behind you. “No, I’m not,” you agreed softly, eyes lingering on the neighboring window. “But I know how people like them think. One little thing seems off and then they’re all over you. Wondering if you’re an undercover fed or cop.”

���Guard,” Megan cut in, catching your attention. “They call the garda–the police here–guards. Just so you know. But I highly doubt they’re going to take an interest in some quiet novelist.”

“Well, considering I write ‘those damn mafia books’,” you said, uncrossing your arms to air quote your sister’s words, “and they're under my real name, I’d think they could get curious.”

“You’re already telling people it’s a pen name,” Megan said with a wave of her hand. “No one’s going to bat an eye.”

“Right,” you mumbled. Feeling the weight of your fatigue settling in, you asked her, “You uh, you mind if I just have a chance to settle in? Maybe grab a shower and a nap?” 

“Oh! No, sorry,” Megan said quickly, making her way towards the door. “Get comfortable, of course. I bet you’re beat. I’ve got spare towels under the sink in the bathroom, too. And if you need anything just holler. I don’t have a shift at the hospital until later tonight so I’ll be around. And there’s some food in the fridge, help yourself to whatever.”

You sent Megan a warm smile as she headed to the door, but after a few steps she hesitated in the doorframe. Eventually she turned, glancing at you over her shoulder.

“I’m glad you’re here,” she whispered. 

“Me too,” you replied.

You watched as Megan made her way out of the room and across the landing, listening to her footsteps as she descended the stairs. When you finally were alone, you trudged over to one of your suitcases, lying it down on its side. You unzipped it, digging around a minute for some comfortable clothing to dress into before grabbing your bag of toiletries. Afterwards you headed out of your room to the bathroom just beside it. 

You set your clothes and toiletry bag onto the bathroom counter and then bent down, searching for a clean towel in the vanity. You pulled out a soft, fluffy blue towel and then rose to your feet, spotting an extra towel hook by the shower. Walking over, you hung the towel up before reaching a hand into the shower, turning the water on and letting the water warm up. The spray came out loud, the noise sharp to your ears in the silence.

Turning around, you grabbed the hem of your sweater and slipped it up and over your head before tossing it to the floor. You discarded your bra next before slipping out of your jeans and underwear. But before you could focus back on the shower, your eyes caught sight of your reflection in the mirror and you paused.

There were a few bags under your eyes, no thanks to the flight you’d just endured and the stress of actually getting onto that flight and getting out of the States. You certainly looked as tired as you felt. And your hair looked a little dingy, in desperate need of a wash. Inevitably your eyes dropped lower to the sight of the three long, thin scar lines that were drawn across your stomach. Your right hand reached up, fingertips lightly tracing the length of the healed-over skin. 

Exhaling a shuddering breath, your hand eventually dropped back to your side. Forcing your eyes back up to meet your own in the reflection, you reminded yourself that you were safe now. Hidden. And if you laid low long enough, maybe one day you’d truly be free again. 

[bellaxgiornata]

She Lit a Fire [Chapter One]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been nearing six months since your mother passed and nothing about your fast-paced life feels right anymore. Not knowing what else to do with the inheritance left to you, you quit your job on a whim and book a few weeks stay at a seaside cottage in a small town in Ireland. Unsurprisingly, you're quickly drawn to the handsome bartender at the local pub who curiously doesn't drink–and who also happens to live just down the beach from your cottage. The pair of you end up in a whirlwind romance, but when it comes time for you to leave, Michael is crushed when you refuse to continue things. Though you're certainly surprised to find yourself Stateside two months later pregnant with his child.

Warnings/Tags: 18+; contains smut, mostly fluff but some angst, and an eventual unplanned pregnancy

a/n: Okay, I wasn't planning to share this for another couple of days, but I got it edited up and I was just too excited. I've started on chapter two already, so here you go! Feedback is always appreciated! Full chapter list can be found here.

Standing before the little white cottage nestled in front of the green hillside behind it, you heard the taxi that had just dropped you off beginning to drive away. The gravel road to the right of you crunched loudly under the car’s tires as it disappeared. And then, not even a minute later, you were alone. 

Readjusting the duffle bag slung over your shoulder, your left hand clutched the handle of your suitcase as you stared at the wooden front door. For a moment you stood there, mesmerized by the view of the place you’d be staying and the picturesque background behind it as you fingered the single key on the keyring in your right hand. Without the rumble of the taxi's engine in the driveway, you could hear the sound of the waves crashing ashore behind you accompanied by the sound of the gulls flying overhead. It was already far more peaceful here than back at your apartment. Back home all you heard were the sounds of traffic and police sirens on the streets below and the occasional shouting rising up from the sidewalk.

Coming to Ireland had been something you’d admittedly done without much forethought. You weren’t entirely sure why you’d picked this small seaside town of Dunnis Port out of anywhere that you could’ve gone, either, but when you’d been absently scrolling through places to stay on Airbnb, you’d spotted this cottage by the ocean and something about it had drawn you to it instantly. Maybe you were being a little ridiculous, but you swore it had been your mom somehow pushing you to come here. So you’d booked the cottage for the next handful of weeks and then immediately booked a flight to Ireland.

And now here you were, silently wondering what the hell had made you quit your job and disappear to another country. Though you didn’t know how else to spend all the money your mother had left behind to you. You were, after all, her only child. And your father had never been in the picture. Admittedly, you'd also grown tired of the monotony back home ever since your mother’s unexpected passing. Everything had just felt…pointless. You found yourself yearning for something more, though you had no idea exactly what it was that you seemed to be missing. You hoped getting away might help you discover whatever it was, though.

With a deep exhale you took a step forward, beginning to make your way up the paved walkway and towards the cottage as you rolled your luggage behind you. It was nearing seven in the evening here in Dunnis Port and the sun was starting to hang lower in the gray, overcast sky. A shiver ran down your back as you stopped in front of the door, placing the key in the lock. You wished you’d have at least looked into the weather in Ireland before you’d left. How foolish of you to assume that a seaside town in northern Ireland would be warm just because it was the beginning of June–it was barely sixty degrees fahrenheit when your plane had landed and the temperature was only dropping. You hadn’t exactly packed for this weather, which meant you were now going to have to do some shopping tomorrow. 

While fortunately Kenmare Cottage was about a mile walk from Dunnis Port's downtown, unfortunately Dunnis Port had no transportation services. Which meant you’d be walking everywhere unless you called a taxi service in one of the larger cities almost twenty minutes away. And that also meant tonight you’d be on foot making your way to the Sheep’s Head Pub that you’d spotted when the taxi had driven through the village’s small downtown a bit ago. You figured you’d find a market tomorrow and deal with having to carry groceries back to the cottage when it wasn’t dark and hopefully would be a bit warmer outside. After that long flight you’d just gotten off of–and with how late it was getting–you figured you’d toss your luggage down, get a good look at the cottage you’d be staying at for a few weeks, and then begin your little trek to the pub for some food and a much needed drink.

Which is what you were doing now. Rolling your suitcase just into the sitting room, you’d rested it up against the back of the gray sofa before dropping your duffle bag onto the sofa’s cushion. Absently rubbing a hand along your sore shoulder from where the strap of your bag had steadily been digging into it, your eyes took in the quaint decor in the cottage. It certainly looked cozy and comfortable, just like the pictures had made this place seem. You figured when the sun was actually out and shining there would be a lot of natural light in here. Looking out of the large window to your right, just beside the little television, you noticed you had a perfect view of the beach and the waves rolling up on shore.

Meandering to the little kitchen just off of the sitting room, you weren’t surprised to see it was barely larger than the kitchen in your apartment considering the size of the cottage itself. All of the cabinets were white with rustic black handles and the countertops were a beautiful butcher block. There was a small wooden table with two chairs situated underneath one of the windows. On the adjoining wall just beside the circular table there was a door that led out to the small, fenced in back garden. A myriad of colorful flowers were blooming against the stone fence and you noticed a cozy bench on the paved patio. A perfect place to read when the weather was nice, you figured.

After having quickly examined the kitchen, you made your way towards the short hallway just off of the sitting room. Poking your head into the room on your right, you found a decent sized bedroom with a queen sized bed that was covered in multiple decorative pillows resting atop a white duvet. Your body practically begged you to step inside and collapse onto it after that long flight, but you knew you’d regret not grabbing dinner if you did. 

Glancing through the door to your left you found the bathroom which boasted a large walk-in shower. You’d figured the owner of the property must’ve remodeled this bathroom recently based on the appearance of it. There was a white and black patterned tile floor and that luxurious shower which you hadn’t anticipated being quite so large–it looked even more inviting than it had in the photos. Though you were a little nervous about the uncovered little window situated beside the shower; even if Kenmare Cottage didn’t have neighbors immediately next door, you still worried about someone spotting you stepping out of the shower through it–though it did offer plenty of natural light.

Eyes still focused on the little bathroom window, you noticed it was steadily getting closer to sunset. You had no idea what time the Sheep’s Head Pub stopped serving food, but you hoped if you started your long trek there now, you’d be there in time to eat something and have a drink or two. Maybe the alcohol would warm you up for your walk back to the cottage afterwards. And maybe someone working at the pub would be able to direct you to a place to buy better clothes and some groceries tomorrow.

By the time you’d reached the pub, you were shivering beneath your sweatshirt. You’d long since shoved your hands into the pockets of it in the hopes of keeping them warm while you’d walked. As the sun had further sunk lower in the sky and the night had gotten colder, the walk managed to somehow feel like it had doubled in length. By the time the sights and sounds of Dunnis Port’s downtown met your eyes and ears, you felt a sense of relief flood you. You didn’t even care if the pub was still serving food at this point so long as you could warm up somewhere for a few minutes and have a drink.

Reluctantly removing your hand from the pocket of your sweatshirt, you opened the door of the pub and were immediately met with a wave of warmth and a myriad of chatter and laughter. As you stepped inside, the energy of the place itself almost seemed to wash over you like a soothing balm to the cold. There were a few patrons scattered about at various tables talking animatedly with each other and a few others seated on the stools at the bar counter, partially full glasses of beer in their hands. This place seemed far more lively than you’d anticipated it to be considering what a small town Dunnis Port was. 

Taking a moment, your eyes curiously scanned around the pub that was somehow both a mixture of modern and rustic simultaneously melded together. As you made your way over to the bar counter, pulling out a red stool and settling down onto it, you couldn’t help but notice this place felt oddly welcoming. Despite the unexpected temperature, Dunnis Port seemed to have been a good destination choice.

While waiting for one of the bartenders to take notice of you, you glanced back over your shoulder through the front windows of the pub. The sky was a wash of faint purple and pink as the sun began to vanish below the horizon, the colors contrasting with the gray clouds still hanging low in the sky. The opposition of the bright, warm colors overtaking the gloom was beautiful and you couldn’t help but lose yourself in the view as you watched the last sliver of sunlight slowly fade away.

“Somethin’ I can get ya?”

Startling on the stool in surprise at the sound of the voice, you swiftly spun back around. On the other side of the counter was a man who looked just a few years older than you judging by the slight gray in his dark beard. He had dark brown hair and tattoos along his right arm that were visible beneath the sleeve of his black and somewhat fitted tee-shirt. But what really caught your attention was the glimmer of something light and undecipherable in his hazel eyes as he stood there leaning forward with both of his hands splayed wide on the bar counter, a white towel slung over his shoulder and a friendly smile on his face directed at you.

He was easily the most attractive man you’d ever encountered and you were quickly overrun with nerves.

His head tilted a bit to the side, the corner of his lips quirking up a bit higher. “Not from ‘round here, are ya?” he asked.

“What makes you say that?” you questioned back. 

You were shocked at how much bolder the question had sounded than you actually felt with his eyes on you. He chuckled in response, the sound of it pleasant and captivating. He dipped his head towards you in something akin to a nod before he spoke.

“American accent is a dead giveaway,” he pointed out, his own Irish accent only further drawing you into him. “And I happen to know just ‘bout damn near everyone in Dunnis Port.”

“Ahh,” you replied, your hands nervously coming to rest on the bar counter as you clasped them together. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“Are ya stayin’ at the Carrigan House?” he asked curiously, dark brows knitting together.

“The what?” you asked.

He grinned, shaking his head. “Take that as a no,” he answered. “The Carrigan House is the bed and breakfast ‘round the corner from here. But if ya aren’t stayin’ there, I assume you’re at Kenmare?”

You nodded, fingers tightening nervously around each other. You hadn’t expected this handsome stranger to be so interested in chatting with you. Though, you figured he must not get too many new people to chat with outside of his usual patrons. You were probably just a novelty to him. 

“Kenmare Cottage, yeah,” you answered him.

“Bit of a walk dressed like that, isn’t it?” he asked, eyeing your sweatshirt.

Biting your lip, you awkwardly ducked your head. Heat made its way up your neck and into your cheeks, embarrassment flooding you. “I suppose now is where I admit to not realizing just how cold it actually is here,” you replied sheepishly. “I may not have expected the weather to be like this in June and didn’t exactly pack accordingly.”

The man chuckled again, the sound only further causing your face to flame. Internally you cursed yourself for being so ignorant when you’d booked this trip. You should have looked into the weather and done some research for the place you’d planned to spend a few weeks. You shouldn't have been so uncharacteristically spontaneous.

“Ahh, well, it’s usually ‘bout twenty or so degrees durin’ the day,” he told you. “Or, s’pose you’d call that seventy or so? Get’s a bit cooler in the evening’s though. And it tends to rain.”

“Great,” you muttered under your breath.

He laughed lightly yet again, the sound causing you to look up at him from beneath your lashes. His eyes were creased at the corners, a genuine smile spread across his lips. You had a strong feeling that you'd get lost in those eyes if you stared too long.

“Not the beach holiday ya planned, I take it?” he asked in amusement.

You shot him a tense smile, shaking your head. “No, not exactly,” you admitted.

“So,” the man asked, pushing off of the bar counter and straightening back up, his demeanor turning almost business-like, “you waitin’ on your other half or can I get ya somethin’ to drink?”

Eyes narrowing curiously back at him, you asked, “Other half?”

“Oh,” he replied, his head once again tilting curiously to the side as his brows faintly drew back together. “I just assumed ya were here on your honeymoon. Newlyweds are the ones usually stayin’ over at Kenmare.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it and you quickly shook your head. “Oh, uh, no,” you told him. “I’m not newly married. Or married at all, actually. It’s–it’s just me.” Clearing your throat, you nervously averted your eyes towards what appeared to be the kitchen behind the bar counter. “Is the kitchen still open? My flight got in not that long ago and honestly I’m starving.”

“Yeah, it is,” he answered. “I can get ya somethin’ to eat if you’d like?”

Attention returning to him, your eyes lingered on the way he was staring back at you. He almost seemed to be studying you even more closely now than he had been previously and that had you feeling even more nervous. You shifted in your seat, your hands clasping and unclasping awkwardly along the countertop.

“Is there something you’d recommend?” you asked shyly.

The bright smile gradually returned to his face as he nodded. “Certainly, though I doubt it’s what ya would probably order,” he replied.

One of your brows rose up onto your forehead. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned carefully.

“It means,” the man continued, his smile turning almost cheeky, “that ya look like you’d order the fish and chips off the menu because it’s familiar and safe.”

Your other brow shot up onto your forehead as you openly gaped at the man. He laughed at the look on your face, which normally would have sent you bolting straight to the door, but when his own face lit up with a warmth that reached his eyes, your breath briefly caught in your throat and your mind went nearly blank. What you wouldn’t give for this stranger’s playful teasing to be something more than friendly banter. 

“Do you make a habit of insulting your customers?” you asked, trying to recover while ignoring the heat of embarrassment once again on your face.

“‘M’sorry, I didn’t mean it as an insult,” he said, his laughter subsiding but that glimmer of amusement remained in his eyes. “Ya just look like you’re…tryin’ to play it safe? That’s the sayin’, isn’t it?”

“And you think I shouldn’t be?” you asked back.

The man shrugged easily as he rested a single hand back onto the counter and leant in towards you. Your pulse sped up at the way he was looking down at you, his hand half a foot away from your clasped ones.

“‘M’just sayin’ if you’ve come all this way to Ireland then ya might consider tryin’ somethin’ ya normally wouldn’t," he suggested. 

Swallowing hard, you fought the urge to blurt out something you'd regret–like how you'd like to try him . You weren't generally the type to have casual one night stands, nor had you come to Ireland with any intention to have some sort of romantic fling while you were here. Though, truthfully, you had no idea why the hell you'd come here to begin with, but maybe he had a point. Maybe you did need to step out of your comfort zone.

“So what do you recommend?” you asked him.

“Potato soup.”

You shot him a flat look. That was not the suggestion you were expecting.

“Soup?” you asked in disbelief.

"Hey now," the man said, holding up a hand and grinning back at you, "don't say it like that. ‘S’good soup and it'll warm ya up. Trust me."

"I don't even know you," you said, the comment slipping out before you could stop it.

He laughed lightly again before reaching a hand up and pulling the towel from off of his shoulder. Entranced by his hands, you watched as he wiped them on the towel before he tossed it back onto his shoulder. After, he extended his right hand towards you over the counter with a smile still lingering on his lips.

“Name’s Michael," he told you.

You hesitated a moment, eyeing his outstretched hand before you gradually unclasped your own, nervously placing yours into his. Clearing your throat, you told him your name, your heart racing when his calloused and warm hand firmly gripped yours in response. 

"Now ya know me," he teased, releasing your hand. "So, would ya like a menu or would ya like to trust me?" 

"I uh, I guess I'll trust you," you replied, quickly clasping your hands back together on the countertop and awkwardly wringing them together. 

"Ya want a beer with that soup?" he asked, raising a questioning brow. 

You nodded, lip caught between your teeth. You swore you could feel the ghost of his hand still lingering on yours. It was distracting. 

"Yes, that'd be–be great," you stammered. 

Still grinning, he lightly rapped his knuckles along the countertop, his gaze holding yours as he did. Something stirred in your chest at the extended eye contact, your stomach knotting anxiously.

"I'll be right back with that for ya," he said, murmuring your name softly. 

Continuing to worry your lip between your teeth, you couldn't fight the way his shift in tone had affected you just before he’d turned away. Your eyes tracked his movements, watching him walk away from you and towards the kitchen. Unable to help yourself, you took in the view of the muscles along his back with the way his shirt was clinging to him. Just before he disappeared around the corner, your eyes dipped down and caught the way his dark jeans hugged the curve of his ass. Immediately you inhaled a sharp breath, eyes dropping down to your hands.

This man was going to make it damn near impossible for you to ever visit this pub again. You were positive you’d only end up flushing and stammering around him like a teenage girl. And that would certainly be embarrassing. 

Sliding out of the bar stool, you felt warmed from the inside out. It probably shouldn’t have surprised you that Michael had been right about the potato soup–it was a vastly better choice than the fish and chips you’d surely have ordered otherwise. And that beer he’d poured you had certainly done wonders on warming you up. It was admittedly stronger than you were used to, but you hoped that meant you’d just be more resistant to the cold on your trek back to the seaside cottage. 

There was a small part of you that was a bit disappointed that you hadn’t spoken with Michael again after that brief interaction when he’d dropped off your soup and your beer. Though you kept telling yourself it was for the best. Developing feelings for a man who lived in another country–and who might also be married or seeing someone himself–seemed like a very bad idea. You didn’t need to further complicate things in your already complicated life. But still, you couldn’t help but let your eyes occasionally stray towards him as he chatted with an older couple at the opposite end of the bar while you ate. You’d also expected him to be the one to give you your bill before you’d left, but it had been a sweet albeit blunt older woman who’d told you her name was Debbie. She’d also given you directions to a market downtown that you could visit tomorrow to pick up some groceries to stock the cottage.

Now that your meal was paid for, you were ready to get back to Kenmare and settle in for the night. Stuffing your hands back into your sweatshirt pockets, you turned and headed towards the pub’s exit. Your mind was already back on that bed you’d seen before you left; you were looking forward to getting back and kicking off your shoes before climbing in and falling asleep. But you barely took two steps towards the door before you heard someone calling your name. Pausing mid-step, you turned on the spot in confusion before seeing Michael standing behind the bar counter, a small smile on his lips. If you were being honest, he almost looked a little nervous himself right now.

“Sorry, just meant to tell ya that ya should stop by Flanagan’s before ya left,” Michael called out. He gestured a hand towards you as he added, “For some more weather appropriate clothes while you’re visitin’. It’s just down the street from here.”

Awkwardly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, you sent him a timid smile. Somehow that beer wasn’t quite dulling your nerves but making them worse. 

“Thanks, I’ll do that,” you told him.

Turning back around, you were about to leave until you heard Michael speak again. The sound of his voice drew you to an abrupt halt and left you wondering why he seemed determined to continue the conversation.

“Was the soup a good choice?”

Looking back at him over your shoulder, you noticed the smile on his face still looked somewhat shy. Which was a stark contrast to the bold teasing he’d been doing with you just a bit ago. 

“Yeah,” you answered. “It was actually. You should tell your chef that it was delicious.”

Michael’s grin widened at your words, that timid edge to him melting away as he leaned forward, resting an arm along the bar counter. That little glimmer returned to his eyes. “Ya just did.”

“Oh,” you said, overcome with another rush of nerves with the way he was eyeing you. “Well I–I certainly enjoyed it.”

“Glad to hear it,” he replied. “S’pose I’ll be seein’ ya ‘round then.”

Your stomach gave a nervous jolt at his words. It was almost as if he wanted to see you again, but that seemed a little far fetched. Humming out an affirmative noise, you sent him a quick wave before ducking your head and hurrying towards the door. The sooner you got back to the cottage, the sooner you could bury your burning face into the pile of pillows on your bed and overthink this entire interaction. And maybe while you were at it, you’d also scream into that pile of pillows about the fact that you’d suddenly gone and formed a stupid crush on a man who lived almost three thousand miles away from you.

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Seven]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.8k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: Reader learns some things about the Kinsellas in this one, and then some drama ensues and you get a Mikey POV at the end. Warning about some depicitons of violence/blood in this one--it's a smidgen darker. Also for those who've seen the show, I'm making up the explanations for some things since Kin didn't answer some things in the two seasons we do have. I always appreciate feedback if you enjoyed (or just want to scream about Mikey with me!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @norestfortheshelbywicked @shiorimakibawrites @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella2 @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky

Shortly after you'd left Michael’s this morning, you'd been bombarded with questions from Megan almost the moment you’d walked in the door. And it came as no surprise to you that most of her questions were of a sexual nature. But admittedly after she had hounded you about fucking him over and over, you had gone up to your room to try to write and distract yourself from the thoughts swirling around in your head. Though you’d quickly found you couldn't focus on your writing because your mind kept wandering back to the mental image of Michael in his boxers from the other day. And that image in conjunction with how solid and safe he felt beneath you this morning, mixed with the memory of his comforting scent you could recall a little too easily, had stirred something inside of you, something that was beginning to become difficult to ignore. 

You'd actually been in the middle of contemplating how wrong it would be if you'd just closed your curtains and done something about your increasing arousal when your phone had interrupted your thoughts. Angela had called, checking in on your progress and giving you updates about your social media. Needless to say, her call had killed whatever mood you'd found yourself in and thus ended your internal debate on the morality of masturbating to thoughts of Michael after what had just happened to him the night before.

It wasn't until the early evening that you had a moment to finally sit down in the kitchen with your laptop set up before you on Megan's kitchen table, readying yourself to dig into the Kinsellas now that your sister had gone in to work. You'd even poured yourself a large glass of wine for the task, though you knew drinking on an empty stomach before dinner wouldn't end well. You were bound to get a little tipsy–maybe even drunk. Though depending on what you uncovered, you figured you might be grateful for that. Because you were about to take a deep dive into the Kinsella family. 

If things had just gone a little differently this morning, if Birdy had not made comments that hit too close to home and shaken you up, you probably wouldn’t have found yourself here. And you’d have sat down to do this earlier, too, but you had been waiting for Megan to leave for her shift at the hospital. You hadn’t wanted her around while you poked a little too closely at the neighbors’ secrets.

But as you took a sip from your glass of wine, your eyes gazing out of the kitchen window as you waited for your laptop to start up, you wondered just what you were going to find on his family. Particularly Michael. You found yourself wondering how you'd end up feeling about him after you dug into every dark corner you could find.

Setting your glass back down on the table, you opened your search browser first. You figured the easiest place to begin was Google–though that wasn’t the only place you were about to go looking. A simple search for the name ‘Kinsella’ specifically in Dublin brought up a plethora of links, most of them to articles about gangland activity. You skimmed through the titles–shootings, hospitalizations, drug dealing, murder investigations. Everything you’d pretty much already anticipated you’d find and nothing truly surprising. Though the multiple murder allegations tied to Michael had been a little curious, considering your current interactions with him. He’d seemed far too gentle for a killer, at least in your experience.

One article further down caught your attention–something on a Brendan Kinsella. You opened the article, reading through it quickly. He’d apparently been incarcerated for murder charges. A quick check of the math had you figuring his release was fast approaching–probably within a year. Your eyes slid back over to the photo of the gruff man in handcuffs; he would certainly be a lot older than that by now. Eyes narrowing, you studied the image curiously. 

“Who are you?” you mused aloud.

Reaching your hand out, you picked up the glass of wine beside you again, taking another deep drink as you thought. You’d need to connect a few more dots first, you realized. You needed a genealogy of this family, something to map them all out. Birth records, marriage certificates, death records. Whatever you could get your hands on–and thankfully everything in Ireland was all public record and easily accessible. Though it wasn’t like you didn’t have a few tricks up your own sleeves you were saving once you breached the local garda’s database in a bit.

Pulling up the General Register Office and selecting the local county, you began to do a search, starting with this Brendan Kinsella. Right away you easily found a marriage certificate linked to him–to a woman by the name of Julie. 

“If you were married, you probably had kids,” you said to yourself, eyeing the marriage certificate. “So…are Michael and Jimmy yours?”

Choosing Michael’s name, you searched for him in the database, soon finding his birth certificate–but your eyes were instantly drawn to the marriage certificate that had also popped up. Your heart felt like it skipped a beat in your chest at the sight of it just staring back at you on the screen.

“You’re… married ?” 

With a heavy sigh you sat back in your chair, pinching the bridge of your nose. Michael was married? There was no way, though. Not with how he’d asked you on a date the other day. Not with how he’d curled up with you on his couch–even if it was while you’d both been asleep–and then asked you to stay for coffee. 

Not with the way he’d often been looking at you. Flirting with you.

…right?

“Fuck,” you cursed.

You leaned forward, picking up your glass of wine and taking two deep drinks. “I might need another fucking bottle tonight,” you muttered to yourself as you lowered the glass to the table.

Opening the marriage certificate, you realized it was from a few years back–almost seventeen years ago. A sinking feeling hit you in the gut shortly afterwards. If he was married for that long, he was bound to have a legitimate child or two. 

“Alright, so who’s Allison Kinsella–my neighbor’s wife? Or his ex-wife?” you muttered.

Pulling up a new search, you typed in her name–and were once again shocked. Your mouth fell open as you eyed the link to her death certificate. 

“Okay, so ex-wife,” you breathed out. “Fucking hell.”

Taking a moment, you opened the death certificate and examined it. She had passed just over eight years ago from a fatal gunshot wound. Which would place her death right before Michael's imprisonment. Had he gone to prison because he'd sought revenge on her murderer? 

No wonder Michael always looked so torn and broken, he was a man who had clearly lost a lot. And he was continuing to experience loss if Jaime's recent passing told you anything. You felt for him–not in a sense of pity but in commiseration of a sort. Your life certainly hadn't been sunshine and rainbows, either. 

Chewing a thumbnail, you closed out of the death certificate and began to focus on mapping out what you could of the family. The entire process had taken you another half hour before you finally had a picture of everything you could get your hands on. Brendan Kinsella was indeed Michael and Jimmy’s father, but their mother’s whereabouts appeared to be a mystery even to you. There was no death certificate for her to be found, so you assumed she was still alive and had probably disappeared on her husband. Your mind instantly went to domestic abuse, but you wondered why she’d leave behind her boys if that was the case.

You’d also come to find that Bridget and Frank were the siblings of Brendan. Both of them had deceased spouses themselves, but besides that, there was nothing out of the ordinary. In your earlier searching of articles you’d come across the name of an Eric Kinsella, and you’d come to learn he was Frank’s son. But besides the surprise marriage of Michael and the death of his wife, along with Michael and Jimmy’s missing mother, nothing shocking and out of the ordinary really stood out to you.

After piecing together a family tree of sorts, you’d taken to digging into properties owned by the Kinsellas’. If the drug trafficking allegations from the vast news stories were to hold weight, you knew from personal experience they’d have their hand in a couple of different businesses. They’d need somewhere to clean their revenue selling drugs, after all. And it hadn’t taken you long to find a handful of businesses owned by them either; two of the most glaringly obvious to you were the tanning salon and car dealership. And after a quick look into both businesses, you’d easily come to find the dealership was being run by Amanda Kinsella–the woman married to Jimmy. Admittedly you’d stared at the professional headshot of her on the website for far too long, your eyes boring into the pretty face smiling back at you. Something sharp twisted in your gut at the knowledge that she had meant enough to Michael for him to sleep with her despite being married to his brother. Was there still something there between them even after those eight years he had spent in prison?

Movement outside of the kitchen window broke through your thoughts, catching your attention as your eyes slid up from your laptop screen. A teenage girl had come to a stop just past the driveway, but her eyes were focused next door. On Michael’s house. You couldn’t make out her face with the hood of her camouflage sherpa jacket pulled up, but you could see a few dark curls peeking out from underneath it. She was wearing what looked like a private school uniform, her red skirt reaching her calves. And she had a backpack on–blue with what looked like white stars all over it. 

Curiously you watched her, eyes narrowing as she just stood there staring at Michael’s house. After what seemed to be a minute, she ducked her head and briskly walked off down the street past your drive and past Michael’s house. 

That had been odd.

…or had it?

If Michael had been married for quite a few years to Allison before she’d passed and he’d gone to prison, it was entirely possible to believe the two of them had children. Would it be so farfetched to think that was Michael’s daughter? Maybe she’d been drawn here after discovering her father was out of prison. Why else would a teenage girl appear and just stare at his house before disappearing so abruptly?

Continuing to chew your thumbnail, your focus still outside of the kitchen window on the now vacant driveway, questions slowly started to arise in your mind. Why would his daughter show up at his place but just leave without a word? Why wouldn’t she have wanted to see her father who’d just gotten out of prison after eight years?

The bullet holes in Michael’s sitting room resurfaced in your mind next as your eyes gradually made their way back to your laptop screen. Something had happened in Michael’s house, that much was obvious. And judging by the bullet holes and the comments about him possibly not wanting to stay there, you had a good feeling it had something to do with Allison’s death.

Fingers quickly flying across the keyboard, you searched her name in a simple Google search. But after you had hit enter, the results that had appeared immediately had you pushing your chair away from the table, your heart thundering wildly in your chest.

“No,” you whispered, shaking your head. “No, that can’t be right. There’s no way.”

On the screen before you, the first article that had appeared read ‘Michael Kinsella convicted in death of wife Allison Kinsella.’ You felt like you couldn’t breathe, your eyes re-reading that headline over and over. There was no way that sweet and considerate man next door killed his own wife. Doesn’t matter if he’d killed others in protection of his family and their business; he wouldn’t even kill a goddamn spider this morning. He’d stepped in front of you when you’d screamed over the thing as if he’d been ready to shield you from a bullet.

“Wait,” you said, your mind reeling backwards.

He had stepped in front of you like he’d been ready to shield you from a bullet this morning. You hadn’t imagined that.

“There’s more to this,” you muttered to yourself, exiting out of the internet search and pulling up a particular program on your laptop. “There has to be.”

After fifteen minutes of some skilled hacking–something you’d learned from a unique member of the Serpents–you’d managed to breach the Dublin garda’s database. You were practically hunched over your laptop, gnawing on your bottom lip as you meticulously read every detailed note made from that night Allison had died.

What you’d discovered was that Allison had in fact been shot and killed in the house next door and Michael had in fact pleaded guilty to the charges over her death. You’d also discovered he’d been very drunk and high on cocaine–so clearly he’d been fucked out of his mind that night. But the notes had mentioned how distraught Michael had been over her death. And it also appeared there’d been a report of multiple gunshots, which made sense considering the many bullet holes in that house that you had seen firsthand. And it was involuntary manslaughter that Michael had been charged with, hence the lesser sentence in prison. Which was an important detail–murder would have constituted the situation as premeditated to some extent, involuntary manslaughter pointed at an accident.

From what you could piece together, it seemed like Michael had not intentionally killed his wife. Her death had either been an error, possibly someone shooting her by mistake when the bullet was meant for Michael, or it had been further accidental in the sense that maybe Michael had been trying to protect her, but having been so out of his mind that evening, his aim may have been off or his reflexes slowed and he’d shot Allison instead of their attacker. Because you refused to believe that man intentionally killed his own wife. 

Picking up your glass of wine, you held it in both of your hands for a minute. Your eyes were glued to the handful of JPEG image links attached to the document. No doubt they were crime scene images of Allison’s dead body in Michael’s sitting room. Jaw tightening, you were unsure if you wanted to dig that far into this. It already felt wrong that you’d pushed your way into such a personal piece of Michael’s life without his knowledge, but with Birdy looking so closely at you, you needed to know who was living on the same street as you. Tipping your head back, you downed the last half of your glass of wine, slamming the glass roughly onto the tabletop before you opened up the series of images.

They were exactly of what you’d thought they’d be. Allison’s lifeless body lay sprawled on Michael’s sitting room floor, just before the brick fireplace. Her dark, curly hair looked similar to the young girl you'd just spotted outside. Your eyes were drawn to the single bullet hole marring the brick of the fireplace next, the very same bullet hole you’d noticed last night. There had been so much blood in the images though–too much. You felt yourself getting dizzy, memories trying to resurface as you looked through the images of the crime scene. Soon, other images started to replace the ones on your screen, even when your eyes snapped shut. 

Blood-stained white latex gloves. A lit cigarette in the dark. That smooth, deep voice.

“Don’t worry about it, honey. Go back inside.”

Back stiffening in the chair, you felt your body begin to panic at the clear memory of Victor’s voice. Almost reflexively your eyes flew open and you began exiting out of every tab open on your laptop, turning it off and slamming it shut. You’d dug too far into the Kinsellas’ shit and drudged up some of your own in the process. How did you not see that coming?

Leaving the empty wine glass on the table, you made your way to the counter and picked up the bottle, chugging down the rest of its contents. Gunshots rang out in your mind, your hands shaking around the wine bottle. You slammed back the rest of the wine before shakily placing the bottle onto the counter. 

But it wasn’t enough. You could still feel the memories scratching at your mind, trying to spill forth. And you didn’t need that.

Making your way over to the cabinet you knew contained Megan’s liquor, you opened it and pulled down the half-full bottle of whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, you drank straight from the bottle, trying your best to burn away the traces of Victor.

Michael was stretched across his sofa, his focus once again on his book. He'd had a long day today after the strange encounter between you and Birdy which had resulted in your curiously abrupt departure from his place. When he'd tried to push Birdy for answers, she merely shrugged and played dumb. But of course Michael knew better than to believe she hadn't been up to something. 

Though he hadn't had much time to worry about it. He'd met with Jimmy for drinks later this morning, trying his best to console his grieving brother. Something he had only managed to fuck up, though that wasn't surprising considering the circumstances. But his meeting with Jimmy earlier today had made Michael quite uneasy. It was clear that Jimmy was thinking along the lines of revenge for Jamie's death. Wanting to put things right. Not that he could blame him, but he'd felt his brother's anger when he'd drawn a clear line about wanting to stay out of it, reminding Jimmy he needed to steer clear of trouble in order to have any chance of getting Anna back. He even had an appointment with a lawyer tomorrow afternoon to discuss his next steps, he certainly couldn't be conspiring to commit murder with his brother.

And of course afterwards he and Jimmy had been summoned to Birdy’s house and that had only made things worse. Frank was pushing Jimmy to sit still and wait for Eamon to deal with his men, encouraging Jimmy to accept the bag of cash Eamon had offered in consolation for the unfortunate death of his son. Michael couldn't exactly blame Jimmy for getting angry and pissing on the cash instead. But of course that had only led to Frank stopping by his place a little later to try and corner Michael, reminding him how Jaime wasn't truly his child but Anna was. How he needed to keep his head down and stay out of things, especially since he was trying to go straight in order to get Anna back in his life. It had been a shitty low blow from Frank just to make sure Michael kept Jimmy from starting a war with his need to avenge Jaime. Deep down it had pissed Michael off, hurt him even, but he'd shoved those feelings away like he did everything else.

He'd been so tired of everything with his family after the past couple of days that he'd locked himself up in his house by the time evening rolled around. He'd been grateful that no one else had decided to bother him tonight, just wanting to be left out of things so he could focus on his appointment tomorrow. Though he'd admittedly been disheartened when he hadn't spotted you in the back garden at all today. He had been hoping to talk to you, even if it was just for a moment. You often seemed to be a bright spot in his days. Instead he'd focused on reading, hoping to distract himself until maybe he could manage something like sleep later. 

Michael had been so drawn into his book this evening, finger poised to turn the page, that the loud scream from next door startled him straight from the story. His eyes darted up and towards your sister’s back garden, a frown pulling at his lips. It sounded like it had come from your half-sister’s house. He waited with bated breath, wondering if he had somehow imagined the sound. Almost a minute later he heard a second muffled scream coming from next door. 

Without even thinking, Michael threw his book onto the coffee table and flew from the sofa. He didn't hesitate as he sprinted down the hall towards his kitchen. He went straight for the refrigerator, roughly yanking it away from the wall and ripping the taped gun from off the back of it. He always kept it there for emergencies. 

Shoulders squared and heart beating a little quicker, Michael didn't even bother to slip on shoes before pushing his way out of his front door. Jogging down his drive, he rounded the stone fence and turned up the drive to your half-sister’s. His pulse quickened further when he saw the front door half ajar. Had someone broken in?

He took the safety off the gun, his finger resting along the barrel beside the trigger as he raised it. Moving quietly on bare feet, Michael made his way inside the house, pushing the door open further with his shoulder. His heart sank when he saw the scene in the kitchen–a broken bottle of wine shattered on the floor, blood staining some of the glass. And that blood led a trail down the hallway.

He began to follow the trail of blood that appeared to have been a steady flow leading down the hall and up the stairs. As he stepped onto the first step, he heard the muffled voice of who he presumed was your half-sister Megan. Lowering the gun, he began to ascend the stairs two at a time. When he’d reached the top, he saw a light on in the middle room, the door partially closed. There was a smear of blood on what appeared to be a bathroom counter, the bright red causing Michael’s chest to tighten with fear.

Against his better judgment he crossed the landing and carefully pushed the door open. A woman in nurse’s scrubs turned at the appearance of someone in the doorway, immediately screaming at the sight.

“Whoa, hey,” he said quickly.

He held his hands up to show he meant no harm, but of course her eyes had darted to the gun in his hand. Her eyes grew wide as she froze from her place on the floor in front of the bathtub.

“Fuck, sorry, I’m your neighbor,” he spoke in a rush. “Megan, yeah? Grace’s sister? I heard screamin’ so I–I came to check if everythin’ was alrigh’. I’m not goin’ to hurt ya.”

She relaxed a little, taking a deep breath. But her eyes remained on the gun. Very slowly Michael lowered the weapon.

“I’m goin’ to put the safety back on,” he said gently. “And put it down. Okay?”

She nodded, her eyes suddenly becoming more curious as he stepped further into the bathroom, turning the safety back on and setting the gun on the counter. He stood back up, sending her a weak smile as he held his hands back up.

“Michael, right?” Megan asked. “The one my sister has been spending time with?”

He nodded, his eyes shifting towards the smear of bright red over the side of the bathtub. It suddenly felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if someone had punched him really hard right in the chest and knocked every ounce of breath from his lungs.

“Is she–”

“She’s okay,” Megan answered swiftly, cutting him off. 

She drew the shower curtain back, revealing the sight of you passed out in the bathtub, your hands covered in bandages. Michael’s heart sank at the sight. What the hell had happened?

“I got a text a bit ago and just got here,” Megan said, her voice sounding close to tears. “Had to duck out on my shift for a bit. Told them it was an emergency. Guess she was drinking–a lot–and cut her hand on some broken glass she’d been trying to clean up. But all she’d texted me with was that she needed help. I uh, I thought something else was going on when I saw the kitchen. Looked like a damn crime scene.” She sniffled, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes as she looked back at you in the tub. “Then I thought something worse had happened when I found her like this.” Her eyes slowly shifted back to Michael, a sad smile on her lips. “Sorry for putting you on alert.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he said, finding his voice oddly thick with emotion. “But ya, ya said ya were worried somethin’ else had happened to her?” he asked curiously, forcing his eyes away from your very still form in the tub and back on your sister. “Like what?”

Megan laughed bitterly, shaking her head as she gestured a hand to the gun. “The kind of something else that makes you a good neighbor to have if your first instinct is to come barreling in here ready to kill someone for her,” she replied. 

Michael’s eyes instantly narrowed. “She in trouble?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Megan answered.

“What kind of trouble?” he pressed.

Megan sighed, her eyes slowly returning back to you. You stirred in the tub, your head rolling to the side as your mouth pulled into a frown. 

“That’s not for me to tell you,” Megan said softly. “But I will say you seem like the kind of man I think she needs, from what I’ve seen and heard.”

Michael gaped at her, his mouth dropping open in surprise. He didn’t know how to react or feel about that comment. 

“I know you asked her on a date the other day,” she explained, shooting Michael a small grin. “And I know she told you no. But I also happen to know her really well and I’m not an idiot. She likes you.”

Michael couldn’t control the flutter of excited nerves in his stomach at Megan’s words. You liked him? He’d wondered how true that was from some of your interactions with him. They’d been confusing; it felt as if you were interested but since you had refused the thought of going on a date–or to just grab drinks–the other night, he’d wondered if he’d just been that far removed from human interaction after his time in prison that he was reading you wrong. But here your sister sat saying that you liked him.

“Ya–ya do realize I just got outta prison, yeah?” Michael said awkwardly. “And showed up with a gun just now?”

Megan’s smile only grew a little wider, one of her shoulders rising and falling in an indifferent shrug. “Doesn’t matter to either of us. And like I said already, she could use the kind of man who’ll show up with a gun ready to protect her without a thought. So that actually checks another mark in the pro column for you, Michael.”

Michael’s eyebrows shot high up onto his forehead at her words. Who the hell were you and your sister to not care about his time in prison or the casual way in which he had just barged into Megan’s house wielding a gun ready to shoot? 

“And I can assure you she’s not normally like this,” Megan continued after a moment, gesturing to you passed out in the bathtub. “She’s–she’s going through some shit. It’s been hard and she–she doesn’t really have anyone to help her. I’m doing my best but there’s only so much I can do. So…hopefully this doesn’t make you think of her as like–”

“I don’t,” Michael cut in firmly. 

Megan’s head tilted curiously to the side as she eyed him. He shook his head swiftly at your sister.

“I don’t think any differently about her,” he stated. “She–she hasn’t treated me any less than with…everythin’ I have goin’ on. I wouldn’ do the same to her.”

“Hmm,” Megan hummed out, eyeing him closely for a moment. “I like you, Michael.”

He felt heat rise to his cheeks, his eyes dropping to the floor. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Megan slowly begin rising up to her feet, shoving the shower curtain further out of the way.

“Could I ask a favor before you leave?” Megan asked.

Michael looked back up at her, nodding quietly.

“She’s a bit much for me to carry to her bed, you think…maybe you could get her into her bed?” she asked. “Her room is the one just to the left.” She sighed, glancing down at the mess of blood and bloody bandages on the floor. “I’ll need to call off work before I clean all of this up. I just can’t leave her here alone. And I’d rather her in her bed than this tub.”

“I can stay with her,” he said, surprising even himself with the offer.

Megan’s head snapped back over her shoulder at him, one brow rising curiously up onto her forehead. Michael swallowed hard, a nervous smile on his mouth.

“I mean if–if ya’d like,” he added. “It’s no bother. She probably shouldn’ be left alone.”

“I…suppose you two have already shared a night together,” Megan mused aloud, Michael’s cheeks further heating at her blunt comment. “I imagine she wouldn’t mind. But if anything happens to her,” she said, tone firm as her eyes narrowed at Michael, “you’re going to need that gun to protect yourself. Don’t fuck with my sister, Michael Kinsella, or I will come after you.”

He couldn’t help but to chuckle softly at her tenacity, nodding his head as he did. “I assure ya I wouldn’t hurt her, but the threat is duly noted.”

“Good,” she said. “I guess I’ll just clean the blood up in here and–”

“I can get the kitchen sorted for ya,” Michael assured her. “After I get her to her bed.”

As Michael stepped around her, Megan thanked him profusely for his help. But his attention was focused on you as he bent down towards the tub, scooping you up in his arms. You groaned when he lifted you from the tub, your head rolling forward until your face fell against his chest. He felt an ache in his own chest at the sight of you like this. What had happened to put you in such a state of distress? What demons of your own were lurking under the surface and behind your pretty smile?

Megan called out a goodnight which Michael returned as he carried you out of the bathroom and into the bedroom she’d said was yours. He flipped on the light with his shoulder, closing the door just a bit with his foot, and then he carried you over towards the bed. Very carefully he shifted your weight in his arms, twisting his wrist so he could pull back the sheets on your bed while he held you. And then he lowered you gently down onto the mattress, resting your head along the pillow. He brushed a few strands of hair away from your face, his fingers lingering for a moment along your cheek. Your expression looked more peaceful now, at least.

He turned, about to reach down and pull the sheets up and over you, but your shirt had ridden up your stomach a bit. He paused at the sight of three long lines visible along your skin. Scars. With how perfect the marks were it looked like they’d been done by a very sharp knife–probably something one used for hunting. Michael’s teeth ground together, anger boiling in his blood. Someone had done that to you, sliced you open like an animal. And that thought had brought forth a fury he didn’t know he possessed for you. 

If he ever found out who did that, they were certainly going to hurt.

A sharp exhale blowing out of his nose, he tried to calm that rage inside of himself. Now wasn’t the time. He reached his hands out, gingerly pulling your shirt down to cover yourself and in turn hiding your scars. Grabbing the sheets in a tight grip, he began to pull them up and draw them over your chest–but he paused at the sound of your voice.

“Michael?”

The tension in his shoulders instantly dissipated, his grip even loosening on the blankets. His eyes found their way to your face, though you didn’t look quite fully there. The alcohol was clearly still very much in your system.

“Yeah,” he answered softly, smiling down at you. “‘S’me.”

He continued what he’d been doing, gently tucking the blanket around your shoulders. Your brows drew together in confusion as you lay there watching him.

“What–what happened?” you slurred.

“Ya drank a bit too much, Grace,” he answered. “Ya must’ve broken a bottle. Cut yourself on the glass. Your sister is cleanin’ up some of the mess but she needs to get back to work so I–I offered to keep an eye on ya. Clean up the mess in the kitchen.”

He didn’t know what had compelled his hand to slide up from the sheets, coming to affectionately cup your cheek as you gazed up at him. And he didn’t quite know why his thumb had so gently stroked your cheek when you’d pressed back into his palm.

“I’ll let ya rest,” he whispered. “Check on ya in a bit.”

His hand slid from your face and he turned to go, but he’d felt your fingers fumbling to grasp at his wrist. Stopping, he glanced back over his shoulder at you. His heart broke at the sight of fear so plainly written on your face.

“Please stay,” you begged, tears forming in your eyes. “I’m–I’m scared. And I don’t want to be alone.”

Michael turned on the spot instantly, his hand twisting in your weak grip until he’d caught your wrist. Slowly he lowered himself to sit at the edge of your bed, his hand drawing your bandaged one up towards himself. He lightly pressed his lips against your knuckles, the kiss lingering for a moment before he finally pulled away. His thumb tenderly stroked over the bandages on your hand, a comforting smile on Michael’s face as he gazed down at you.

“I’ll stay with ya, pet,” he murmured. “Don’t worry about anythin’. I got ya now.”

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Ten]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5.9k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: Okay I didn't intend to get this written and edited so fast, but here it is. Please do not expect chapter 11 so soon because I know it won't be ready by tomorrow. BUT I hope y'all enjoy this one and I expect y'all will be screaming about something when you're done with it.... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky

Leaning against the kitchen table, your two packed bags of luggage sat at your feet. Your eyes were focused out of the window, waiting for the car you’d called to come bring you to Dublin Airport. It wasn’t even that long ago that you’d left that very same airport to come here, moving into your sister’s house. It certainly hadn’t taken you long to fuck this all up. This was the shortest stay you’d had anywhere, not even making it two whole weeks before you’d had to run.

Megan had no idea what was going on, either. You’d gotten up when she did early this morning to her surprise. You’d wanted to have a coffee with her one last time. Spend every last minute you could with her before she’d inevitably had to get ready and leave for her shift at the hospital. She’d left about a half an hour ago and you had called the car shortly after. 

Eventually you spotted the black sedan rolling to a stop in the street just before Megan’s driveway. You sucked in a deep breath, holding it a moment before you sharply blew it out. Pushing off of the table, you turned and grabbed the handles of both of your bags. You dragged them both behind you as you made your way over to the front door, pausing to eye the house one last time. You could feel something clawing in your chest, begging you to stay, to send that car away, but you shoved it deep down. 

You were doing this to keep everyone safe. There was no other way.

You unlocked the door, pulling it open and setting your bags just outside of it. The driver of the car stepped out, calling out a greeting to you. You sent him a wave and a tight smile before you closed Megan’s front door, locking it and hiding the key under a potted plant just beside it. Grabbing the handles of your luggage, you dragged them down the paved driveway towards the car. You wondered if Birdy was somewhere in her house right now, watching you with some sort of triumphant smile on her face. 

“Beautiful day today, isn’ it?” the driver said as you neared.

It was a fucking awful day, actually.

Forcing another polite smile onto your face, you simply nodded. You pulled the bags around the front of the car, making your way to the trunk. The driver stepped towards you though, the movement causing you to pause.

“I can get those for ya, if ya’d like, miss?” he offered.

“It’s fine,” you answered. “Thank you, though.”

“Ahh, American, are ya?” he asked, his eyes lighting up at the realization.

“Yeah,” you replied.

You began dragging your luggage to the trunk, stepping aside as the driver hurried over to open it for you. 

“Were ya just here on holiday then?” he asked.

You knew he was only trying to make polite conversation, but you truly were not in the mood to talk. All you wanted was to get this flight over with, settle into that little cottage in that small English town, and maybe get incredibly drunk on some wine to forget about literally everything. 

“Something like that,” you muttered. 

You bent down and picked up your first bag, hefting it up and into the trunk. Taking a moment, you situated it in the small space so that you’d have room for the second bag.

“Are ya sure ya don’t need some help?” the driver pressed again.

You paused, shooting him a look over your shoulder. “I’m going to be honest with you,” you began, tone flat. “I’m having a shitty day and I’m not really a chatter. I’m quite content to toss my own shit into the trunk of your car and have a quiet ride to the airport. Unless, of course, you want to watch me cry or scream? Because mentally that’s about where I’m at right now.”

The man stood there, his mouth gaping open at your words as he stared back at you. After the shock of your bluntness wore off, he quickly nodded.

“S-sorry,” he muttered.

You shrugged. “Just being honest,” you replied.

He gestured back towards the front of the car. “I’ll uh, I’ll just be waitin’ in the car then, when you’re ready,” he said.

You sent him a tense smile. “That’d be great, thanks.”

The driver scurried off and you turned, bending down to pick up your second bag. You felt a little bad for your rudeness, but really, you didn’t think you could take the entire duration of this ride listening to him prattle on about the sun shining this morning and wonderful holiday memories. With a grunt you managed to get the second bag in, but it didn’t fully fit quite right. Groaning, you realized you’d need to take a minute to adjust both of the bags to fit into the smaller trunk of this car. Vaguely you were aware of the sound of a car pulling up a little ways behind you, but you were too busy fighting to maneuver both of your damn pieces of luggage around in the trunk to pay any attention. Not until you heard your name.

“Grace?”

Your hands instantly stopped what they were doing, your eyes going wide at the familiar deep Irish accented voice behind you. 

But that wasn’t possible because he was at the Garda station after having been arrested last night. He shouldn’t have been out.

“Grace what–are ya leavin' ?”

Your mouth felt like it had gone dry. This isn’t how you planned things to go. He wasn’t supposed to have been here for this.

Slowly you spun around, turning to face Michael behind you. He was standing there, his eyes focused on your bags in the trunk of the car. Soon they slid back up to your face, his brows pulling together as a deep crease formed on his forehead.

“What’re ya doin’?” he breathed out.

Your mouth opened and closed, tears forming in your eyes as you looked at the fear and the hurt quickly washing over his face.

“I thought–thought ya were stayin’ here? Talkin’ to me?” he continued, the sound of a car door closing behind him briefly registering in your ears. “Thought ya were waitin’ for me? Why’re ya leavin’?”

Movement over his shoulder caught your attention and you tensed. Birdy was stalking her way over towards the pair of you, a pleased look on her face.

“Let her go, Mikey, love,” she called out. “She shouldn’ be here.”

His face tightened in confusion as he turned, focusing on Birdy as she approached. She eventually came to a stop just a few feet behind him, her arms crossed over her chest.

“What d’ya mean she shouldn’ be here?” he asked her.

“I mean she’s a liar, Mikey,” Birdy told him, her eyes shifting to you. “Aren’t ya dear? Your name isn’ Grace, for starters.”

Michael’s brows somehow furrowed even further, the confusion only growing on his face as he looked back at you. “What’s she on ‘bout, Grace?” he asked.

Your palms began to sweat, your breath coming in short. She was going to feed him lies and he was going to believe every word of it, wasn’t he? Not only would you have to leave, you’d be leaving him with the wrong impression of yourself. 

“That’s not my name,” you answered nervously. Licking your lips, you uttered your actual name, noticing the way the corner of Michael’s lips twitched. “I–I couldn’t use my real name because–”

“Because she’s tryin’ to help that bloody Serpent biker gang in Cork get close to Eamon, that’s why,” Birdy said, cutting you off. Her eyes flickered towards the driver in the car before they returned to Michael, her voice lowering. “They need a supplier. Apparently thinkin’ they can send someone to fuck a Kinsella and get in close.”

Michael instantly was shaking his head at her. “No, you’re wrong, Birdy,” he told her. 

Birdy shrugged, her cold stare landing back on you. “If I’m wrong then why is she leavin’, pet?”

You sucked in a breath when both of them focused on you, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. This was your chance to tell them the truth. Maybe they wouldn’t believe you, but if you didn’t just get it out there you’d never know.

“Because you threatened to reach out to Victor,” you blurted, your focus on Birdy. “To tell him where I am. Lead him straight to my fucking door.”

Birdy’s eyes instantly narrowed back at you, her head tilting a little to the side. “Your fiance?” she asked.

“What?” Michael gasped.

“Ex -fiance,” you said firmly, eyes still focused on Birdy. “We haven’t been together in almost two years. I left him because he was–” your eyes closed, your voice quivering as you tried to continue “–violent. Outside of the Club.”

Neither Michael or Birdy spoke immediately. Your arms wrapped around yourself, gaze dropping down to your feet. 

“You–you threatened to alert the Serpents to me being here if I didn’t leave,” you continued, feeling tears well up in your eyes. “And if you’d done that, he’d have shown up and killed me. And my sister. And probably Michael for ever spending any amount of time with me. And if any of the rest of you got in his way, he’d have gone after you all, too.” Your watery gaze flew up to meet Birdy’s quickly softening expression. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice. I had to leave to keep everyone else safe. Because I sure as shit didn’t expect you to hear me out.”

“Oh, dear, I didn’–”

Michael’s hands balled into fists at his sides, a sharp exhale falling from his nose that somehow alone managed to cut Birdy clean off. He abruptly turned towards her, his body tense and his eyes hard. You swore you saw Birdy visibly shrink back under the weight of his stare.

“Ya threatened her?” he asked, voice dangerously low.

“I was only lookin’ out for the family, pet,” she explained quickly. “I knew somethin’ was off the moment she arrived. I noticed she was spendin’ time with ya. Gettin’ close. I wanted to make sure ya were safe, Mikey, love.”

Michael took a step towards her, his shoulders squared and his jaw tight. “I can take care of myself, Birdy,” he growled. “I don’ need ya watchin’ my moves and who I’m spendin’ my time with. D’ya hear me?”

“Of course, pet,” Birdy said, a nervous smile on her mouth. “Ya know I’d never do anythin’ to hurt ya.”

Michael took another intimidating step towards Birdy, your eyes catching the slight half step she took backwards. He looked terrifying, all calm and angry like he was, a fire raging just beneath the surface of that calm exterior. Not that you felt afraid of him, no. If anything you felt like the man before you could hold his own against Victor if he ever came around. Michael had often come across as quiet and a little awkward when the pair of you had been together. He’d been sweet and gentle with you, even lowering his guard and letting you see just a glimpse of that vulnerable interior he kept locked up. But seeing him like this was something else. He was fearsome. Formidable. Someone quite obviously not meant to be fucked with.

And here he was defending you to his own family.

“I hope to fuckin’ hell ya didn’ reach out to her ex, Birdy,” Michael snarled, posture still rigid and tense as he stared her down. “Because so help me if ya did.”

“I didn’!” she exclaimed, her eyes darting over his shoulder to you. “I didn’ contact anyone. I–I was goin’ to, yes, if ya gave me reason. But I didn’ know he was… hurtin’ ya, dear. I’d have never made threats if I’d known what was really goin’ on.” Her eyes flew back to Michael, something vulnerable shining in them back at him. “And ya know I wouldn’, Mikey. Ya know that’s the truth.”

He exhaled a long breath, some of the tension easing out of his body with it. Turning over his shoulder, he eyed you for a long moment, his expression slowly becoming more subdued. His attention quickly snapped back to Birdy moments later, a firm finger pointing at her chest.

“Go back home, Birdy,” he ordered. “Don’t tell the others anymore ‘bout this shite story. Or ‘bout her. Ya hear me? I don’t need the others pokin’ around her, either. Not right now. There’s enough we’re dealin’ with.”

Birdy opened her mouth to say more, but Michael immediately leaned in closer towards her, cutting her off before she could begin.

“Now, Birdy,” he growled. “Ya made enough of a mess already.”

Her eyes slowly slid back to you, an apologetic look crossing her features. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said softly. “I had no idea.”

She made her way back towards her still idling car with less zeal in her steps than before. Michael turned on the spot, briskly walking back towards you without a word. He reached into the car behind you, effortlessly pulling both of your bags out of the trunk at the same time. He set them down on the street before roughly closing the trunk. Then he pulled the handles of your luggage back up before his eyes finally landed on you.

“Ya aren’t leavin’,” he stated simply.

You watched in surprise as he rolled the bags around to the driver’s side of the car, pausing beside the now very timid driver. He reached into the pocket of his dark brown jacket, pulling out a wallet. After a second he pulled out a few bills and then pushed them at the driver through the open window. 

“Ya aren’t needed,” he said gruffly, gesturing down the street with his head.

You stood there stunned and speechless, watching as the driver quickly accepted the cash and then drove off. Your eyes were on the headlights until the car turned the corner and left the street. Slowly your attention shifted back to Michael. He was staring back at you, the handle of one of your bags in each of his hands. He looked vastly less angry now that it was just the two of you.

“Let’s get your stuff back inside,” he said. “Then we can talk.”

You nodded, making your way back up the driveway to Megan’s house, Michael pulling your bags behind him. Bending down, you retrieved the key back from underneath the pot and then rose to your feet, unlocking the door. You swung it open and stepped inside, Michael following in behind you. He made his way straight down the hall to the sitting room with your bags in tow as you shut and locked the front door. Then nervously you made your way down the hall after him.

You found him standing awkwardly beside Megan’s sofa, his jacket tossed over the armrest and a timid expression on his face. Something almost nervous. You stopped just in the entryway of the room yourself, your arms awkwardly crossing over your chest. 

“Ya were just goin’ to leave without a word?” he asked, breaking the silence.

“I tried to talk to you last night,” you began, the words just pouring out of you. “I didn’t know you were going to be getting arrested. I was planning to stay up the whole night waiting for you to come back from whatever it was you were out doing if that’s what it took to talk to you. But then I saw you in cuffs being put in the back of a Garda car and figured I didn’t have a choice but to run. It’s not like I wanted to do this.”

Michael ran a hand through his hair, his eyes focused on the sofa. “That’s why I hadn’ heard from ya in a few days, yeah?” he asked, still not looking at you. “Because ya were plannin’ to disappear on me?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, tears yet again threatening to fall.

At the sound of your voice breaking on the words, Michael’s attention returned to you. Everything about his expression and his body language immediately softened in response. He crossed the space between you, drawing you straight into him without hesitation. Your arms eagerly encircled him in return, burying your face into his blue sweater.

“I’ve felt like an asshole all week,” you said, tears already falling down your cheeks. “I was going to leave Megan without a goodbye. And I’d been ignoring you– hurting you–and you didn’t deserve it. Especially not with everything you’ve had happening already.”

Michael’s arms held you tighter, his hands splayed wide over your back. He lowered himself to rest his chin along the top of your head.

“Ya were scared,” he murmured. “I understand why ya were goin’ to do it.”

“I wanted to talk to you last night,” you assured him. “I really wanted to. But then you had to leave, and you were arrested before I could have a chance after that.”

“Detained,” Michael muttered. “I wasn’ arrested. Was detained for questionin’ ���bout a shootin’ last night.”

“Why’d they let you go so soon?” you asked softly. “Thought they would hold you the full twenty-four hours at least.”

Michael let out an amused snort, the sound taking you off guard and drawing the corner of your lips upwards.

“Barely been here that long and already know how the guards operate in Ireland, yeah?” he replied in amusement.

You shrugged, turning to rest your cheek against his chest. He still smelled like that smokey cinnamon scent and it was quickly relaxing you.

“Pretty sure they’re like that everywhere,” you answered. “So how’d you get released so soon? Or…am I not allowed to know that?”

“Seizure,” he said softly. “Or so they’re thinkin’. Guess ya were right ‘bout that the first night I met ya.” His hands began to soothingly run along your back as he spoke. “Need to see a GP to find out if that’s what’s goin’ on. But apparently they can’t question me after havin’ one, so I was released this mornin’. Have to reschedule their questionin’.”

“Mmm,” you hummed out, eyelids slowly lowering.

Despite the stress and fear of the past few days, and especially this morning, you found yourself feeling oddly content wrapped in Michael’s embrace right now. All you wanted was to stay like this, nothing more.

“Can we finally talk about what’s goin’ on with ya?” he asked gently. “‘Bout your ex-fiance and the fake name you’re usin’?”

A sigh fell out of you, your fingers tightening against the material of his sweater. You knew this was coming but you really didn’t want to delve into it.

“Ya don’ have to tell me everythin’ if you’re not ready,” he whispered, drawing his chin from off the top of your head and looking down at you. “But if ya have some sort of dangerous ex chasin’ ya down, I should probably know somethin’ to make sure I can help keep Megan and ya safe.” 

You drew back from him, shaking your head at his words. “Michael, you don’t need–”

“Ya think I’m just goin’ to let some arsehole scare ya and keep ya in hidin’?” he shot back, eyes narrowed. “Not sayin’ I’m goin’ to be a reckless arsehole myself, but I’m not leavin’ ya to deal with him. Not while I’m still here.” His head gestured to the sofa. “So can we talk?”

Drawing your bottom lip between your teeth, you chewed it nervously for a moment before you nodded. Your arms released their hold around his waist, his own falling down to his sides as the pair of you made your way to the sofa. You sat down beside each other, your thigh brushing up against his as you focused on your fidgeting hands in your lap. 

“I uh, I need to keep using the fake name still,” you began, nervously glancing up at him. “I can’t have Victor finding out I’m here so I can’t exactly risk using my real name.”

Michael nodded, a solemn expression on his face. "Who is he?" he asked.

"He's uh, what they call the Sergeant at Arms for the Serpents of Hell. For the Mother Charter–the founding charter," you explained. "They’re an outlaw MC. Running illegal drugs and guns across the US, but apparently they have a charter here that I didn't know about. Over in Cork."

"What's a…Sergeant at Arms?" he asked curiously. 

Your eyes dropped back down to your hands where they were fidgeting in your lap. "It's a higher ranking position in the Club. There's the President and a Vice President. Then the Sergeant at Arms. He's like a bodyguard to the President and an enforcer of the Club rules." You swallowed hard, your focus still intensely on your hands. "Oftentimes a triggerman. President gives a name, he kills."

"How'd ya get involved with all of that?" he asked carefully. "With him?"

"That's…sort of a long story," you admitted, looking back up at him. "Maybe one for another day?"

Michael nodded, a gentle smile spreading on his lips. "Why's he after ya then? Can ya tell me that?"

"We–we were engaged," you admitted awkwardly. "Like Birdy said. He wasn't–wasn't like that with me. In the beginning, of course. But he eventually became possessive." Your hands curled into fists in your lap, fighting to keep the memories down. "Easily made jealous. And his temper eventually came to the surface. Especially when he drank." 

You saw the way Michael’s jaw clenched at your words, the muscles twitching in his cheeks. He looked like he was barely containing his rage beneath the surface the more you told him. Just like when he’d been telling Birdy off a bit ago. You wondered what it would look like when he wasn’t containing it.

Eyes falling back down to your lap, you continued. "He took things too far one day and I–I ran the first chance I got. But he–he eventually caught me and dragged me back with him. A few times. And now I think I've finally pissed him off enough that he doesn't want to drag me back anymore." Your nails dug into your palms again, the cuts on your hands stinging in response. "I'm certain he's planning to kill me if he finds me again."

A shudder of fear ran through your spine, your eyes snapping shut. You were afraid of what might happen if you were to encounter Victor again, often having nightmares about it. You were certain you’d pushed him one too many times.

Michael's hand grabbed onto one of yours, tenderness in his touch. Your hands shifted until you were clinging to his hand like a lifeline in return, eyes still tightly closed.

"I won't let that happen," he promised. "I want ya to know that, Grace. I will not let him hurt ya."

You felt his other hand suddenly gripping your chin, carefully turning your face towards his. Eyelids fluttering open, you took in the warm and compassionate expression on his face as he gazed back at you. His hand slid up to cradle your cheek in his palm, holding you so gently like he was afraid one wrong move might scare you off. His thumb lightly stroked back and forth along your cheekbone as he held your gaze.

"And I want ya to know that I would never lay a hand on ya like that," he said firmly. "I'd never hurt ya. Never would want ya to be scared o' me."

"I'm not afraid of you, Michael," you replied firmly. 

You saw a handful of emotions flash across his face so quickly it was almost impossible to catch each one. Eventually a frown was pulling his lips downward, something like guilt lingering in his eyes. 

"Ya know what I did last night, don't ya?" he whispered. 

You did, actually. You'd seen the news this morning. Someone by the name of Caolon Moore had been shot when he'd been out at a bar last night. A man had walked in and shot him five times before fleeing the scene. Garda apparently assumed it was gangland activity.

You weren't an idiot. You'd been around this sort of life enough. You knew it was Michael who'd shot him in retaliation for killing his son–though after the brief interaction you saw between him and Jimmy and Amanda last night before he had gone, you had a strong feeling he'd been guilted into doing the shooting. 

"Yeah," you answered. 

The muscles jumped in his cheeks as Michael ground his teeth together. His lips were pressed into a thin line but you saw something hopeful flickering in his eyes that he was clearly struggling to fight back. 

"I did it," he admitted. 

"I know," you whispered. 

His lips were visibly trembling, his palm pressing further into your cheek. You leant into his touch, your eyes still locked on his. 

"I didn't want to," he breathed out. 

A sad smile slid onto your mouth, your own hand coming to rest over the top of his. "I know," you repeated. 

He swallowed hard at your words. You saw that hope mix with something else in his eyes as he held your gaze. There was something softer in them now, something affectionate, and it was taking over his entire face the longer you looked. 

“And ya still aren’ afraid of me?” he asked, voice barely audible with how quietly he’d spoken. “Don’t think I’m a monster?”

You shook your head slowly. “No,” you admitted.

There was a moment that passed between you both, one that felt like it lasted far longer than it truly had. Michael’s eyes were watering with unshed tears, his calloused thumb still brushing back and forth against your cheek. But there was a small smile slowly forming on his lips, one that was gradually spreading up to his eyes. You could feel the pounding of your heart in your chest as if his eyes alone were igniting some sort of fire in you. 

Slowly he leaned in towards you, his hand on your cheek drawing you in towards him as he did. You let him, your body willingly being drawn to him like a magnet. Michael lowered his forehead to yours, his eyes closing. Your eyes dropped down to his lips, aware of how close they were to yours now, closer than they’d ever been before. It took every ounce of willpower in you to refrain from leaning up and just kissing him, your pulse quickening in anticipation at the thought alone.

“What ‘bout Saturday mornin’?” he whispered, your eyes still focused on his mouth as he spoke. “At nine?”

Brows drawing together in confusion, you quickly tried to backpedal and make sense of the question. But the question didn’t make sense with the previous topic of conversation.

“For–for what?” you asked.

Michael huffed out a laugh, his warm breath hitting your lips and raising goosebumps on your skin beneath your sweater. His nose gently nudged your own and you felt like you were about to lose that battle with your willpower. 

“For that coffee, pet,” he murmured. “Can I take ya for coffee Saturday mornin’ at nine?”

“Yes,” you whispered.

His nose nudged yours again and your eyelids lowered partially. His lips were parted now, his breath falling into your own mouth with each exhale. The sensation was making you lightheaded, especially with the way your breath had started to come in shallower.

“Can I finally kiss ya?” he asked.

Your heart was slamming violently against its confines now, the anticipation of his mouth on yours feeling like a slow death in itself. 

“I wish you would,” you breathed out.

Michael didn’t waste another moment, his head shifting just a bit so his lips could gently capture your own. They were softer than you’d have imagined. Gentle and warm as he carefully and hesitantly kissed you. Seconds later his lips released yours, but your mouth instantly chased after his, craving more of him. 

His hand slid back from your cheek, making its way to hold the back of your head and pulling you more firmly towards him the moment your lips reconnected. Your own hand slid down his arm until you were grasping at his broad shoulders with both of your hands. Your fingers dug into his sweater as you held him, desperate not to let him slip through your own hands.

You were struggling to catch your breath between the increasing flurry of his lips on yours, gasping for air each time his mouth briefly left yours. The sound seemed to only further spur Michael onward, his hand soon lightly gripping the back of your neck and pressing you closer to him. Your arms wrapped around him in response, pulling yourself halfway onto him on the couch until your chests were pressed together. Fleetingly you wondered if it was your heartbeat thundering in your chest or his.

Michael’s tongue soon swiped along your bottom lip, wet and warm, and you eagerly allowed him to slide it into your mouth. Your own tongue greeted his, one of your hands snaking upwards to grip a handful of his dark hair. A moan slipped from your mouth straight into his own as you felt yourself quickly getting lost in him. His other hand suddenly grabbed your hip roughly at the sound, his fingertips brushing a bit of skin just beneath your sweater. 

The scent of him was filling your nose as his tongue continued to lap so sensuously against your own. Everything about him was driving you wild, and fuck how you wanted him right here and now. To tear that sweater straight off of him and take things further on that very fucking couch, especially with how you’d almost fled and thought you’d never see him again barely minutes ago. You just wanted to feel his hands and his lips roaming every inch of your body. Wanted to memorize every inch of his.

But this wasn’t the time. Especially considering how long it had been since you'd last had sex with anyone. And now feelings were involved. You didn't want to do the wrong thing, to act before thinking things through.  

Your hand slid down from his shoulder, pressing lightly against his chest. Reluctantly you broke your mouth away from his, gasping for air when you did. Michael’s shoulders were heaving as he tried to catch his own breath, his dark brows pulling together as he eyed you nervously.

"Did I do somethin' wrong?" he asked. 

You shook your head, one hand still fisting his hair and the other still splayed over his chest. "No," you answered. "We just–maybe now isn't the time for… that ."

It was a moment before your meaning registered, your eyes watching his expression shift as it did. He was grinning back at you, his hand playfully squeezing your hip. 

"Wasn’t plannin' to let things go that far with ya right now," he said cheekily. "But I understand."

You cleared your throat, heat warming your cheeks at his words as your hands gradually released their hold on him.

"Why don't I let ya unpack?" he suggested. Shooting you a sheepish smile, one hand coming to rub the back of his neck, he continued, "Because honestly I could use some sleep after yesterday and this mornin'. And I have a feelin’ once Jimmy is out I’ll be in a heap o’ shite with the family. So maybe we can continue this another time?”

You shot him a coy smile yourself. “The conversation or the other part?” you asked.

He chuckled as he rose to his feet. You followed after him, noticing the way his eyes followed your every moment, that delighted smile on his face only drawing one onto your own.

“How ‘bout I leave that up to you to decide, yeah?” he replied.

Nervously tucking a few strands of hair behind your ear, you ducked your head at his words. You definitely wanted to continue the other part later.

“How about I walk you out then?” you offered.

“That’d be grand, pet,” he said, his hand reaching out and grasping onto yours.

Fingers entwined together, Michael grabbed his jacket from the couch before you led him down the short hallway, passing the kitchen on the way to the front door. When you reached it, you came to a stop and turned towards him. He was grinning down at you already, that dimple visible just beneath his beard. You could feel your nerves swirling in your stomach as if a handful of butterflies had been released into it.

“I’ll see ya later, then?” he asked. “Ya aren’t goin’ to run off on me?”

You shook your head, smiling back up at him. “I’m not going anywhere now,” you told him. “So I’ll see you later to pick up where we left off.”

“Mmm,” he hummed out, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “And I’ll be curious to know what part of that you’re talkin’ ‘bout resumin’ later.”

You shrugged a shoulder innocently. “Guess you’ll just have to wait and find out,” you replied.

He laughed lightly, leaning down towards you and placing a simple, sweet peck to your lips. As he pulled away he whispered, “I’d happily wait to find out.”

He released your hand and opened the front door, your heart skipping excitedly in your chest as you watched him make his way down the front drive. When he neared the stone fence he turned, pausing to glance over at you. You smiled, leaning against the doorframe and shooting him a wave. The biggest smile you’d yet to see on his face spread across his lips, his hand returning the wave before he rounded the fence and made his way home.

With a sigh you closed the front door, making your way down the short hallway and back to the sitting room. You grabbed one of your suitcases and hefted it up into your arms, carrying it up the stairs and back to your bedroom. You set it down near the closet, wiping a hand across your forehead. Movement outside of your bedroom window caught your eye and your head darted in that direction.

Michael was standing at his bedroom window now, one hand on his curtains as if he’d been about to close them. But now he was smiling at you through the window. You grinned, taking a few steps towards your own window and shooting him a wave. He nodded his head at you before his hand released the curtains. You watched as both of his hands came to grip the hem of his sweater before he lifted it up over his head, tossing it somewhere in the room behind him.

Your brows rose up onto your forehead, lips parting in surprise as you took in the shirtless sight of him, the bit of chest hair covering his lightly muscled torso. When your eyes darted back up to his face, he shot you a wink before he laughed, and then his hand reached up and closed his curtains.

“I am so fucking glad I did not get in that car,” you whispered to yourself. “Fucking hell.”

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Nine]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 5k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: I have been stuck on this story so I already have chapter nine ready to share! I can't help that this story is just flowing out of me right now! This one takes place on the day of Jaime's funeral--can Reader resist a sad Mikey? Is she still going to run? Read and find out... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky

You were sat on your bed staring at the blinking cursor on your laptop’s screen. For the past couple of days you had forced yourself to focus on your writing whenever you weren’t actively making plans to leave. You hadn’t even said anything to Megan yet, not wanting her to freak out and possibly alert Michael thinking he might be able to convince you to stay. It wasn’t safe for either of them if you did. 

Your eyes strayed from the screen, gradually making their way to your bedroom window. The curtains were drawn, just like they had been for the last two days. You were trying to keep Michael out of your view and out of your life. You hadn’t seen or spoken to him since he’d left the other morning, right before you’d tried to kiss him. It made you sick to your stomach doing this to him, especially because you were certain you’d seen him crying in his bedroom the other evening, his silhouette visible past your curtains. You’d forced yourself to leave the room because you knew if you’d watched him for too long you’d wind up at his front door wanting to comfort him. And that wouldn’t be good for either of you. 

But that didn’t mean you hadn’t stopped thinking about him.

You also knew today was the funeral for his son, Jaime. Megan had somehow overheard the news and was telling you about it over breakfast. You only felt further like an asshole knowing how difficult this day had to be for him, but here you were ghosting him after having just accepted his invitation for a date this weekend.

This is why you should have kept him at a distance. You'd barely been here for long and you'd fucked up and needed to get out of here already. You should have stayed away from him, shouldn’t have given in to whatever feelings it was you’d had. It was stupid to think you could have that–stupid to think you could have anything anymore. Not with the way your possessive ex-fiance was hunting you down.

Feeling the tears well up in your eyes, you slammed your laptop shut and climbed off your bed. Wiping the back of your hand across your eyes, you left your room and made your way downstairs. You'd locked yourself in that bedroom so much the last two days just trying to avoid Megan when she'd been off work that now it felt like the walls were closing in on you. And you couldn't seem to stop staring at that damn bedroom window. 

Making your way into the kitchen, you reached up into a cabinet and pulled down one of Megan’s coffee mugs. But then you paused, your stomach feeling like it was sinking to your stomach. Your eyes watered again at the sight of the pretty floral mug in your hand. 

You wished you weren't always on the run. Desperately you wished you could have a place of your own, somewhere to settle down where you'd wake up in the same place every day. Always in the same comfortable bed. A place to fill kitchen cabinets with cute coffee mugs and bookshelves to line with books. Somewhere you could plant flowers in the garden and know you'd actually be there when they bloomed again. 

Somewhere to actually call home.

You were lonely, too, living like this. You had ways to communicate with your sister on the run and you frequently spoke with Angela, but that was it. Your connection with Michael was the first real connection you'd felt in a long time. He was the first one who'd eased that neverending sting of loneliness, even if it was alarming how easily he saw right through you. 

“Stop it,” you warned yourself. “Thinking like this will get you nowhere.”

Sniffling loudly, you shoved those thoughts aside and turned on the coffee machine, listening to the whirring sound as it began to heat up. You set the mug underneath, fingers absently spinning the carousel of pods beside the machine. Selecting one of the coffee pods you'd gotten at the store the other day, you dropped it into the machine, pressing a button and waiting for it to fill your cup. 

As you waited, you leant your back against the countertop and inspected your hands. You'd stopped wearing the bandages this morning, but the multiple cuts were still visible along your fingers and palms. Thankfully they didn't hurt as much today, but your hands looked like a cut up mess.

Something caught your attention out of the corner of your eye and your head darted to the side. Out of the kitchen window you spotted Michael in a dark blue suit making his way across the street. Your heart sank at the sight of him clearly on his way to the funeral. The threat of tears hit you again as you watched him, his head momentarily turning over his shoulder towards Megan’s house. Your breath caught in your throat, terrified he was about to stop and come back this way. But then Birdy appeared from her driveway, her arms outstretched towards Michael. She must’ve called out to him because he turned his attention to her. Silently you watched as she pulled him into a hug, his own arms wrapping around her. 

You wished you could be there for him after the funeral. You knew today was going to be difficult on him; you couldn't even imagine the feeling of having to bury your own child. Remembering the night Jaime had been shot and you’d gone over to Michael’s, you recalled how he'd told you no one else had been there for him. Only you. Which meant that most of his family probably wouldn't offer him much in the way of comfort today, either. That only broke your heart further, especially knowing you couldn't be there for him this time. 

He deserved better.

But you didn’t have a choice. Birdy hadn’t given you one. You doubted she’d listen to anything you had to say, which only meant you had to stay away from him to keep everyone safe. Soon you’d be leaving Ireland without a word to him and you could only imagine how confused and hurt he would be at your sudden disappearance. Maybe Megan could relay a message to him for you when you were gone. Some sort of apology.

But everyone would just be safer without you here.

Michael and Birdy soon turned, both of their attention focusing on your sister’s house. Heart rapidly pounding in your chest, terrified of being caught, you spun around towards your now full and steaming mug of coffee. You didn't know if they could see you from that window, but you hoped Birdy hadn't caught you staring. You weren't sure how serious she was about contacting Victor, but the thought of her alerting him to your presence here struck fear straight into your veins. 

Turning off the coffee machine, you grabbed your mug and hurried back up to your bedroom, your mind once again focusing on where you were going to disappear once again. You had found a small cottage in England. In some safe, little quiet town. You’d yet again already had to pull some strings to get another fake visa for a different country. Thankfully you still had some friends Stateside willing to secretly help you out.

When you reached your bedroom again, you paused in the doorway, shoulders sagging as you took in the sight of your things scattered around the space. You figured you should probably start packing your things tonight. Hide them in the closet so Megan didn't see them. If you were planning to leave mid-morning tomorrow, you'd need to pack before Megan came home later tonight. 

Making your way over to the closet, you slid the door open with a sigh, your eyes falling on your luggage.

"Here we go again," you mumbled.

It hadn't taken you more than an hour to pack up your belongings this afternoon. You'd hidden your packed bag in the closet, knowing Megan wouldn't have a need to go in there and would be none the wiser about your plan to bolt. She had a shift later in the morning tomorrow and you were planning to grab a car and head to the airport shortly after she left. You’d leave her a message on her phone explaining everything once you’d gotten there and then by the time she saw it, you’d already be on the flight. And then you’d be gone, just like that.

For now you found yourself yet again in the back garden, leaning against the fence and staring up at the night sky. If only the stars were visible here, you missed seeing them. Though maybe they would be visible in that quiet little town you were disappearing to. Something to look forward to, at least.

You’d had a quiet dinner alone tonight just wallowing in your feelings. It was always hard to leave a place each time you did, but it was really hitting you much harder this time around. You hadn’t spent time with your sister in years, and she was the only one who actually knew what was going on in your life. The only one you’d had to talk to about anything and everything. You’d only just gotten her back in your life again and now you were already going to have to leave her. And you were doing it without a proper goodbye, like the asshole you were. You just kept reminding yourself it was safer this way.

And Michael. Your eyes darted over towards his house, the inside of it dark. He probably was still with family. Not even back yet from the funeral. Fuck, you could only imagine the grief he was silently enduring. Pretending to be strong for his brother and his wife, but deep down falling apart just like he’d done on his couch with you. You knew it was a false front he put up, but as soon as he came home it would crumble completely. 

Your gaze dropped down to your feet, a grimace on your face. That sick to your stomach feeling you’d had over the past couple of days returned at the thought of how you’d been avoiding and ignoring him. Running out of town on him without so much as a goodbye. 

Why did it have to be like that?

Maybe it didn't have to be.

Desperately you latched on to that thought. Maybe it didn't have to be exactly like that. Maybe you could at least say goodbye. He deserved that at least, right? And if you were leaving in the morning, what damage could Birdy do? You’d be gone and she’d have no reason to alert Victor. Right?

Though what would you even say to him? Because if you told him flat out that you were running, you had a strong feeling he’d just urge you to stay. And he’d probably find some reason to talk you out of it. Knowing you, you’d let him. Because whatever was there between you two, you couldn’t deny you wanted to explore it.

But what if…

Slowly your eyes closed, a thought you'd been fighting down for the past two days finally breaking free.

What if you told Michael the truth? Told him all of it? Everything about you and why you had been running and hiding? Maybe he’d understand. He already knew you were in trouble. Maybe he could talk to Birdy, help her to see what was really going on instead of the conclusions she had jumped to. She’d surely listen to Michael, right? Then maybe you wouldn’t need to disappear again. At least, not right now. Not unless Victor actually found you himself.

Hope filled you quickly at the thought of staying. Of getting more time with your sister and the prospect of exploring whatever it was between you and Michael, starting with that cup of coffee this weekend. You wanted to cling to that hope so badly. 

The lights turning on in Michael’s house caught your attention, your eyes immediately drawn to it. You could see Michael making his way through the sitting room straight towards his back door, shrugging out of suit coat with his eyes on you. He tossed the coat onto his sofa and continued to make his way to the sliding glass door.

Despite how solemn he looked, you were suddenly feeling like you could float. Things would work out. You'd tell him everything and he would understand, and then he would talk to Birdy and she would understand you weren't a threat. Things would be okay. You wouldn't have to leave. Not this time. Not now.

Michael’s back door slid open, the sound breaking through the silence that felt like it had surrounded you for days now. Without hesitation you began to make your way towards him, a nervous smile on your mouth. You figured you'd focus on him first, give him the comfort he needed before you dropped everything on him. You were certain his day had already been shit and you hated knowing you were about to add to it.

"Hey," you greeted him.

"I haven't seen ya in days," he replied, hurt apparent in his tone as he continued to make his way towards you as well. "What happened?"

You awkwardly wrung your hands in front of yourself, guilt burning through you at his words. Swallowing hard, you figured you'd lie for now, just so he wouldn't put the focus on you and your problems. You had all night to talk, it's not like either of you were going anywhere, and you truly wanted to make sure he was alright before you unloaded on him. 

"Sorry, I–I was busy writing," you told him. "Sort of got lost in my head working on some things. Trying to meet a deadline."

He nodded, his hands coming to rest along the fence as he finally came to a stop before you. His eyes were studying you in the dim light shining from the back of Megan’s house. You were studying him in return, taking in the frown on his lips and the grief in his eyes. His blue dress shirt looked a bit mussed from the day of wearing it, though he'd clearly lost the tie and unbuttoned a couple of buttons now. Eyes drawing back up to his face, you felt like you could clearly see him. He looked lost.

Swallowing hard, your hands stopped their nervous fidgeting and instead you carefully reached out towards him. Hesitantly you wrapped your hands around his, feeling your nerves lessen a bit when you felt his fingers grasp yours in return.

"How're you doing?" you asked.

Michael exhaled a long, mournful breath as his gaze dropped down to your enjoined hands. He shrugged his shoulders faintly, shaking his head.

"It was not a good day," he answered. "I'll tell ya that." 

"I had a feeling," you said softly.

His hands squeezed both of yours tighter for a moment, your eyes focusing on what you could see of his face in the dim light. His eyes had closed, his lips pressed tight together.

"I have a daughter," he told you.

You stiffened instantly at his admission. From your research and that strange sighting of the young girl staring at his house earlier this week, you figured he did. Now here he was openly telling you about her. 

"I don'–don' want to get into the details," he continued, his eyes still downcast as he held your hands firmly, "but I was hopin' to get her back in my life again. Now that I'm out. I wasn't fool enough to think I'd get custody of her, but I'd been hopin' I'd at least be able to see her again. Have a relationship with her."

You remained quiet, unsure of what more he was going to tell you. Instead of speaking, you held his hands more firmly in your own, attempting to offer him some bit of comfort. But as you listened, you only felt further like an asshole for what you had been doing to him this week, and for what you might still have to do tomorrow, depending how things panned out.

"That appointment I had the other day," he eventually continued. "It was with a solicitor. I've been applyin' to the courts to see her. But the–the solicitor made it seem like it wasn't goin' to work in my favor. Like I'm too dangerous for my own daughter," he spat. 

He abruptly released one of your hands, rubbing at his forehead. Michael still wouldn't meet your eyes, but you could feel the frustration and the despair radiating from him. Something had happened. You could feel it.

"She showed up at the funeral today," he eventually continued, his voice wavering. "It had already been a difficult day, but then I saw her. And I thought–thought maybe somethin' good could come of this. Ya know? Like maybe we could talk. Reconnect. But when I went to speak to her after she–"

Michael broke off on a choked sound. Your hand squeezed his harder instantly, ignoring the sting of the cuts in your palm at the pressure as you did. You had a feeling you knew where this was going with the information you had. He'd gone to prison for supposedly killing his wife, his daughter must blame him. Hate him for it.

"She told me she wanted nothing' to–to do with me," he croaked out. "That she had nothin' to say to me."

Not even thinking about the consequences, you released his hand and grasped him by the shoulders, instinctively pulling him straight to you. Tears were welling in your own eyes as you heard a sob fall out of him, and then he was leaning further across the stone fence, his face pressing against your neck. You could feel the dampness of his tears against your skin, your heart once again breaking all over for this man. He was suffering so much himself and you desperately wished to ease that suffering.

But, as you reminded yourself, depending how tonight went you might be adding further to his pain. 

Your arms held him more firmly to you at that thought, a few tears falling down your own cheeks. You didn't want to hurt him. 

“I’m sorry, Michael,” you whispered, the apology for more than he knew.

“I love her so much,” he breathed out, his tears soaking the collar of your sweatshirt. “I’d never–never hurt her. Never let anyone hurt her.” 

He sniffed loudly, his hands sliding their way around towards your back. You could feel his fingers digging into you through the thick sweatshirt you had on, as if he was desperate to hold onto something and not be forced to let it go for once. Turning your head, you buried your face into his hair, closing your eyes and trying to fight back your own tears.

“I’m tired of feelin’ like some sort of monster,” he whispered against your neck. “Tired of everyone seein’ me like I am.”

“I don’t think you’re a monster, Michael Kinsella,” you told him.

At your words, he instantly drew his face from where he’d burrowed against your neck. You raised your own head as he stared back at you, his expression intense as he focused on you. His face was only inches from yours, tears glistening in his eyes as they darted back and forth between yours, searching for something. Your right hand released his shoulder and carefully you reached up, gently wiping away the tear tracks on his face with the pad of your thumb. 

“I think you have a good heart, despite the things you might have done,” you said, nerves gathering in your stomach as he continued to stare at you so ardently. “Despite the things that have been done to you.”

Eyes holding his, your hand came to rest along his cheek, cradling it against your palm. Your thumb was lightly stroking back and forth, just over the dark hair of his beard. 

"Ya don' know what I've done," he breathed out, shaking his head lightly. 

The muscles twitched in your cheeks. You did know, actually, but now was not the time to admit that. 

"I have a good idea," you said instead. "And I can see your heart, Michael. It's not full of darkness and violence. Quite the opposite, really. Believe me, I can see the difference." A sad smile slid onto your lips as you added, "Now, at least."

His brows drew together, his eyes softening as they searched your face yet again. 

"What happened to ya, Grace?" he asked softly. "Will ya tell me?"

He had just given you the perfect in. The perfect time to bring everything up, to tell him the truth. Tell him everything and hope he believed you. Hope he could convince Birdy afterwards so you could stay here and not have to run again. 

Slowly you nodded, that sad smile still on your lips. "Yeah, I will," you answered. "But maybe we should go inside? Sit down and talk? And I–I can tell you everything. If you want?"

The corners of his mouth curled up just a bit, a matching sad smile of his own. "I'd like that, if ya feel comfortable enough with tellin' me," he replied. 

You opened your mouth to respond, but the sound of Michael’s back door sliding open caught your attention. Instinctively you pulled away from him, your hands dropping back to your sides as your pulse sped up, terrified Birdy had caught you and would poison Michael’s mind before you had a chance to speak to him. 

But it wasn't Birdy stepping out of Michael’s sitting room. You recognized the woman from the photo on the dealership website–Amanda Kinsella. And you assumed the man with his dark hair pulled back in a taut bun at the back of his head was Michael’s brother, Jimmy. You hadn't properly met either of them yet. 

Michael’s shoulders slumped as he turned to the side and took in the sight of the pair of them. He didn't look thrilled at the interruption.

Jimmy and Amanda were eyeing you closely as Jimmy closed the glass door behind himself. But while Jimmy’s stare was curious and a little confused, Amanda's eyes seemed to be narrowed and almost disdainful. Challenging, even. You crossed your arms and looked away, your attention falling on that stone fence separating Michael and you.

"Somethin' happen?" Michael called out to them.

"Not quite," Jimmy answered. "But we needed to speak with ya 'bout somethin'."

"In private," Amanda added, her tone sharp. "Just between the three of us."

"We need ya, Michael," Jimmy pressed. 

Your hands clamped into fists under your arms, hugging yourself a bit tighter. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Michael shift on his feet, his head turning towards you. 

"Can it–it wait a bit?" he asked, his tone almost pleading.

The sound of Amanda’s bitter scoff had your nails biting into your palms. Your healing cuts from that broken bottle of wine stung, the pain only encouraging you to press harder on them as Amanda spoke again. 

"No, Michael," she snapped. " Family can't wait. Whatever this is can."

There was a heavy silence that hung in the air, her words drawing a firm line between them and you. A hollow ache formed in your chest. You weren't part of them, you knew that, but the distaste in her tone hurt. Especially with the distrust and dislike Birdy had thrown at you repeatedly. Maybe you didn't belong here.

"Alrigh' just–just gimme a minute out here?" Michael asked. 

"You've got one minute," Amanda snapped. "This is time sensitive, Michael."

Your eyes remained on the stone fence as you heard the back door open and close again. Just like that you'd lost your opportunity. 

"I'm–I'm sorry 'bout that, Grace," he said softly, his hands coming into your line of sight as he rested them along the fence. "But I made a promise and I…I need to help my brother tonight. We can talk about everythin' later, yeah?" 

Nodding stiffly, you tried to fight the tremble of your lips as you did. If you didn't talk tonight, you wouldn't be here to talk later. No doubt Birdy would hear from either Jimmy or Amanda that you were talking to Michael tonight. It was clear none of them were about to trust you, too. If you didn't talk to Michael before your flight tomorrow and have him convince Birdy that alerting Victor to your presence was a danger to more than just you, you'd be leaving in the morning. You wouldn't have a choice, you couldn't risk her giving him your location.

"Hey, would ya look at me, Grace? Please?" he begged. 

"You should probably go deal with whatever that is," you said instead. "I'll stop distracting you."

You were about to turn to leave but Michael reached across the fence quickly, his hand lightly cupping your cheek and drawing your face up towards his. His eyes were creased at the corners, dark brows lowered on his forehead as he looked back at you. That look like he was lost was back on his face again, the sight of it tugging at your heart.

"Ya aren't distractin' me," he said firmly. "I want to talk to ya. 'Bout everythin'. I swear. But I just have to deal with somethin' tonight." 

He closed the distance between the pair of you, the stone fence still a frustrating barrier as he lowered his forehead to yours. Your eyes closed as you eased back towards him, craving his comforting and safe presence.

"We will talk later," he murmured. "I swear on it."

A flicker of hope reignited in your chest at his words. You'd talk to him when he finished dealing with whatever it was he needed to tonight. You'd stay up as late as you had to.

"Okay," you whispered. 

He shifted, his forehead pulling away from yours. Your eyes flew open just as you felt his warm lips place a gentle kiss to your forehead. Your heart stuttered in your chest as they lingered there for a moment before he inevitably broke away. His eyes met yours again, the look in them a silent plea as well.

"Wait for me, yeah?" he asked. 

Nodding slowly, you felt tears prick at your eyes. You'd wait all night if you had to. 

Michael sent you a small smile before he turned, making his way back towards his house. You could see Amanda glaring at you through the glass door just over his shoulder. Frowning, you turned and made your way back into Megan’s house, prepared to wait for Michael to return later.

It had been just over three hours since Michael had left you to go deal with whatever situation it was Jimmy and Amanda had needed him for. Megan had come home a bit ago from her shift at the hospital and you'd tried your best to act normal around her, but admittedly it had been difficult. You still didn't know if you would be leaving her without a word tomorrow or not yet. 

Eventually you'd gone back up to your room and opened your bedroom curtains, sitting on your bed and trying to focus on your writing. You hadn't been able to write much though, your eyes constantly flying to the window and hoping to see any sort of movement to alert you to the fact that Michael was finally back home. You planned to go straight there the moment you knew he was.

But it wasn't the lights of Michael’s bedroom that immediately drew your attention to the window a little while later. It was the telltale red and blue flashing lights of the Garda streaking through it and into your room. 

You flew from your bed in a hurry, panic flooding you as you sprinted out of your bedroom and down the stairs. Something had happened tonight. You should have figured as much when Jimmy and Amanda had shown up.

"What's going on?" Megan called out behind you from her room. 

You didn't answer her though, your heart thundering in your own ears as you bolted down the hallway, raced down the stairs, and hurried into the kitchen. Immediately you ran to the window, pressing your hands against the cold glass as you looked out. 

There were a handful of Garda cars filling the street, their lights flashing along the row of houses. 

"Oh, shit," Megan breathed out as she appeared at your side. "What the fuck happened tonight?"

Movement next door caught your eye, your heart feeling like it was sinking through the floor at the sight. Michael was being taken from his house in handcuffs, led to the back of one of the cars.

"Oh my God," Megan whispered. "Is he being arrested?"

"I don't know," you answered softly.

Tears burned at your eyes as you watched him climb into the backseat of the Garda car in what felt like slow motion. Exhaling a shuddering breath, you realized you wouldn't be talking to him tonight. Which meant you'd be running in the morning before Birdy could alert the Serpents, and therefore Victor, of your whereabouts. 

"Maybe it's nothing?" Megan said, her eyes glued to the sight outside. “Look, they’ve got Jimmy in cuffs, too. Maybe they’re just going in for questioning? And everything will be alright?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, a tear falling out of your eye as you stared at the Garda cars. “Hopefully.”

But you knew the Garda here were allowed to hold Michael for up to twenty-four hours for questioning. And you didn’t have that long.

It looked like you’d be on the run again in the morning after all.

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Eight]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.5k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: Another update for you all! I'm on a Mikey kick, what can I say. This one is sweet and a little fluffy (considering Reader's hangover) at the beginning, but beware the angst in this one... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky

You woke to a sharp pain radiating through your head and pounding in your skull. Wincing, you tried to open your mouth to groan but your tongue felt dry and as if it was stuck to the roof of your mouth. A noise of discontent vibrated in your throat as you reached a hand up out of the sheets to rub at your temples–but you immediately hissed at the unexpected pain in your hands.

The bed dipped behind you and you froze, your eyes flying open as panic surged through you. There shouldn’t have been anyone in your bed with you. Quickly rolling onto your other side to see who was behind you–hoping against hope it wasn’t him–the room soon spun around you. Your eyes closed tight again, your stomach churning horribly at the sensation. You felt like you might vomit.

“Hey, easy there, Grace,” a familiar Irish accented voice spoke.

“Michael?” you croaked out, eyes still closed as the spinning continued.

“Yeah, ‘s’me,” he answered. 

Your bed felt as if it was rocking back and forth beneath you and you swallowed hard, praying you wouldn’t throw up in front of him. Or on him. The feeling had you curling further in on yourself along the mattress. How much had you drank last night? And also why was Michael in your bed?

“Why–why’re you here?” you asked.

“Ya…had a bit of an accident last night,” he said awkwardly. “I stayed with ya while your sister went back to work. But I uh–” he cleared his throat, “–admittedly fell asleep after cleanin’ everythin’ in the kitchen last night.”

You frowned, eyes fluttering open to take in the sight of Michael in your bed beside you. He was laying on top of the sheets as if to place some sort of gentlemanly barrier between the pair of you. His dark hair was a rumpled mess on his head and he looked like he’d just woken up himself. He was in a dark brown long sleeve shirt and a pair of black sweatpants, his feet bare on the bed. Your eyes slowly drew back up towards his face. He was smiling at you now, a shy, sleepy little grin as he lay raised up on one arm.

“You stayed with me?” you asked, brows knitting together.

The small smile never left his face as his gaze dropped nervously down towards the bed. “Ya kept askin’ me to stay with ya. I couldn’t refuse,” he replied softly.

“Oh God,” you groaned, burying your face in your bandaged hands. “I’m so sorry. That’s embarrassing and weird.”

“It wasn’t,” he said firmly. “Ya needed help and I wanted to help.”

You peaked out at him between your fingers, your head still pounding horribly. He was looking at you with a strange look in his eyes, one that you certainly didn’t just look at a neighbor with.

“So what exactly…happened?” you asked hesitantly. “All I remember is–” you broke off instantly.

You remembered researching the Kinsellas, specifically Michael and his deceased ex-wife. A pang of sympathy hit you as you gazed back at him, your hands slowly dropping from your face. You couldn’t exactly tell him what you’d been doing that had caused you to spiral and need a drink. You were sure he wouldn’t be thrilled with your researching of him and his family, especially with how personal the information was.

“I remember drinking a lot,” you finished weakly. “And…breaking a bottle on accident.”

“Ya tried to clean it up,” Michael said with a nod. “Cut up your hands. Called your sister for help and she left the hospital to come help ya.”

“So you–you came over when?” you asked curiously.

He ducked his head sheepishly again, a hand scratching his beard in a nervous gesture. “I heard her scream. Twice. Thought somethin’ was wrong so I…may have come bargin’ in with that.”

He gestured his head behind him towards the nightstand. Slowly you craned your neck, peering around him. Your eyebrows shot up high onto your forehead at the sight of a handgun innocently laying there. Your eyes quickly flew back up to his face, studying him curiously. 

“You came over here…with a gun?” you asked.

He nodded, still not meeting your eyes with his own. “Was worried somethin’ might have happened,” he murmured.

His words hit you hard, something warm filling you at the sound of them. He’d been worried that something had happened to you? And he’d shown up with a gun to protect you? 

“You were worried about me?” you whispered in surprise.

“Yeah,” he answered, nodding gently. “I–I care about ya, Grace.”

His gaze finally flew up to meet yours, his eyes full of emotion. There was something tender sitting right there on the surface as he looked back at you. You sucked in an audible breath at the intensity of his stare, nerves gathering in your stomach and mixing with the nausea you felt from drinking last night.

“I know I don’t know ya that well, it’s hard to explain but I–” he paused, shaking his head, “–I just feel somethin’. Like an understandin’. Like you somehow–”

“Truly see you?” you breathed out.

Michael's mouth hung open for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth between yours. Slowly his mouth closed, his lips pulling into a small smile as he nodded. 

"Yeah," he answered. "Exactly like that."

Your attention shifted down towards your bandaged hands, the dull ache of them noticeable. Though your head was violently throbbing and the pain of that was far worse than the cuts on your hands. You felt like shit this morning, but yet somehow all you could focus on in this moment was the strange, giddy feeling Michael was drawing forth in you. It was a feeling you hadn’t experienced in a very, very long time.

“I uh, I know what you mean,” you admitted.

One of Michael’s hands slowly slid along the mattress towards yours, your eyes following its movement. He hesitated a moment, his fingers just an inch from yours, before he gently grasped onto one of your bandaged hands. Something fluttered in your chest at the affectionate gesture and your fingers curled back around his.

Gradually your eyes made their way back up to Michael’s face. He was smiling more fully at you now, something light and happy shining back at you in his eyes. You'd never seen that look on his face before with the run-ins you'd had with him. He had always looked so full of pain and sorrow. But he looked happy laying on your bed right now, just holding your hand. 

"What would ya say to grabbin' coffee with me sometime this weekend?" he asked softly. "Would the answer still be no?"

Biting your lip, you tried to fight back the growing smile on your face. "You asking me on a date again, Michael?" you questioned.

"What if I am?" he replied.

Something like a cheeky smile spread on his lips and your stomach somersaulted inside of you. But the fluttering of your nerves was only increasing your nausea. Lips pressing together, you closed your eyes and tried to will that feeling to subside. 

"Ya alrigh', Grace?" he asked. 

"Just uh–" you winced, aware of how unattractive and ill-timed this was, "–trying not to vomit. I definitely overdid it last night."

"Ya need somethin'? Some water? Hell, I'm sorry," he said in a rush, releasing your hand and sliding off the bed. "Should have figured ya wouldn' be feelin’ good this morning. I'll get ya some water."

"Wait, no, I'm fine," you said, sitting up and hoping to call him back, not wanting to further ruin the moment. "I–I can get some water in a minute."

"Ya…sure?" he asked hesitantly. 

You nodded, ignoring the way the room felt like it was still moving when you stopped. Gradually he sat back down on the bed. 

“Sorry,” you muttered, eyes on your hands as heat flooded your cheeks. “You’re not exactly seeing me at my best right now.”

“Not like ya haven’t seen me at some shite moments,” he replied. “Didn’t seem to scare ya away.”

“Yeah well, I’m sort of ruining the moment here,” you joked.

“I can assure ya,” Michael said with a chuckle, “you’re not.”

Nervously you shifted your attention back on him, taking in that tender expression on his face. Something felt like it was drawing you to him again, pulling you in, and you found yourself once more getting lost in his eyes. But then your gaze dropped down to his mouth, noticing the slight twitch of his lips. Goddamn you wanted to lean across the bed, close the space between the pair of you, and just kiss him. You wondered if he would be good at it. Would he be sweet and gentle with you? His hands carefully holding you to him? Or would he be rough and starved for you, his lips and tongue greedy and hungry as they ravaged your mouth? 

A need suddenly stirred deep within you, one you hadn’t satiated in quite awhile. You wanted Michael, you couldn’t deny it. And if you weren’t hungover as all hell you’d have been a bit more tempted to act on that want.

“Grace?”

Snapping out of your thoughts, your eyes flew back up to his. They were crinkled at the corners, a grin pulling at his lips.

“Ya know, ya still didn’t answer me ‘bout that coffee,” he pointed out.

“Oh, right,” you said, blinking a few times. “You’re…still interested in that?”

He laughed lightly, amusement written across his features. “Well I can’t say I’ve suddenly changed my mind in the last couple o’ minutes, no,” he answered. “I want to get to know ya better. And I–I hope you’ll let me.”

You bit your lip, gnawing it nervously. Dating Michael would be dangerous–for him and you. But a growing part of you didn’t want to listen to reason anymore when it came to him.

“I just don’t want you to get hurt,” you admitted. 

Michael frowned, his face falling. You quickly backpedaled, assuming he had misunderstood what you’d meant.

“I mean yes, I want to get coffee with you,” you said quickly. “But I worry about some things. About how being with me is…dangerous.”

Michael’s expression quickly shifted to something serious. “Megan said last night ya were in some trouble,” he replied.

You stiffened on the bed, your entire body going rigid. “She told you that?” you asked him.

“That’s ‘bout all she told me, but yeah,” he answered. “Though I can assure ya, Grace, I don’t scare easily. And I can see you’re runnin’ from somethin’ or someone. But I’m still here.”

Blue eyes flashed in your mind. The scent of burning flesh hit you out of nowhere and you recoiled on the bed, swallowing hard as you grimaced. You fought to push the memory back down.

“Maybe who I’m running from is dangerous,” you whispered.

Wordlessly, Michael slid closer to you on the bed, his gentle hand snaking its way to your back, very slowly pulling you in towards his chest. You let him, your own arms encircling his waist as you buried your face against his shoulder. As you clung to him, inhaling that comforting smokey, warm scent of him as his strong arms held you tight, you felt safe for the first time in a long time.

“I can be dangerous, too,” Michael whispered, “when it comes to protectin’ those I care about.”

Goosebumps rippled along your arms at his words. You wanted to believe that.

“You barely know me,” you replied, voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Then let me buy ya a coffee this weekend, Grace,” he said, one of his large palms soothingly running back and forth along your back. “Let me get to know ya.”

Hands balling up the material of his shirt, your mind recalled the things you’d dug up on Michael last night before you’d gotten drunk. You felt guilty, sitting here with this knowledge you shouldn’t have because he didn’t give it to you. 

“Does that mean you’re going to let me get to know you?” you asked.

There was a silence that settled between the pair of you, your hands still fisting his shirt. You could feel the tension in his body gradually easing out of him the longer he held you.

“Maybe not all of the darkest parts,” he murmured eventually. “Not yet, at least.”

Inhaling a deep breath, that smokey, cinnamon scent of him filling your nose, you felt your body relax into him. You wished you could stay like this for the day. Safe and comfortable in his arms. Yet another feeling you weren’t familiar with anymore. A feeling you’d thought you’d once had with Victor, but then those very same hands that promised to protect you did the opposite.

“Okay,” you whispered.

Michael’s arms tightened around you for a moment, squeezing you almost reassuringly before he gradually released you. You sat back, your own arms falling down to your sides. His hand reached out and gently tucked some hair behind your ear, a sad smile on his face.

“Unfortunately I have an appointment later this mornin’ I need to get to,” he said softly. “And I can’t be late. But why don’t I help ya downstairs to get some water and make sure ya get somethin’ for that headache I’m sure ya got?”

“You don’t have to worry about that,” you told him. “I can get that all on my own just fine.”

“Ya had a rough night last night,” he murmured, his hand landing on your leg over the sheets. “I’d like to make sure ya are alrigh’ before I go, pet.”

You couldn’t help but to internally melt at the term of endearment that so easily slipped from his lips. Nodding, you began to slip out of the sheets as Michael rose from the bed. He grabbed the gun from off the nightstand, and for some reason as you followed slowly behind him out of the bedroom and down the stairs, you couldn't deny how incredibly good he looked with it. Especially knowing he'd been willing to use it to protect you last night. 

Michael didn't even wait for you when he reached the sitting room. He turned and made his way down the hallway and into the kitchen, apparently already having familiarized himself in there last night enough to know where your sister kept her cups and medicine. When you'd entered the kitchen moments later, he was already filling a glass with water for you, the bottle of Ibuprofen on the counter. When the glass was full, he turned and handed it to you.

"Thanks," you murmured, accepting the water.

Drawing it to your lips for a drink, you watched as he unscrewed the lid from the Ibuprofen bottle on the counter beside him, shaking a couple of tablets into his palm. He handed those to you next and you quickly tossed them into your mouth, swallowing them down. 

"Maybe I'll see ya later?" he asked hopefully.

"Maybe," you answered.

Michael took a hesitant step towards you, his eyes fixed on your own. You reached out, setting your now almost empty glass of water on the kitchen island right next to where he'd placed his gun. Taking a cautious step towards him yourself, you gingerly slipped your arms around his waist and drew him to you, trying not to let yourself overthink the action as you did. Michael's arms encircled your shoulders as he held you firmly against the front of himself, his face burying into the top of your hair. 

"Thank you," you said, eyelids lowering as you once again relaxed into him. "You didn't have to do any of that last night."

"Ya didn't have to stay with me the other night, either," he replied. "But ya did."

With your arms still wrapped around him, you drew your head back from its place along his chest, Michael instantly pulling back from your hair at the movement. He gazed down at you, brows drawn together curiously as you looked back up at him. 

His face was so close to yours, close enough that you could just bridge the gap and press your lips to his. Despite the pounding in your head, you found you desperately wanted to kiss him. You wanted to know what it would feel like, at least just once. You had never felt such a strong pull to someone before and you didn’t want to keep trying to deny it anymore. Clearly he was going to be right there for the duration of your stay with your sister, why not explore what this was? 

Why couldn't you have this?

One of your hands released his waist, instead coming to rest hesitantly along his cheek. His eyes softened at your touch, the crease between his brows disappearing as he understood what was on your mind. Judging by how he'd leant in a bit further towards you, you assumed he had been thinking about kissing you, too. The knowledge of that only excited you, your breath coming in shallower as your fingers lightly ran through his dark beard. 

His eyes had dropped down to your lips now and your heart beat a little quicker in your chest. You decided you were just going to go for it, consequences be damned. You’d worried about those too much for too long. Eyes closing, you tilted your mouth up towards his and leant forward, closing that distance between the pair of you.

But a soft gasp startled both of you apart. Your eyes flew open, Michael abruptly taking a step away from you, his eyes landing just over your shoulder as his hands fell back to his sides. Looking over your own shoulder you spotted your sister, her eyes wide as she stood frozen just at the edge of the kitchen.

“I did not mean to interrupt that,” she said quickly. “Holy shit, I didn’t know you two were even in here. Oh my God, I’ll just go back upstairs and you can–”

“I actually need to be goin’,” Michael cut her off, a strained smile on his mouth. “I’ve got an appointment I need to make.” His attention returned to you, his expression almost apologetic as he leaned over and grabbed his gun from the counter. “I’ll get back to ya ‘bout this weekend, yeah?”

You nodded quickly, crossing your arms over your chest as you stepped out of his way. Michael gave you one last look before he walked past you, Megan thanking him for looking after you last night as he went. He’d only muttered a soft response about it being no problem before he was out the front door and walking down the driveway. Your eyes watched him as he went out of the kitchen window, taking in his comfortable stride as he casually carried the gun at his side. When he turned the corner and passed the stone fence and was out of view, you turned and shot your sister a pointed look.

“I’m sorry!” she said immediately, throwing her hands up in the air. “You both were being so damn quiet! I didn’t know anyone was even in the kitchen!”

You sighed, running a hand over your face. “It’s–it’s fine. And I’m sorry about being a drunk asshole last night and apparently interrupting you at work,” you apologized. “I’ve been a shit sister lately. Always worrying you and needing help.”

“Stop,” she said firmly. “You’re going through some shit. You’re my sister and I love you and I’m going to be here for you. Victor is an asshole and I’m not going to let him run your life and keep you in hiding.”

“Meg, there’s nothing you are going to be able to do when it comes to him,” you said flatly. 

“Well then maybe we need a damn gun in this house,” she said, making her way over to the coffee maker and turning it on. “Because I’d shoot that fucker on sight.”

You took two large steps before getting up in Megan’s face, your expression serious. “You’ll go nowhere near him,” you stated sharply. “He’s not like my other ex’s Meg. Not like your ex. He’s dangerous. I can’t risk you getting hurt. You see him? You run. Even if he’s got me in his sights. End of story.”

Megan’s eyes narrowed, her mouth opening to object. You quickly cut her off, your eyes piercing into her own.

“End of story,” you growled.

Sitting at the kitchen table, you were attempting to work on your novel. You’d certainly fallen behind on deadline with all the drama since you’d moved into your sister's house this past almost week and a half. Now your hands hurt to type from the cuts as your fingers stretched across the keyboard, the pain distracting you from your train of thoughts often. Angela was going to be pissed if you asked her for another extension on the deadline.

You’d been forcing yourself to focus though, even writing as you ate a brief dinner. Megan was once again back at the hospital working another shift and you’d promised her you wouldn’t give her another scare to come back home to this time. You felt guilty for the past couple of nights. Despite what she’d told you earlier, you felt like a shit sister. You shouldn’t have gotten that bad last night, shouldn’t have used alcohol to cope with your demons yet again.

Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention and you turned, spotting Birdy walking up the driveway through the kitchen window. Her eyes were on you, a purposeful step in her stride. 

“Christ,” you muttered under your breath. “Just what I need.”

You saved the progress on your laptop before closing it, pushing your chair back and feeling a sense of dread wash over you. This most likely wasn’t going to be a friendly visit considering the last interaction you’d had with her.

Making your way to the front door, you unlocked it and pulled it open. Birdy stood there with a self-satisfied smile on her face, her brows raising just a bit.

“Mind if I come in for a chat, dear?” she asked.

With a sigh you stepped aside, waving your hand before her. Her eyes narrowed briefly before she stepped inside and you shut the door behind her. She made her way straight to the kitchen, her focus instantly going right to your laptop. You followed behind her, leaning against the entryway with a frown.

“I know this isn’t a friendly, neighborly visit,” you said. “What is it you’ve come for, Birdy?”

Her head swung back towards you, her blue eyes boring into your own. That cold smile was still on her lips.

“I saw Mikey leavin’ here this mornin’,” she began. “Carryin’ a gun. I don’t know how ya have gotten one of my boys wrapped around your finger so quickly, dear, but I’m askin’ ya to stop it right now.”

Your eyes narrowed. Of course she’d been watching the house. 

“He’s not wrapped around my finger,” you told her. “He came here on his own.”

Birdy crossed her arms, squaring her shoulders as she took an intimidating step towards you. You straightened, pushing off the wall and staring her back down.

“I know what you’re doin’, dear,” she said.

“And what’s that?” you challenged. “Enlighten me, Birdy.”

“I know who ya are, who you’re with,” she continued, her blue eyes burning into you. “The Serpents of Hell.”

Your teeth grit together at the name, your heart hammering in your ribcage like the flutter of a terrified bird’s wings. You knew she’d made the connection the other day, but hearing it aloud still struck fear into you.

“I know all about what your little motorcycle club does,” she said. “And how you’re probably here tryin’ to get an in with Eamon. Think I don’t know about that charter in Cork? Runnin’ guns?” She took another intimidating step towards you, her eyes still narrowed. “But I know you’re a city girl from the States, yeah? From Miami. Your man and his charter traffickin’ and dealin’ drugs all around the country there. Now what? Ya comin’ out here tryin’ to take over more territory? Thinkin’ ya can carve a place out here in Dublin?”

“What?” you asked, brows knitting together in confusion. “What’re you on about?”

“Don’t play the fool with me, dear,” Birdy snapped. “Usin’ my Mikey to get in with a big supplier. Sleepin’ your way around for them. It’s disgustin’ it is.” She pointed a finger firmly at your chest. “So I’m tellin’ ya this once, dear. Ya stay away from my Michael. All o’ my boys. If I catch ya sniffin’ around any of them, I’ll call up your fiance myself and tell him to drag ya back before I tell the family what you’re up to. And I promise ya they won’ be very nice about dealin' with ya. Especially Mikey.”

You felt like you couldn’t breathe. You stood there speechless, your mouth just opening and closing a handful of times. Birdy crossed her arms, looking satisfied and clearly misinterpreting the reason for your reaction. Your tongue felt like lead in your mouth, too heavy to move.

She knew about Victor.

“I see I’ve made my point,” she said, tone cold. “I’ll see myself out. But know this dear, we Kinsellas don't back down. Doesn’ matter what your fiance does–either ya go or I send him a warnin' myself."

Briskly she stepped past you, heading down the hall and opening your front door. She closed it behind her with a loud click, and then you were left alone in the house. Panicking.

She knew who you were. She knew about Victor. 

And she was going to lead him right to your goddamn door if she caught you with Michael again. Which was dangerous, because not only would Victor show up and kill you, he’d probably take out your sister. And certainly Michael if he knew there’d been something going on between you both. He wouldn’t even bat an eye or think twice, because he was the Sergeant at Arms for the Serpents’ Mother Charter. Enforcing rules and killing was what he did. That was his job. And he was really fucking good at it.

Your breath started to come in sharp, ragged gasps. Hands flying up to your throat, you felt that panic crest over you, dragging you under and pulling you down. You sunk to your knees on the kitchen floor, gradually beginning to hyperventilate as tears sprung forth from your eyes, streaking their way down your cheeks. 

You had nowhere else to run on such short notice. Birdy had you cornered. 

You’d have to steer clear of Michael and find a way out of Dublin, find somewhere else to go. But that might take you a few days to figure out still.

Ribcage tightening like a vice around your lungs, you collapsed to the floor and curled in on yourself, sobbing hysterically into your bandaged hands. You didn't want to have to run again, you were tired of it. And eventually you knew you'd have nowhere left to run.

With a muffled wail into your hands, you rode out your panic attack alone on the kitchen floor.

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Six]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.2k [Series Masterlist]

Warnings/tags: 18+ for this series; contains violence, drug use, domestic abuse, smut, hurt/comfort, angst, mutual pining, friends to lovers

a/n: This one brings some fluff and intrigue! And Birdy being Birdy... I always appreciate feedback so feel free to chat with me! And hopefully I didn't mess anything up, I did a fast edit so I could post!

Tag list: @loveroftoomanyfandoms @farfromstrange @rotscinema @1988-fiend @shouldbestudying41 @shiorimakibawrites @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattmurdocksstarlight @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @mattkinsella2 @ms-murdockswift @theetherealbloom @24hflower @mattmurdocksscars @schneeflocky

Bright light hitting the back of your eyelids caused you to stir, a faint groan falling out of you. Tightening your eyes closed further, you burrowed into the warmth beside you, nuzzling your face further into your pillow. You’d had a peaceful sleep for once, this time not waking up with a headache from the wine you usually drank to achieve a sleep so undisturbed, and you didn’t want to wake up. You were comfortable. But the warmth around your waist unexpectedly squeezed you in return and your eyes flew open instantly.

You were met with the sight of a blue and white striped sweater, your mind quickly falling back to the previous night. You had come over to check on Michael after you’d seen him break down in his room through your bedroom windows that faced each other. He’d told you how he’d been there when his nephew–no, his son , you reminded yourself–had been accidentally shot and killed. He’d also told you how no one else in his family had been there for him.

Which remained true last night, too. You had told Michael you’d be there for him as long as he needed you, and that had turned into the pair of you staying up for quite awhile talking last night. Generally about not much in particular–certainly nothing personal on either of your accounts–but the conversation always managed to loop back to Jamie. And Michael had broken down each time the topic of his son’s passing was brought back up. Through the hours you’d been sitting on his sofa with him, not once had someone called him or came to his door to check on him. Not a single time. 

Your heart had broken at that knowledge, which was probably why you’d stayed so late here that you had apparently fallen asleep on Michael. Now your cheeks were heating up with embarrassment realizing you were about to experience another awkward moment with him. Biting your lip, you tried to glance up and see if he was awake, but all you could see from where you were positioned on his chest was his dark beard and his mouth. And for a moment your eyes lingered on his lips, becoming all too aware of the solid feel of Michael beneath you. Eyes closing, you breathed in the warm scent of him that seemed to envelope you. He smelled like something earthy and smoky, the scent reminding you of the many birch trees you’d seen around Ireland when you arrived, but also something warm, too, almost like cinnamon. The scent of him reminded you of a bonfire on an autumn day–comforting and peaceful.

His unmistakably large palm ran up the length of your spine as beneath you Michael apparently stirred awake himself. He inhaled a deep breath, your head rising up with the movement of his chest, as his hand slid up your back. You fought the urge to physically shudder under his palm–his touch had felt too good. And it was wrong in so many ways for you to have enjoyed that as much as you had. But then Michael’s hand abruptly stopped just between your shoulder blades as if he, too, realized the situation the pair of you were in.

Very slowly you pushed yourself back from Michael, realizing you had one arm wrapped around his waist and one hand gripping his shoulder. You removed them both quickly, your eyes awkwardly meeting his as you did. His own arms immediately slid their way off of your waist, returning to his lap as he sent you a sheepish smile.

“Well this is certainly…” you muttered, voice trailing off as you glanced away.

“Awkward?” he supplied.

You nodded, tucking some hair behind your ear as you did. “Yeah,” you agreed. “Just a–a bit. I uh, I’m sorry for–”

“Don’t apologize,” he said quickly, cutting you off.

Your eyes flew back up to meet his, taking in the gentle expression on his face. The smile on his mouth was still there, though it looked slightly less timid than it did seconds ago. 

“I uh, I didn’t realize I’d fallen asleep,” you mumbled.

“Neither did I,” he admitted.

Silence fell between the pair of you as you shifted a little bit away from him on the cushions. Your eyes fell down towards your feet, taking in the sight of your mismatched socks. Heat was still burning at your cheeks as you sat there incredibly aware of his presence beside you. Sucking in a sharp breath, you turned to Michael and spoke at the exact same moment he did.

“I should go.”

“D’ya want some coffee?”

The both of you sat there, trying to catch what the other had just said. Your lips parted, eyes going wide at his offer. Meanwhile Michael’s expression returned to sheepish as he ducked his head, running a hand over the back of his neck. He nodded solemnly.

“I understand,” he whispered.

“I mean I–” you began slowly, stopping to nervously bite your lip when he immediately looked up at you from under his lashes, his hand pausing on the back of his neck. “I could…go for a coffee,” you finished lamely.

“Yeah?” he asked, his hand falling down to his lap as he perked up. “It’s probably not anythin’ fancy to ya, I’ll admit.”

You smiled, shaking your head. “As long as it’s not decaf I’ll happily drink some caffeine right now,” you replied. “I just uh, should probably call Megan. If you don’t mind? She had that shift last night and is probably wondering what the hell happened to me now that I think about it…”

Michael waved a hand as he rose from the sofa. “No, go ahead. I’ll get a pot brewin’ in the kitchen. Which is just down the hall there,” he said, pointing down his hallway.

You nodded, sliding your phone out of your pocket as Michael turned and exited the sitting room, making his way towards the kitchen. Immediately you noticed you had a few calls and texts from your sister. The last one was from ten minutes ago. Heart sinking at having worried her, you quickly dialed her number and waited as the phone rang. But it only took two rings before she picked up.

“Fucking hell, are you okay?” Megan asked, voice full of concern.

“Yes, I’m so sorry, Meg,” you told her in a rush. “I would normally have sent a text or something but it was late and I guess I fell asleep without realizing it. I just woke up and figured I’d give you a quick call so you wouldn’t be worried. I’m so, so sorry.”

Megan blew out a rough breath on the other end of the line. You felt awful for making her worry like that, especially with the two shifts she’d had to work at the hospital and especially with your situation. She’d probably gotten shitty sleep last night and it was all your fault. 

“I thought you were fucking gone,” she whispered. “Or–or dead .”

“I’m so fucking sorry, Meg,” you repeated. “I really am. It won’t happen again.”

“Where are you?” she asked. “If you’re not here, where the fuck did you fall asleep?”

You cleared your throat, your eyes darting towards the partially open door of the sitting room. Briefly you wondered if Michael could hear you. Would he be listening in?

“I’m uh, next door,” you said awkwardly.

There was a moment of silence before Megan let out an ear splitting shriek. It was so loud that it startled you and you had to pull the phone away from your ear until she was done.

“Christ, thanks for that,” you muttered.

“You fucked him didn’t you?” she squealed. “Oh my God, you took my advice!”

“Pretty sure that wasn’t your advice,” you said, lowering your voice. “But no, I did not do that.”

Megan scoffed over the line. “Yeah, okay. As if there’s any other reason you’d be there the whole night,” she said.

“He was grieving ,” you snapped, your voice a quiet hiss. “I saw him through that damned bedroom window and I couldn’t just–just ignore him. So I stopped by and we talked. Ended up falling asleep on his couch with him. Nothing of that nature happened.”

“So you’re coming back over now?” she asked slyly. “Because if you’re calling me instead of just coming back home, I’m guessing the answer is no.”

Eyelids dropping closed, you knew she’d caught you there. Your shoulders fell as you sighed.

“He’s making me coffee,” you admitted. “So I’ll be back after that.”

“Oh, you’re staying for morning coffee?” Megan teased. “He’s not trying to kick you out already? Damn, sis, he wants you bad .”

“Stop it,” you warned.

“Come off it,” she replied. “You know you want him. Stop trying to hide it from me. I’m not an idiot.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you said.

“Just undo that man’s zipper, get on your goddamn knees, and ta–”

You hit the ‘end call’ button in the middle of her comment, already knowing exactly where she was going with that. More than likely she’d be repeating all of that to you when you went back home after that coffee. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t about to go into Michael’s kitchen and try to not think about his cock. 

“Fuck,” you breathed out.

The memory of his strong arms around your waist just moments ago resurfaced. It had felt so incredibly good to be wrapped around him when you’d woken up, your head resting on his firm chest. He’d smelled good, too. Better than you could have imagined. You knew you weren’t going to be able to forget about that now–any of it. 

Shaking your head, you tried to push all of those thoughts aside for the time being. Now wasn’t the time to make sense of them. Michael was probably wondering what was taking you so long. Rising to your feet, you slid your phone into the pocket of your sweatpants and shuffled your way around his coffee table and towards the hallway. As you walked, you realized his kitchen was the same distance from the sitting room as Megan’s was from hers. You figured he'd probably heard at least some of that conversation and that thought had you blushing.

When you rounded the corner and turned into the kitchen, you spotted Michael already pouring coffee into mugs on the small island counter. His eyes darted up to you, a small smile on his lips as you stepped over towards the kitchen island. Gradually you came to stand at the opposite end of it, leaning your hands against the black countertop. 

"How d'ya take your coffee?" he asked.

"I'll drink it black," you answered. "I don't need all the extra in it."

He picked up one of the white ceramic mugs and took two steps towards you, holding the cup out to you. You whispered a soft 'thanks' as you accepted the steaming mug from his hands before drawing it to your lips. Swallowing the hot liquid down, you eyed the coffee mug in your hands in surprise–it was better than you'd expected.

"What? Not good?" Michael asked curiously.

Your attention turned to him over the top of the mug and you immediately shook your head. "This is actually better than those coffee pods Megan has," you responded. "You apparently have good coffee."

You thought you saw pink tinge his cheeks as he turned towards his fridge, opening it and pulling creamer from a shelf. He poured some into his own mug as he shook his head.

"Can't actually take the credit," he admitted. "Birdy was the one who picked it out." His eyes rose up and fell on you as he put the cap back on the creamer. "Ya met her already, from what I've heard."

"Ahh, yes," you replied, bringing the mug back up for another drink as you carefully thought out your response. "She did pay me a welcoming visit the other day," you continued after your sip. "Seems like a sweet woman. Apparently she knows good coffee then."

That seemed a safe reply.

Michael chuckled, nodding as he turned and opened the fridge door again to put away the creamer. "She's certainly somethin'," he mumbled. 

Both of your hands held onto the warm mug, oddly enjoying the coffee and the light conversation with Michael this morning despite the awkwardness of having woken up on top of him. Across the small kitchen island, he raised his own mug to his lips, his eyes on you. With the bright sunlight pouring through the large window just to your left, you could see the varying flecks of green and brown in his eyes. They still seemed to hold a lot of pain in them, but they also somehow looked lighter this morning than any other time you’d run into him yet. A little less mournful, somehow.

“Thank ya for stayin’,” he said softly, breaking the silence. 

You shrugged, fingers nervously fidgeting against the mug in your hands. “Wasn’t a big deal,” you mumbled.

“It was to me,” he replied.

His eyes held yours and it felt like his gaze had somehow pulled you in yet again; you couldn’t seem to look away from him. His elbows were resting on the countertop as he slowly leaned in further towards you, and even though he was still a few feet away, the little gesture felt somehow intimate. Your pulse quickened when his mouth opened, as if he was about to say more but he was still trying to process how to put it into words. Movement out of the corner of your eye caught your attention though, and somehow your focus finally shifted away from his and down towards it.

And then you screamed, jumping backwards and almost spilling your coffee when you registered what you’d seen. Michael instantly tensed, pushing off of the countertop and immediately making his way over towards you. He was anxiously looking out of his front window, his back to you as he came to a stop just in front of you.

“What?” he asked quickly, eyes still searching out of the window.

You shifted around him a bit, your finger pointing down at the kitchen island. Out of the corner of your eye you saw Michael’s brows furrowing as his gaze followed to where you were pointing. It took him a moment but when he saw what had startled you, you saw his shoulders visibly relax. He looked over his shoulder at you, a grin sliding across his lips. There was a glimmer of amusement lighting up his eyes and quickly replacing that hint of panic you’d picked up on.

“A spider?” he asked.

“Yes!” you said, taking another step back and cowering around your mug. “I fucking hate spiders!”

“It’s a little spider, Grace,” he said, amused. “It’s not goin’ to hurt ya.”

Peeking back around Michael, your eyes dropped down to where it was crawling towards you on the countertop. You cringed, taking another step back. Michael’s brows rose high onto his forehead as he turned fully towards you, his lips curling into an even wider grin as he took in your reaction.

“Okay, well either it goes or I go,” you told him. “So on that note–”

His amusement quickly vanished at your words before he abruptly cut you off.

“I’ll get rid of it,” he stated.

Gaze flying back up to him, you watched as he turned and searched around the counter beside the pair of you for a second. He grabbed an unopened envelope from a stack of mail sitting in the corner and turned back around. You had expected him to smash the insect with it, but instead you watched as he very gently placed the envelope down in front of the spider. Ever so carefully he coaxed it onto the piece of mail and then gingerly he lifted it from the countertop. You backed up almost entirely down the hallway towards the sitting room as he made his way out of the kitchen. He chuckled softly as he turned to the right, making his way to the front door. You watched in curiosity as he unlocked the door and stepped outside, crouching down and releasing the spider out there instead of simply just killing it on the counter. 

He stood back up before turning to face you where you were still cowering in his hallway. He was grinning just outside the front door at you, the amusement back on his face.

“Does that work for ya?” he asked, tone almost teasing.

“Uh, yeah, thanks,” you said awkwardly.

You could feel the heat once again rising to your cheeks this morning. How embarrassing, getting worked up over a spider in front of some Irish mobster. Though it was oddly telling about his character with how gently he dealt with it. And how he’d seemingly moved in front of you when you’d initially screamed, as if he’d maybe been trying to protect you from a threat outside, something vastly more serious than a spider. And that had you curious in more ways than one.

“Michael, what’re ya doin’ out here, dear?”

At the unmistakable sound of Birdy’s voice, you instantly tensed. Your hands tightened around your mug, your heart rate once again rising. You knew she was aware of something being off about you, especially because she’d apparently been watching you lately. Finding you here at Michael’s first thing in the morning having coffee was only going to raise further suspicion and interest about you.

“Was just gettin’ rid of a spider,” he said, glancing at Birdy who you assumed was just outside the door. “Grace is afraid of ‘em.”

“Oh,” Birdy said, her tone noticeably shifting. “I didn’t know ya already had company, Mikey dear. So ya have the lovely Grace here this mornin’?”

Michael shot you an apologetic look before Birdy appeared just inside the doorway. She was wearing another dress and heels, her hair in perfect curls and her face made up. She shot you a wide smile that only sent chills down your spine–it wasn’t exactly a friendly smile.

“I wasn’ tryin’ to intrude, but do ya mind if I stop in?” Birdy asked, her eyes shifting back and forth between you and Michael behind her.

You cleared your throat, taking a few steps towards the kitchen. “I can just go–”

“Nonsense, love,” Birdy said, her eyes dropping to your mug. “Ya haven’t even finished your coffee yet!” She waved a hand dismissively as she stepped inside, Michael following behind. “I don’t want to ruin your mornin’. Just stoppin’ by to see how Michael was doin’.”

“I uh, I’m grand,” Michael said, closing his front door.

Birdy hummed out a noise in response as she stepped into the kitchen, her eyes curiously landing on you. That wide smile was still on her face, her focus not even remotely on Michael as he stepped around behind you, one of his hands lightly brushing along your lower back as he tried to maneuver around the small space back to his mug.

“So ya don’t like spiders, dear?” Birdy asked.

“I’m certainly not a fan of them, no,” you answered her, a strained, polite smile on your lips.

Michael chuckled lightly. “Shoulda heard the scream,” he teased.

Birdy shrugged indifferently, her eyes never leaving you. “They’re not for everyone. Some o’ them give me a fright, too.” 

You brought your mug to your lips, trying to drink the coffee down faster without being too obvious. You wanted an excuse to leave now, your peaceful morning with Michael completely disturbed with her presence here. Her piercing stare was making you uncomfortable.

Birdy’s head tilted to the side as she continued to study you. “How d’ya feel ‘bout snakes then, Grace?” she asked curiously.

You froze, the mug just at your lips. For a moment it felt like you couldn’t breathe as her words hit you. Very slowly you lowered the cup from your mouth.

“What?” you asked.

“Snakes, love,” Birdy repeated. “Ya know, those slithery little serpents. Ya like those?”

On the opposite side of the kitchen island from her, Michael raised his mug to his lips. He seemed almost unphased by Birdy’s odd question, though his brows drew together at it while he drank down his coffee. You, on the other hand, were all too aware of her touching on something that was making you want to bolt out the front door just to your left. You were pretty sure she was onto something.

“No,” you responded, your voice sounding off even to your own ears as you spoke, “I–I’m not really a fan of those either.”

“Hmm,” Birdy hummed out, her blue eyes fixed on you. There was a long, awkward pause before she said, “Then I s’pose you won’t like the collection o’ snakes Michael’s brother has in his basement.”

Swallowing hard, you sent her a weak smile. “No,” you agreed, your voice still off, “I suppose I wouldn’t.”

Michael’s attention shifted towards you, his eyes narrowing a bit before they returned to Birdy. You could practically hear his mind beginning to work, picking up on the weird tension now palpable in his kitchen. You raised the mug to your mouth again, drinking down the hot coffee faster.

“You’re a writer, correct?” Birdy continued, that smile still on her lips. “I seem to recall your sister sayin’ that.”

“Yes,” you answered quickly.

“You’ve got some sort of series published, yes?” she pressed. “A whole load of books in it?”

“Mhmm,” you responded, your nerves increasing.

Birdy’s eyes narrowed, her attention dropping down to the countertop as one of her manicured nails tapped her chin. Michael was watching her curiously now, his coffee forgotten on the island.

“What was the series called again?” she mused aloud. Her eyes widened a second later before they darted over to you. “ The Road to Hell , yes?”

Fuck me.

Forcing another tight smile on your face, your cheeks aching at the gesture, you nodded once. “Yeah, that’s the one,” you said, voice tense.

“Ya know, I’ve heard of that series before. But I thought that was actually written by a…” her voice trailed off for a moment, that thoughtful look briefly returning to her face. A moment later she said it–your real name.

“It’s a pen name,” you explained simply.

“Odd ya pick your sister’s last name for a pen name,” Birdy replied slowly.

“Guess I was more creative with the actual story than the pen name,” you said, fighting to keep the edge out of your voice.

“Ahh, well,” she said, shrugging lightly. “Maybe I’ll have to pick up some copies, seein’ as the lovely author lives just down the street.”

Throughout the entire exchange between you and Birdy, you had noticed the way Michael remained silent, simply studying the pair of you. Just watching the back and forth with increasing interest. 

You needed to get out of here. Make an excuse and leave.

“You know, it’s actually great you brought that up,” you said, feigning like you’d just remembered something. “I forgot I actually have a conference call with my editor and my publishing company this morning. I should probably head back home and get ready for that.”

With shaky hands, you reached out and set your almost empty mug onto the countertop. Michael pushed off of the island instantly, his face falling a bit as he made his way towards you. 

“I can walk ya out,” he offered.

Behind him, Birdy popped her hip out and leant against the countertop. One of those cat-that-ate-the-canary smiles slipped onto her mouth as she eyed you.

“Was lovely chattin’ with ya, Grace,” she said. 

You shot her a tense smile, not trusting your words right now. In a hurry you turned and left the kitchen, grateful the front door was so close by. You could feel Michael just at your back as you slipped your feet into your shoes in a rush. Before you could reach a hand out to open the front door though, Michael was already maneuvering around you in the tight hallway and opening it for you. Your eyes met his yet again, some of your nerves momentarily dissipating when he smiled at you.

“I’ll uh, see ya later then?” he asked hopefully.

“I mean I–I do live next door,” you replied, aware Birdy was most likely eavesdropping from the kitchen. “So most likely.”

He nodded and you quickly turned, stepping outside and briskly walking down his drive and away from his house. You could practically feel Birdy’s inquisitive eyes on you from the kitchen window as you went. Rounding the tall stone fence in a hurry, you made your way straight to Megan’s front door. 

So Birdy had apparently been doing some research on you. And if that was the case, well then, you figured two could play that game.

“I’m sure I’m not the only one with secrets,” you muttered to yourself, unlocking Megan’s front door. “Guess it’s time to see what the Kinsellas’ are hiding.”