#michael x f!reader

[stardancerluv]

Petal and the Beast

Part Two

Summary: You are out with friends hoping to forget Michael.

Notes/Warnings: Suggestive 18+ thoughts, drinking (be safe!). For the collage I used pics of Joe from the GQ red carpet because he was rather 🥵 to give the idea of what he looks like at this bar. The ankle-boots & cocktail are to give an idea of how reader & her interests. Reader is fem.

Thank you for reading! Re-blogs, feedback & ❤️ are wonderful, thank you!!!

Meeting your friends for cocktails, you were able to lose yourself in their idle chatter. All week long, all your mind did was lap back to Michael.

The way his devil may care smirk curled his lips, how his chain grazed your chest as he moved between your legs. You couldn’t believe it possible, but you were addicted to the crumbs of that night. You yearned for another tumble between the sheets with him.

Sighing, you glanced out the window as you friend Rebecca shared her office gossip. Eager to lose yourself in the twinkling lights of the office buildings that filled out the skyline. Your breath caught, forcing you to cough as you watched Michael walk in. You grabbed your cocktail and finished what was left of it.

“Y/N, love are you ok?” Your other friend Janet patted you on the back, looking at you concerned.

You nodded and giggled nervously. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“So, you won’t give Andy a second chance?” Rebecca, had really felt good with the match she had made for you.

You glanced as he made his way by your table. Your heart began to race. Yet again, you had trouble gathering a breath.

Pressing your lips together, you shook your head. “No, he had his chance. He didn’t even call to apologize.”

Your friend made a face. “He told me he did.”

To be honest, he did but then Michael had showed up and you stopped looking at your phone. At this time, you didn’t care to tell your friends of your tryst with Michael. The waitress, placed a fresh cocktail in front of you. You were grateful.

“Well, the next morning doesn’t count.” You took a sip.

“Oh my god. Did you just see what walked by?” Rebecca leaned towards you and Janet.

You tried to play dumb and shrugged. “Who?” You glanced around.

Spotting Michael, you spotted how like you he was with others. You swallowed, seeing a red head grab his upper arm smiling up at him. How you wished to trade places.

“Now if we do, sweetheart. Don’t be catching feelings since I saved you from weaving and wobbling home by your lonesome last night, alright?”

You weren’t, you just wanted to feel his passions again. That was not feelings. You were not a silly little school girl with a crush.

You had felt so alive and reckless with him. Was it bad you wanted that again?

Chewing your cheek, feeling your frustration grow you quickly excused yourself from your friends. Finding, the ladies and seeing that it was empty, relief filled you. You leaned heavily on the door and sighing, you relaxed.

Going to the sink you splashed some cold water on your face. Dabbing yourself dry, taking a breath you headed back to your friends.

A small sound escaped your lips when a hand reached out in the shadowy hallway pulled up against them. “Let me go!”

You wiggled, a rich chuckle filled your ears and you stopped struggling. You looked up and gasped.

“Hi there, petal.” A smile was splashed across his face.

You pulled your wrist free, his gripped tightened before letting you go.

“You’re strong.”

Your bracelets jangled as rubbed your wrist.

“Do you always pull people to you in darkened hallways ?”

He chuckled. “Only ones who I slept with.” His lips curled into a lopsided smirk, that made your stomach do a somersault.

“You could just say hello.”

He took a step closer, his torso grazing yours. “What’s the fun in that?”

You grimaced and shook your head.

“Its nice to see you again Petal.”

You felt heat fill your cheeks at his pet name for you.

“I’m glad you are happy to see me too.”

“I only blushed.”

His face drew close. “That means your happy to see me too.” You could feel as he breathed.

“No it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does.” His lips now grazed yours.

“Yes, it does.” You relented, and just as fast he pulled back.

He chuckled. “Since that is settled.” You could feel as his eyes moved over you. “Want me to meet me later for darts or something?”

“Or something?”

He shrugged. “Yes.”

“Where?”

“Where we met.”

“When?”

“Say 9?”

“Ok, that will work.”

“Good.”

You looked at him and then back towards your friends and back at him.

“Oh, after you Petal. I want to watch you move.” He made a gallant gesture.

You smiled and shook your head. “Alright, see you later.” With butterflies flapping hard in your stomach, you turned and walked away.

@amethyst-serenade @jamiethebanished @babybluebex (because you’re such an inspiration with your writing…hope you don’t mind!)

@lavenderquinn @moviegirlsblog @eternalmunson @munsongirl48 @seatnights (since you were all so wonderful to reblog me…I tagged you all, hope you don’t mind!) @emma77645

[bellaxgiornata]

Bella's Masterlist of Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, & Sam Winchester Series & One Shots

I am currently working on multiple series and fics for Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, and Sam Winchester. I've updated my Masterlist so that each link will bring you to a separate, organized Masterlist for each specific character because there are just so many now! There's also some "bonus" characters I write for listed at the bottom of this Masterlist (Henry from Eat Locals and Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead). Always feel free to chat with me about any of the fics or characters I'm writing for. Y'all know I'm chatty!

I post new fics/updates multiple times a week and all of my stories are available fully on tumblr and my AO3. If you'd like information on my tag lists you can find that here.

**I do not currently accept story requests because I have too many ongoing projects at the moment!**

Bella's Tuna-Tober Masterlist [Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella]

Collection of Short Blurbs [Baby related one shots & blurbs featuring Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, and Michael Kinsella]

Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics and Series

Masterlist of Frank Castle Fics and Series

Masterlist of Michael Kinsella Fics and Series

Masterlist of Sam Winchester Fics

Masterlist of Daryl Dixon Fics

Additional Characters:

Henry (Eat Locals) x Fem!Werewolf!Reader Mini Series

Forbidden Love [Installment List]

[cosmicanakin]

ִ𓂃 ⋆ IRRESISTIBLE ATTRACTION !

੭୧ . . . chad michael murray x female!reader.

warning(s) smut┆flirting┆explicit language. 𓇼 finally getting around to the requests piling in my drafts. big thanks to the anon that requested. sending u millions of tiny kisses. eighteen plus! adult content | minors do NOT interact.

you sip your margarita slowly, savoring the tart and sweet flavors as you gaze out over the city skyline. the cool night air is a welcome respite from the heat and humidity of the crowded party inside. you love the calmness and solitude the balcony offers, a quiet refuge from the pulsing music and chatter of your friends.

as you stand alone, lost in your thoughts, you suddenly become aware of a presence beside you. turning, you find yourself face to face with chad michael murray, the famous actor you had noticed earlier in the evening. he flashes you a dazzling smile.

"hi there," he says, his voice low and smooth. "what's a pretty girl like you doing out here all by yourself?"

you feel a flutter in your stomach at his attention. playing it cool, you quirk an eyebrow. "just enjoying the view. and the peace and quiet."

chad chuckles. "i can understand that. it's a little intense in there, isn't it?" he leans against the railing, his gaze sweeping over you appreciatively. "mind if i join you?"

"not at all," you reply, your heart rate picking up.

the two of you fall into easy conversation, the minutes ticking by as you sip your drinks and steal glances at each other. there's a tangible spark of attraction between you, a growing tension that crackles in the air.

eventually, chad sets down his glass and turns to face you fully. "you know, i couldn't help but notice you when you arrived tonight. you really stood out to me."

you feel yourself flush under his intense stare. "is that so?" you murmur coyly.

"absolutely." he reaches out, gently tucking a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. his fingers graze your cheek, sending a shiver down your spine. "i have to say, i'm glad i worked up the courage to come talk to you."

you hold his gaze, your breath catching in your throat. "well, i'm glad you did," you admit softly.

with a sudden, decisive motion, chad cups your face in his hands and pulls you into a searing kiss. your margarita slips from your grasp, shattering to the ground, completely forgotten as you melt into his embrace. the kiss is passionate, almost hungry, and you find yourself responding with equal fervor.

when you finally break apart, both of you breathless, chad rests his forehead against yours. "let's go back to my place?" he murmurs.

without a moment's hesitation, you nod. "okay," you whisper.

hand in hand, the two of you slip away from the party, eager to find some privacy. the city lights twinkle below as chad leads you to his car, your pulse racing with anticipation.

the drive to his apartment is a blur, neither of you able to keep your hands off each other. the tension in the car is palpable, a coiled spring just waiting to be unleashed.

finally, you stumble through the door of his place, shedding clothes as you go. chad pulls you close, kissing you deeply, his fingers tracing tantalizing paths along your body. a soft moan escapes you as his lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin.

"you're so beautiful," he murmurs against your skin, his voice rough with desire.

your fingers tangle in his hair as you guide him back to the bedroom, your bodies moving in perfect sync. once there, he lays you down gently, covering your form with his own.

the world narrows to just the two of you, a haze of heated caresses and breathless gasps. chad's touch is intoxicating, setting your nerves alight with each caress. you arch into him, craving more, needing to feel him against you.

with agonizing slowness, he worships your body, his lips and hands mapping every curve and sensitive spot. by the time he finally enters you, you're trembling with need, your nails raking down his back.

the pace he sets is torturous, each thrust slow and deep, drawing out the pleasure until you're writhing beneath him. your world narrows to the feeling of him filling you, the way he stretches and caresses you from within.

"chad..." you gasp, your voice ragged. "fuck…"

he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck. "god, you feel so good," he mutters.

with a sudden surge of movement, he rolls the both of you over, pulling you on top of him. you brace your hands on his chest, your hips moving in a steady, undulating rhythm that has you both moaning in ecstasy.

the room is filled with the sounds of both your soft cries and gasps, the slick slide of skin on skin, the creak of the bed. it's a symphony of pleasure, building and building until you're both teetering on the edge.

chad's fingers dig into your hips, guiding your movements. "that's it, baby," he murmurs, his eyes burning with desire. "ride me. fuck, you feel so good..."

your name falls from his lips like a prayer as you clench around him, your orgasm crashing over you in a wave of blinding ecstasy. he follows right after, his back arching as he empties himself inside you.

for long moments, you both simply hold each other, trembling and spent. then, with a contented sigh, chad pulls you down for a languid, passionate kiss.

"that was..." he trails off, shaking his head in wonder.

you smile, tracing the line of his jaw. "perfect," you finish.

chad chuckles, nuzzling your neck. "yeah. that's one word for it."

you nestle against him, feeling safe in his strong embrace. as you drift off to sleep, you can't help but think that this is only the beginning.

[yarrystyleeza]

The 1: You Would've Been The One (M.M)

Matt Murdock x female!reader

Religious settings (at the beginning), implied intimacy, misunderstandings, alleged cheating, things going south, sadness, break—up, exes but pining, no happy ending.

Summary: on an August rainy night, you walked by Josie's and the memories came rushing back in your head.

Word count: 1.4k!

Writer's note: this idea popped in my head when I was recalling 'the 1' lyrics and I get the first and last scenes in my head and I almost cried. This will get a second part from Matt's perspective. Not very proofread but I'm trying to fix it :')

Drop after drop, the rain sweetly bounced off your shoulders as you strolled down the street. The rain makes the sound of sizzling rice from a distance. The ground is glistening, it smells earthy despite you're walking in New York. The city always looked beautiful when it was raining. It was calm, quiet, and cozy. You'd snuggle into one of the walls and they'd embrace you warmly.

Splashing the little water puddles forming on concrete with your steps, you kept walking on the sidewalk to prevent getting water in your boots.

Your hair is damp and your skin is flushed and wet. It's not fall yet, but you loved this time of the year.

Beams of light flared through the partially fogged glass, people's warm breaths created a tepid and pleasant atmosphere.

Your eyes peer inside for an unintended glance and you see him there, sitting at one of the tables with his two friends around him.

Your heart palpitates as if you were hit by a truck and thrown on the side of the road. Broken, bleeding, crying, dead.

Why did it have to end?

Two years ago. After attending the Mass on a Sunday morning, you went to a coffee shop nearby to meet one of your friends at noon.

You sat alone for a while and waited. You called your friend and she told you she had an emergency and couldn't call you. She apologized and you hung up. You ordered coffee and waited for your order.

The bell at the door rung and it caught your ears, you glanced up from your phone and you saw him walk in. You recognized him. He always attended Sunday service, you've often seen him sitting at the last couple pews, he'd always stay after the Mass. You'd watch him kneeling, hands gathered at his forehead in a praying fist.

You've seen him crying a couple of times and you wondered what a good—looking —in the sense of kindness because you've seen it—blind man would've done that would make him snivel and tremble the way he did.

You would've never expected what he cried about. Not in a million years.

He placed his order and you saw him walk in your direction. He took a seat in front of you. It was astounding. You cleared your throat. His head shot up and he himself was astonished to find out that someone was sitting on the other side of the table.

The eleven in the morning sunlight casted upon the side of his face as he sat by the window in front of you. The beams crept into the corners of his gentle face. His eyes sparkled behind the red blinds and you later learned that they were hazelish brown.

"I'm Matt." his voice still vivid in your ears as if he just said it. His voice was gravelly but sweet. Warm. It made your stomach churn with butterflies that you died to keep from rising once again.

You often thought if he did that on purpose, if he intended on sitting in front of you the way he did, if he knew you before you knew him.

It makes you smile. He chose you. Above all. At least for once.

The next Sunday, he stopped you as you paced between the pews on your way out. He asked if he could grab some coffee with you—after learning that you too attended the Sunday service.

You sat together and talked about almost everything. He kept flashing smiles at you and you kept falling deeper. You knew he was going to be the death of you. And how you wished to die in his hands.

Where did it go wrong?

The haunting memory of his lips marking your being, worshipping every inch of your existence. The words he never stopped telling you. The 'I love you's and the 'you're mine's. The sweet flirts and the tempting ones.

You were his death and his living, you were his vigor and his redemption, you were his eyes and his hands and his being, you were his everything.

Heart, head, body and soul. He loved all of you. He wanted all of you, the same way you did.

You accept—hell, you wanted both Matt Murdock and Daredevil, you wanted the lawyer and the vigilante, you embraced both his darkness and daylight, you were in for the deep and the high, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health.

If he died you'd die with him, and if he lived you'd live for him.

So why did it all go wrong?

A year of going back and forth, bickering and talking, stitching and love-making, dating and staying in, dinners and brunches, kisses and touches. You did it all. You've never been better.

But then he decided to make it even better.

Saturday night at Josie's. You sat with him and his friends to grab some drinks and bond. Foggy and Karen walked to the island to grab refills when he grabbed your hand, slowly, gently, sensationally and adeptly.

You turned to look at him, a little taken aback by the touch—a little taken off guard. He stood off his seat and knelt to the ground. Red blinds off and his face is so red and torn by a smile, tinted with a bit of uncertainty, of fear but of excitement about the unknown, too.

Maybe he was afraid you'd reject it, or maybe he rethought it and found it was too early. You never knew.

"Will you marry me?" you look at his free hand—but it wasn't that much of free. He had a ring between his digits and his thumb, placed so close to the finger that shoots straight to your heart.

You said yes.

He promised to love and cherish you, till death do you apart.

He never lied, though. Because one night, you died, and to you—he died, too, both of you died.

The night it all went wrong.

He told you he had a mission later that night, but when he returned—he didn't have his red suit on. He wore a tuxedo, instead. You imagined this was how he'd look on your wedding day.

He'd wait for you at the end of the aisle next to Father Lantom as your father escorts you to your spot, your white dress makes you look like an angel—no, you were an angel, that's what he always told you.

You'd look onto both sides, both families are present, all smiling and happy. Your mother is crying—but she's happy, too, she's always wanted to see you in white and this is your day.

You look back straight. Matt is grinning, his bowtie is a little crooked to the side but his hair was combed perfectly. Foggy and Karen are standing on each side along with your other friends—your bridemaids and groomsmen.

Both of you recite your vows perfectly, almost knowing them by heart. You're now a husband and a wife. Even death would never do you apart.

Until you saw the red lipstick print on the white collar of his dress shirt.

Both your brain and heart shattered, you almost heard glass breaking. Maybe it was the glass of water you had once carried in your hand when you walked out of the kitchen to meet him at the hallway.

That's when you really noticed the other details. His loosened bowtie. His wrinkled collar. And the reddened nail marks on the skin of his neck.

Your stomach sunk. The cold crept up your fingertips to fill your body. Your eyes remained fixed on him. Did he thought you wouldn't notice?

You were terrified to ask how he got to look like that. Not from him, Matt never scared you, he was always gentle and kind—but from the things he might have done to get to this point.

There was another woman.

The next events were a blur. Your ears were clogged, you were crying, you threw the ring in his face, you barely put any proper clothes on, you walked away and out of his life.

It was raining. Just like tonight.

And if my wishes came true

It would've been you

You sob. The heavy dew showers you—hiding your tears, to console you, to let you know that you're not the only one crying tonight—the sky is crying, too.

You felt heavy. Head and heart, and clothes. It felt cold to think of it all.

You hug yourself tighter. You glance back for the last time. You walk yourself home.

But it would've been fun

If you would've been the one

taglist: @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @floral-charlie-cat @bellaxgiornata @1988-fiend @babygirlmurdock @c-mrdck @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bunmurdock @loveroftoomanyfandoms @everythingsf1ne23 @shiorimakibawrites @shouldbestudying41 @lazyxsquirrel @munsonownsmyass @mindidjarin @v4leoftears (feel free to ask for addition or removal 🤍)

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for reading! 💞💞💞

[chubbyreaderchan]

Pinky Promises | Michael Myers x F!Reader

Summary: Michael’s childhood friend finds her way back into his life. He becomes obsessed with her when he remembers their promise to each other. 

1, 2, 3, 4 (???? Maybe) 

A/n: This is actually going to be a series I finish. I have part 2 halfway written already and I think it will be about 3/4 parts. The warnings won’t apply to this one other than the childhood trauma of being torn from the best friend, but in future parts, they will both be adults and there will be adult content that I will label at the beginning. 

Also, there will be yandere situations with Michael and reader is morally grey as an adult. 

--

"Michael!" 

The small boy turned his head and stands from the dirt pile the young boy was playing in. He walked to the chain link fence and looked down the sidewalk at a young girl running towards him. She pushed a bright pink baby buggy towards his house and he tried not to smile. 

"Hi," she giggled, out of breath before Michael. 

"Hi," he repeated after her. 

His fingers gripped the cold metal wires and he peers at what was in the stroller. Often she'd bring a variety of toys in the familiar vehicle. Wooden swords, "cooking" dishes, and her baby doll that she called Mickey Jr. 

"Do you wanna play with me again today?" She asked with a bright smile on her face. 

His heart pounded in his chest at her cheeky grin. He looked up at her, nodding before unlatching the fence with a clink. The sound of metal against the sidewalk seemed to harmonize with the sound of wind chimes in the late summer afternoon. 

"Do you want to play mommies and daddies? Or--" 

Her toys were strewn about the Myer's front yard. Michael was holding tight to the small doll in his hands, following anything that the small girl had planned for him. 

He simply nodded. 

Just as Michael passed the doll to (Y/n) a car pulled up in front of the house. Judy and he boyfriend exited the dark blue car, he pinched at Judy and she giggled as they raced up to the house. 

"Hey, Mikey," the boyfriend cooed. "Is this your little girlfriend?" 

"Come on, Danny. Before my parents get home," Judy said tugging him into the house. 

Michael looked at (Y/n) his head cocking to the side at the word Danny used. 

-- 

"Michael!" The shrill voice filled his ears again. 

"Do you want to look at clouds with me today?" She asked, cocking her head to the side slightly once she was in front of his house. 

He popped open the gate again and she grinned. Michael's heart fluttered as she dropped to the ground. Her feet were bare and caked in dirt. Her toes wiggled against the grass as the found the perfect spot for cloud watching, not far from either of their houses. 

"We were planting a tree in our backyard," she said when she noticed he was staring at he toes. Then she spun and flopped to the ground with a laugh. 

Michael stiffly sat down and laid next to her. He froze when he felt the slightly taller girl cuddle up to his side and rested her head on his shoulder. 

The boy felt his face heat up, and her hand tangled with his. 

She squeaked in delight as she pointed at clouds above them with her free hand. 

"Look that one looks like a pumpkin," she giggled. 

He didn't look. 

He was looking at her. That was until she looked at him and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. 

"I love you Michael," she whispered. 

She smelled like fruity candy and honey shampoo. 

"When we are all grown up, can we get married?" She asked, looking at him. 

He looked at the sky, thoughtful for a moment. 

"Yes," 

"Pinky promise?" She held up her pinky. 

He hooked his into hers. 

"Promise," 

A big smile cracked along her face and Michael's heart pounded in his chest. 

--

Fall was in full swing. 

Michael could hear screaming. At first he thought it was just another Halloween prank. But then (Y/n) was running down the street screaming.

Her parents on her tail as she ran to Michael pushing the gate open and running to where he was standing on his porch. 

"Don't let them take me, Michael" she shouted, pulling him into her vice grip. 

He returned it, protective hold even at the age of six he was quite strong. 

"We are moving to California. I don't want to move. I don't wanna!" She said. 

Her parents' hands moved to pry them away. Michael felt his own mother and sister grab him. 

"No!" She screamed, piercing his ears and sending ice into his veins. Her tears tracked down her cheeks and his heart went numb. 

"Michael don't let them take me," 

He reached for her hand and she was torn from his grip. 

"Michael!" 

"Daddy let me go! We pinky promised," she shouted.

[anukulee]

Fanfiction Recommendations (pt 3)

Happy Marriage

Most Noble

The Wristwatch

Hanaki

tsukimi recs (masterlist)

JaceVelaryOnsWife (Masterlist)

Klaus-Little Wolf (Masterlist)

1800-Fight-Me (Masterlist)

peachysunrize (Masterlist)

HappilyHerTale (Masterlist)

Endless-InEffabilities (Masterlist)

InLoveWithQuestionableCharecters (Masterlist)

Drunk-Person (Masterlist)

Best Intentions (Tom Bennett Series)

Moonlight

Push and Pull

Secret Teamwork

Please Me (Micheal Gavey) (Ooops I Did It Again)

Fresh Out Of The Slammer Meet Me In The Afterglow

Edge of Desire

The Man Behind The Dragon

Bravery In Love

The Monster and The Beauty

The Nerd Boy (Micheal Garvey)

Alone with You (Micheal Garvey)

Tangerine Dreams (series masterlist)

You & Me.

Hangman'ssunnies (masterlist)

simpforrooster (masterlist)

Winter Wonderland (Mark Reynolds)

Msgexymunson (masterlist)

RainyLana (masterlist)

Ashwhowrites (masterlist)

Eddiesxangel (masterlist)

Aphrogeneias (masterlist)

Jadeylovesmarvel (masterlist)

InknopeWeTrust’s (masterlist)

eiightysixbaby (masterlist)

Jadeylovesmarvelxo (masterlist)

Galaxy-Siren (masterlist)

lavendermunson (masterlist)

It’s You and Me

Last Christmas pt 2 pt 3

Eddie Munson Blurb from @littlexdeaths

Basement Apartment pt 2

Green-Eyed Monster

The Dos and Don’ts Of Faking Dating (Series)

Random Male Characters

All We’ve Ever Known (Multi-Chapter) Remy LeBeau

Remy and Reader Always Fighting (Remy LeBeau prompt)

One of a Kind (Remy LeBeau)

Melting (Remy LeBeau)

Taco Tuesday Nosy Neighbors (Remy LeBeau)

I Don’t Want To Hurt You (Kansaki Charlotte)

Fang Feelings pt 2 pt 3 (Kansaki Charlotte)

Red Velvet (Mike Barnes)

FluffyFantasticDucky (Loki Masterlist)

By Hook or By Crook (Loki Collection Series)

Outwitting the Serpent (Loki)

Tangled Hearts (Mr. Darcy, 2005)

Lost Years (Mr. Darcy, 2005)

Say Yes To Heaven (Shouta Aizawa)

Lendeah (Astarion Author masterlist)

I Want To Please You (Astarion)

POV (Robert Fischer)

Puppy (Loki)

Party Foul pt 2 (Jeremiah Fisher)

Damien Dalgaard x Experimenting!Fem!Reader || Drabble

Compromised (pt 2) [Benedict Bridgerton]

@mochie85 @aesonmae @november-rayne @peacefulpianist @littlejuicebox @lokisgoodgirl @lokisbirdofhermes @lokisprettygirl @eleniblue @lokibug @acidcasualties @ijuststareatstuffhereok89 @asgards-princess-of-mischief @liminalpebble @skymoonandstardust @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @gigglingtiggerv2 @smolvenger @five-miles-over @lokischambermaid @wheredafandomat @holdmytesseract @jiyascepter @kneelingtoloki-blog @kneelingformyloki @villainousshakespeare

[beastsovrevelation]

Michael Langdon x Female!SO (N/S/F/W edition 🍋)

Originally a reference sheet my WIP's. Mostly generalized headcanons. A seperate list of specific scenarios can be found here.

Switch for the right woman. Still, he certainly wants his fair share of dominance.

Likes it when seduction takes effort. If a girl is hard to get, he'll want her all the more. But. Should he feel the chase is taking too long, he may resort to drastic measures. Not rape, think more he imprisons his love interest, until she accepts him. Isn't beyond coercion.

Will absolutely fuck his love interest while she holds a blade to his throat. Think Troy, but she never drops the knife.

Despite the previous points, he enjoys when it his SO takes initiative. Shove him onto down, and mount him. Wait for him in lingerie. Come onto him, seriously.

He bites. A lot. Marking his territory turns him on.

Likes to show off. The notion of getting heard, or even caught, doesn't bother him. He wants others to know his love interest belongs to him, and him alone.

"Your're mine" is a constant. Will go feral if his SO tells him the same, or responds "I'm yours."

Prone to getting rough. Will cluth his lover's hips until they're bruised, pull her hair, wrap his fingers around her throat. He wants her nails ripping his back open. He is a Beast, after all.

Loves eye contact, and seeing his SO's face contort with the pleasure he gives her. This kind of despair turns him on. Loves to leave her exhausted, breathless, and empty-headed. Often takes time to admire her limp, sweat-covered body afterwards. Isn't against receiving the same treatment, though.

Enjoys giving and receiving oral equally. A master of cunnilingus. Likes to grasp his lover by the chin after coming into her mouth, and watch her swallow. Alternatively, doesn't mind being kissed with his own cum still in her mouth.

Has extremely high stamina. Also, often prefers long foreplay. Loves to tease.

Big into pillow talk.

Enjoys his Mark being kissed and licked.

Can get toxic. As in, sometimes, he'll pin his SO down and, essentially, force himself on her during an argument, or when he's frustrated/angry. But, he'll stop if he's told to.

Has a huge breeding kink.

His adoration of breasts may or may not have to do with the previous point.

Into ritual sex.

Excited by blood. Him and his lover drawing each other's blood. Sharing blood. Bathing in the blood of a victim or a sacrifice

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

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

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

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

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

Word Count: 8.6k

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

Tick, tick, tick…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So predictable,” you mutter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I look better than I feel.”

“Hm. Does Michael know yer here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if there are guns down there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Drink?” Jimmy asks from somewhere behind you.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

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

“You like snakes?”

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“Why Michael?” Jimmy breaks the silence.

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

“A good man has no place here.”

“Who are you to judge that?”

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

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

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

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

“Then why are you still here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am well aware of that, thank you.”

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

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

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Something along those lines.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

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

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

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

“Is that why you came here?”

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

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

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

He tilts his head. “What did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Eamon?” you blurt out. 

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

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

“Fuck!” Jimmy curses under his breath.

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

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

Your eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

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

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

Grief is an unpredictable monster.

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

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

Across the room, he meets your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One hand washes the other, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I’m fine, I promise. I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Had to what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at him. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You can get fucked!”

“Jesus,” you snap at him. 

“Home,” Michael tells you. “Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why Jimmy? Why?”

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

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

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

“There is no other way,” you argue.

“There is always another way.”

“Not in this case, there isn't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you reply coolly.

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

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

“No, that’s not—”

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

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

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

“So what?” you retort.

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

“Don’t snap at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it.”

“I hate it here, Mikey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but it certainly feels that way.”

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp out.

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

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

“I know, but—”

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

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

“Don’t touch me.”

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

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

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

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

“Let me go,” you murmur.

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

“Please,” he begs. “Talk t’me.”

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

The arrow hits him straight through the heart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question is just, was it worth it?

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

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 4

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Warning: Angst, talks of violence

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

"I'm pissed off," you shouted, finally getting out of the sad funk you had been in the night before. When you slammed a cabinet a little too hard, Jessie's eyes lifted toward you from behind her coffee cup.

"Okay," she said in a way that reminded you of a therapist. "You can be pissed off. You have every right to be but, uh, what did that cabinet do to you?" The end part wasn't an actual lecture. She chuckled as she spoke the last few words.

"I just don't get it," you went on, shoving your own coffee mug beneath the Keurig and reaching for a pod beside it. A part of you feared Joel might actually remove himself fully from your life. You didn't want that.

"I'm not excusing the way he handled things with you, because he didn't have any right to be a jerk," Jessie began. "But I can't imagine being in his shoes. He was so on guard when we were there, like he was afraid to move. And then that asshole had to come in and ruin it when he finally started to relax. I mean, Joel was not charged with murder, or even manslaughter. I don't know why this town demonizes him so much."

"That's why I want to keep this a secret from Winnie and Chrissy. I love them but they won't even think about giving him a chance."

Jess zipped her lips. "I got you covered, girl."

You smiled. "Thank you."

"I didn't really know what he looked like, but he's hot at least." Your friend said, beginning to toy with an LL Bean catalogue that sat on the kitchen table.

"He is, isn't he?" You almost sighed when you said that, but remembered you were mad and your posture changed accordingly as you continued to prepare your coffee. "Nope, I'm still pissed."

Jessie licked her fingers and flipped to the next page. "Well, you go right ahead and be pissed." She looked back at you, pretending to scold you. "Just don't go slamming things."

You giggled and went to join her at the small kitchen table.

"Did you kiss him last night?"

You half-smiled and shook your head. "No."

"Not even in the photobooth?" Jessie wondered aloud. She glanced around. "Where's the picture strip?"

You glanced around. "I.. don't even know. Probably my purse or my car." You shook your head. "Things were going so well. We were having so much fun."

You both sipped on your coffee and from somewhere outside you heard the revving of a motorcycle. The noise grew louder and louder as it approached and the two of you exchanged a glance.

"Is this your boy, now?" Jessie jumped up out of her chair and practically raced you toward the front windows that overlooked the front yard.

"Jessie!"

"It's him." She turned to you and laughed.

"Shit." You put a hand on your forehead and turned to her. "What do I do? What do I say?"

"Want me to buffer so you can get your thoughts together?"

It was the best idea you could think of, and so you nodded and tried to come up with a plan of action in your mind. When the motorcycle's engine turned off, Jessie yanked open the front door and met Joel halfway on the front porch that lead into the house.

"Hi there." Jessie looked at him with accusatory eyes and Joel immediately put his tail between his legs.

"Hey. I'm sorry to just drop by like this. But is-"

"She's here," your friend cut him off, placing her hands on her hips.

"Would, uh, would it be alright if I talked to her? I'd like to apologize for the way I acted last night."

Jessie looked over her shoulder at you through the open front door and gave a subtle wink, though when she turned back to Joel turned her face back to stone and shrugged. "I'll see if she'll come talk to you."

You allowed Jessie back inside, exchanging a little smile before you took her place outside on the porch.

Joel immediately closed the gap between the two of you and you didn't attempt to move away. Being close to him again felt good, despite still being a bit mad.

"I just want to say I'm sorry," He went on, "For the way I acted last night. I took everything out on you and you're the only person, besides Ron at the garage, who's been nice to me in a really long time."

You shifted your eyes to meet his more directly and he went on.

"I really don't want to push you away. And as hard as things have been for me this year, it's no excuse to treat you that way." He concluded with. "I'm really sorry."

It was genuine. You knew that for certain. Joel experienced a trauma that he was forced to relive and be punished for day after day after day. You were his safety net, and so you felt as though he was allowed a little slip - especially after the incident with the man the night before.

"I'm sorry too," you began but Joel shook his head.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"I pushed you to go out with me," you went on. "I didn't stop to think of how hard it might've been for you."

"I enjoyed yesterday," Joel told you, "Like you said to me on the street last night, that was the best time I've had in a very long time. I fucked it up."

"You didn't."

"I did." Joel nodded. "And I was hoping maybe you'd let me take you on another ride? I kind of want you to know.. everything."

You swallowed hard and then gave a little nod. "Let me just go get a light jacket."

When you turned to head back inside, you felt Joel pull you back with a light tug of your hand. You immediately saw the heightened vulnerability in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said. "For giving me a chance. Not just now, today, but in the coffee shop. You have no idea how much that means to me."

Okay, you officially weren't mad anymore. You wanted to cry for him. Not just Joel's words but the tone of his voice made your entire chest cavity feel heavy.

You leaned toward him and wrapped your arms around him, suspecting he hadn't had a real hug in awhile. For a long moment you just stood there, holding him against you with a hand on the back of his head.

Joel sighed and he allowed you to embrace him until you finally pulled back.

"I'll be right back."

"Okay." He answered.

You hurried inside and right away Jessie mouthed the words: did you kiss him? It eased some of the tension and made you laugh quietly as you shook your head and hurried toward the coat closet.

"I'll be back later on," you told her.

"Enjoy." She wiggled her eyebrows and bid you farewell before you joined Joel outside again.

You didn't ask him where you were going because, frankly, you didn't care. When you straddled the bike behind him, you felt content; at ease.

Joel started up the bike and you wrapped your arms around him and rested the side of your face against his back as you left the driveway. This time, you didn't look around like you had the night before. You closed your eyes, embraced the cool breeze and enjoyed the comfort of being so close to Joel. His scent was intoxicating.

You were sure you should have been a little bit afraid, but there wasn't even the smallest part of you that was. You felt completely free on the back of Joel's motorcycle.

He took a turn down a road that was leading up toward the the junkyard, but it wasn't quite that far. Joel slowed the bike down across the street from the lone structure on that end of the street - an old ice cream shop. Aside from the little brown and white building, there was nothing but trees that surrounded you.

A little neon sign on the window of the shop read, OPEN. A pumpkin sign hung in the window above it and the door was covered in fake spiderwebs.

"Why didn't you pull in?" You asked, suspecting Joel was planning on getting you ice cream.

He motioned up to the right corner of the shop beneath the roof. "You see that tiny camera right there?"

You squinted and gave a nod. "Yeah."

"That's the reason I'm not serving a life sentence."

Your eyebrows pressed together. "What?"

Joel turned his head partway around and you both got off the bike. When you were face to face you were able to give him your full attention.

"This is where it happened," he went on. "The incident. I had a flat tire on my truck after I left work one night. I broke down over here and I was changing it."

You had goosebumps already. You had wanted to hear what happened right from Joel's mouth but you would never have pressed the situation. Still, being here, right where it all happened, had you a bit shook.

"A car came rushing up behind me and I kind of thought they were going to offer to help at first," Joel explained. "But Johnny Watkins and Chase Hall hopped out, both drunk as hell, and started making demands. Everything from give me your wallet to, we're going to take your car."

"Holy shit, Joel."

"When I told them to get lost and they ended up ripping my spare tire off the car and Johnny hit me in the face." He ran a hand through his hair, "They beat the hell out of me and then demanded my keys but I threw the keys into the woods so they wouldn't get the satisfaction of it."

You wanted to hug him. How had this town branded *him* the monster?

"That pissed them off even more and at some point Johnny got his hands on a chain from the back of my pickup and started to strangle me with it while Chase recorded it on his phone. He tried to delete the footage later but the police were able to recover it. Between that and," he motioned to the building's camera again, "their security footage, they ruled I wasn't guilty of anything."

Joel went on. "When he had the chain around my neck I managed to back pedal and we fell down this little embankment over here." He motioned beyond the edge of the road to where the thick of the woods began to take shape. "Johnny broke his neck. Other than being a little banged up from them jumping me, I was fine."

"Joel, that's awful. All of it. I'm so, so sorry." You didn't have the correct words to say to him. You didn't know if there was such a thing.

"Even though they did all that to me, I've still had a hard time dealing with the fact that I was a factor in his death."

"You didn't do anything wrong."

"It doesn't matter." Joel shook his head. "That night is on constant replay in my mind. And everyone in town hates me over it because he was a local celebrity around here. Everyone knew Johnny. And to them I'm just some schmuck who killed him."

Joel looked down the embankment and you carefully pulled him into a hug. When his arms wrapped around you, you held him tighter and spoke into his ear quietly.

"You're a great man, Joel," you told him. "And you deserve better than all of this."

"Yeah, well, you saw what happened at the bar last night."

"Well, the whole town could burn for all I care," you told him, glancing up at him now. "And I would light the match." You placed a hand on his cheek. "I'm sorry the world has let you down so badly."

Joel swallowed hard. "I just wanted you to hear it directly from me."

"I never believed the bullshit stories."

His eyes danced across yours, roaming from the left to right and back again a few times. "Why did you offer me the free food that day in your shop? Why do you bother with me?"

"I just thought you looked like a man who needed a friend, or just somebody to talk to." Your eyes never left his. "There was a sadness in you that I couldn't ignore anymore - and I don't know how anyone could."

"I've had a hard time navigating life since that day." He sighed out loud again. "That's why I come in for coffee at night. I don't like to see a lot of people, and I don't think they like to see a lot of me."

"Well, sometimes all you need are a few good people," you told him. "And I don't plan on going anywhere so you better get used to me."

Joel gave half, closed-mouth grin and the mood grew just a tad lighter. "So, I didn't totally blow it last night?"

You shook your head. "You didn't blow it." You took the initiative and perched up onto your toes and kissed him on the cheek, letting your lips linger there just above his facial hair.

Joel's face often gave away the shock he was feeling. That was one thing you had begun to recognize about him. He swallowed hard again when you pulled away.

"I'm sorry," you said again.

"It's fine." He nodded toward the ice cream shop. "You want one since we're here?"

You didn't want to linger there any longer. Getting ice cream at that shop was too eerie of a thought. You were glad Joel had confided in you and told you all about what had happened, but the idea of having ice cream right there in that spot didn't feel right.

"How about if I treat you down at the Dairy Mart instead?" You offered.

Joel nodded again. "Thank you. I know this is a lot."

Staring up at him, you couldn't help it. You leaned in and felt relief when he reciprocated. Your lips met and it was like a release for both of you as your bodies relaxed against one another's.

Your stomach had that rush of excitement, the way it did you went on a rollercoaster. Joel's hand rested on your face and he kissed you a little harder before you parted, both breathing heavy.

He leaned his forehead against yours and closed his eyes. You let yours flicker open and closed them again when you pecked his lips once more.

Joel sighed contently and you pulled him back in for another hug. He held you tightly against him and let out a breath against your neck, sending goosebumps down your back.

"Are you okay?" You asked him.

"Yeah." He finally pulled back to face you and toyed with a strand of hair by your face. "You don't mind being seen in public with me? At the Dairy Mart or where ever."

"I want people to see me with you," you told him honestly. "I'm on your side."

Joel had that vulnerable look in his eyes again and he leaned back in to kiss you once more chastely on the lips.

You placed a hand on his cheek. "Come on. My treat."

"Only if you let me make you dinner."

A smile finally formed on your face again and you gave a little nod. "Deal."

CLICK HERE FOR CHAPTER 5

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum

[monicahar]

KAISER WITH GLASSES WHAT

[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.

[agaypanic]

Kinktober Google Form teehee

i decided to do kinktober, and im starting preparations in may bc i love planning ahead lmao

i have all the days figured out, but only two are assigned to characters. so i figured i'd let my audience decide what characters i write for on what days. ill probably close the form at the end of june, depending on how many responses i get

if you wanna participate, you can find the google form here. most days have character choices with an "other" option in case you think a different character would fit the scenario better (pls don’t leave answers blank or answer everything with the same character). but there are some days where i didn't have any specific characters in mind, so you get to choose from all the characters im willing to write for kinktober

[cellophaine]

Dark Paradise

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Word Count: 1841

Warnings: Hurt and comfort. Fluff.

Author's Note: Guess who did not work on her WIPs and started a new one? This idea struck me when I was scrolling through Twitter and I came across a photo of Charlie with his big bulky arms and my head went hmm no thought just feel. Then it took shape in my head, and now it's here! I do have more of this to make it into a small series if there is a demand for more!

P/S: This is my first time writing for Michael so it's still a foreign land for me, any characteristic is my personal interpretation of him. This takes place in season 1.

GIF Credit: @pajamasecrets

The night had pulled its inky shade over the sky, dying the clouds and its backdrop a dull shade of gray. The wind sunk its biting claws into the exposed skin on your neck and hands, which meant if you didn't press harder on the pedal, you might catch the brunt of the rain. You squared your shoulders and revved the clutch, letting the engine roar louder and carry you further away from the city.

Your eyes were on the road, but your mind was elsewhere, working to stave off the emotions from resurfacing. You could feel yourself gradually shutting off from the arduous day, putting distance to everything that happened. It numbed the pain somehow despite the taste of copper still lingering in your mouth. It was your defence mechanism, and with where you were heading to, and who you were seeing within the next minutes, you would need it.

The first few droplets of rain fell and clung to you by the time you made it to the familiar neighbourhood. The street was empty, void of sound and people, making for a surreal experience as you were so used to the noise of Dublin. It was the exact reason why you and him chose this area. Close enough to others, yet secluded enough to preserve privacy and raise no suspicion. Both of you could come and go as you pleased.

Your motorcycle pulled up at the house, and you took a moment to observe its exterior as the rain fell, dying the bricks a darker shade. The curtains were closed, but the light at the door was on.

You shut off the engine and hopped off, opening the latch of the low iron gate before guiding your motorcycle into the small front yard. You placed the helmet on top of the seat and closed the gate. Before you could place your hand on the knob of the dark green door, it flew open, revealing the man behind it. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

He looked worse than when you saw him last, which was a week ago. His hair was tousled as if he had run his hand through it so many times. His stubble had grown slightly thicker. A spark of relief flashed in his sunken eyes when they settled on you. They roamed and explored and you knew he was looking for any sign of injury. You felt the same ease. He looked tired if not injured, and you would rather take the first than the latter any day. For a long moment, you said nothing to each other, taking in the sight of the other person, silently assessing.

"Are you hurt?"

You finally found your voice, small with an edge of shakiness. Relief washed over you as Michael shook his head. He asked.

"Are you?"

You mirrored him. It was a harmless lie, one you could handle and one he didn't have to know. His features softened. He stepped back, allowing you to come in and closing the door behind you.

The house was lit in dim lights, and even though it looked cold and lacked almost everything personal, it had provided you with such great consolation for the past few months. Maybe a part of the appeal was Michael being there with you for most of your time here. You draped your jacket over the chair and turned around to meet his eyes.

"Do you want anything to drink?"

You shook your head at his offer.

"I’m fine."

You walked to the couch and sat down, pointedly leaving a space beside you so he could join you. He accepted your wordless invitation; the couch slightly dipped, bringing you closer to him. Your shoes were off, and Michael's house slippers were off too as you made yourself comfortable. One arm hung on the couch's back, the other on his lap, his body opened itself to you and drew you in for comfort. But you ignored it, wanting to distract yourself with something else. Something stronger than a soft cuddle, and louder than a comforting hug. You needed to feel a different type of heat, one that didn't originate from anger and bloodlust.

You crawled to him, settling yourself between his thighs. Michael stayed quiet, patiently waiting for your next move when you moved into his space, and took his face in your hand. You caressed the stubble, feeling its roughness and his soft exhale on your lips when you erased the distance and kissed him.

It was soft and teasing at first, then it grew harder, and greedier as you gave into your greed of him. One week without him was one week too long, and even though you knew it was a bad idea to get so attached, you couldn't help it. It was never your intention to get so hooked on his touch, his voice, and everything about him, but perhaps it was your selfish want that decided that for you. Your primal instinct, your desire that said you deserved something of your own, even when it was something unnamed, undecided by both of you. Perhaps it was just a fleeting infatuation since it couldn't possibly be love, because if it was, it would be detrimental for both of you. You knew better not to start the fire, not to give into temptation, yet you couldn't help but dive head-first into this unknown territory. That all it was, you told yourself, a guilty pleasure you allowed yourself in your situation in which what you wanted was forbidden.

Your kiss grew needy, and you pulled away for some much-needed air. You made your way down his throat, nipping and kissing at his skin, pleased to hear the soft moans reverberating in his throat. Michael's hands grabbed at you, at your clothes, and found their way under your shirt. You were so deep in the taste of his skin on your tongue that you didn’t pay attention when his hand grazed the bandage on your side. Upon the discovery, Michael pressed his fingers to it, and you gasped out of surprise more than pain. He immediately pulled away and looked at you inquisitively.

"You’re hurt."

"No, I’m not. Please–"

Another press of his finger and you hissed. Michael sat up straighter, pulling at your arms that were wrapped around your torso out of reflex to shield yourself.

"Let me see."

"No."

"Let me help you–"

"I don’t need your help."

You jerked yourself out of his reaching hands and darted to the other side of the couch. The distance wasn't much, but it made you feel protected somehow. You kept your face turned away, embarrassed that he found out the very thing you were trying to hide. Your hand found your side, touching the gauze and sighed in relief to find the gauze dry. For a little while, the air between you was tense with silence.

You could feel the frustration warm in your blood. You just wanted to forget about today, but Michael was a reminder of why what happened to you happened. It could be worse if it wasn't for his warning. You could bleed to death in a parking garage right now.

The couch dipped and moved again before you felt Michael's arms wrapping around you. He pulled you toward him like you weighed nothing, and settled you between his thighs once more. Your body was still tense, rigid to his handling. His hand wove into your hair, grasping just enough and pulling gently so you fell into him. You melted completely into him as he found the sensitive spot behind your ears and kissed it. He kissed your temple next, like an unspoken apology. You let him hold you, let his finger draw a soothing pattern on the skin of your arm, let your breathings join as one, let the weight of your day slip away from your shoulders.

"Was it Eric?"

His voice was small, timid as if he didn't want to confirm it himself. You shook your head.

"Eric could never get this close to me. Try again."

A soft chuckle and a brief pause later.

"Jimmy?"

You shook your head again. Michael was unsure now, you could tell by the way his pattern on your skin was disturbed.

"Amanda?"

You nodded.

"I know. Surprised me too."

You fell silent again. The memory of everything that went down this afternoon became fresh cut again, and it stung as reality set in. Michael spoke; his words sobered you up quickly.

"You know, my offer still stands. If you come with me, my family will know that you’re with me. They won’t touch a hair on your head. I’ll see to it myself. I’ll protect you."

You sighed heavily. Michael hadn't given up on the idea that was so fantastical that it would never come true. After all, this was real life, not a fairytale.

"And who will protect you from Eamon, Michael? He is nothing if not a vicious man who would stop at nothing just to prove a point."

At his silence, you advanced.

"He would destroy your family to get back at you for meddling with his bastard daughter."

The paradoxical nature of your relationship was a secret only the two of you knew. Beyond rivals, you were supposed to be enemies. But amidst the vendettas and vengeance between your families, you found solace in each other. In a time like this, when your families were at war with one another, if the knowledge of your clandestine bond got out, it would be a death sentence for both of you. Yet, you were willing to put your heads in the noose, waiting and holding your breaths for the moment the floor underneath your feet would give out. You were doomed from the start.

You turned in his hold to face him. You touched his chin, urging him to look at you. His expression was guarded, and his eyes were full of the sadness he tried to keep at bay. But you saw it. You saw through him as you went through similar emotions yourself. His suffering and yours were one and the same.

"Can we … not talk about it tonight? I just … want to be here, with you."

It took him a moment, but eventually, Michael nodded, and you thanked him with a soft kiss. You returned to the old position, his hold on you tighter now as you unconsciously shifted closer to him, craving the close contact. Under this roof, within these walls, neither of you was your family. You were simply two people who shared the same thoughts you wouldn't dare to name, feelings you wouldn't dare to acknowledge, because to do that was to accept that you cared about each other more than you should, that you should have never been involved in the first place. In this house, you bore no names and obligations. You could just be yourselves.

You were on borrowed time, and you knew it.

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

[chubbyreaderchan]

Pinky Promise | Michael Myers x F! Reader

A/n: part 2 is here. Part 3 will come soon once I decide what to do next. Off camera murder is in this one and I think the next might have smut in it but I don't know yet.

1, 2, 3, 4 (???? maybe)

17 years later

Michael's eyes opened. He stared up at the speckled ceiling of the hospital. His calloused hand touched the side of his eye and looked at the moisture on his fingertips. 

Something in the air changed, he didn't know what but he could feel the voice in his head saying her name. 

'Y/n, y/n, y/n,'

'Promise, promise, promise,'

'Y/n, y/n, y/n,'

Like the rhythm of his heart. 

--

(Y/n) picked up a second box from the large moving truck. She couldn’t believe it, she was moving back into the childhood home she had the best memories of. Her teaching job for the first grade was practically thrown in her lap and the people who lived in the house were begging her to buy the house for almost nothing. 

Old wood and fresh paint filled her lungs, and her cheeky smile pulled at her lips. 

The town was just as quiet as always, and she wondered if little Micheal Myers still lived in town. Maybe he grew up and was something amazing? She couldn’t figure out how she got so blessed but her smile was unwavering as she dropped the box of books at the doorway. 

A large hand pressed against her back, and a quick kiss was pressed to her cheek. 

“Richie,” She mused. “Did you put that box in the master bedroom as I asked?” 

Richard was her fiance, a well-mannered man on the outside. Conventionally handsome, rugged good looks. A true man’s man who was several years older than her, but her parents encouraged the relationship. He had a bristle brush mustache and his hair curled slightly. Far from her usual interests in tall blondes. 

“Of course I did, sweetheart. I’m not a child,” He smacked her butt and walked to grab the box she just brought in. 

“I want those in the second bedroom,” She called. 

“Baby, I know what I’m doing. Stop nagging me,” he stomped up the steps. 

She sighed, looking at the boxes that surrounded the living room of the home. Half weren’t where they were meant to go, and she wasn’t sure if she was at fault or the movers or her future husband but she was more than irritated. On top of an open box sat a picture of her and Michael when they were children. Framed. She was glued to the small blonde’s arm as she towered over him. She smiled and placed the picture on the fireplace’s mantle. 

(Y/n) looked around and sighed, she picked up a box labeled ‘kitchen’ and headed into the next room. 

-- 

Michael watched. 

The house hadn’t changed in 17 years. Myers' home has been boarded up since the last time he escaped. Her house had a large white van in front of it, and he watched the house closely from the shadows of the shrubbery nearby. His breathing was heavy, and his eyes were glued on the top floor window which sat open. The wind blew the curtains gently and two shadows could be seen. 

Michael’s head cocked to the side. His hand tightened around his knife. Long legs stretched over the asphalt and across towards the front door. He opened the door with no force and shut it just as silently. His eyes behind the emotionless mask scanned the crowded room. Empty, yet crowded by boxes. He glanced in one and over the others before his eyes finally landed on the mantel. He grabbed the picture frame and cocked his head to the side, running his fingers over the happy girl standing over the blonde boy. 

Michael’s hand slipped the image into his pocket, then he froze when he heard a man’s voice. 

“(Y/n)! I’m sick of being told what to do, I’m going for a fucking drive,” he shouts up the stairs. “It’s not my job to cook dinner anyways. You should’ve been cooking instead of showering,” 

Michael stayed silent in the darkness of the room. Michael’s fingers turned white around the handle of his knife. Red was filling his entire being. Now he knew she was here and he did not like how she was being spoken to, but he couldn’t understand why. Metal filled his mouth and he realized he was biting down hard on his cheek making it bleed in his burning rage. 

He ran right past Michael and slammed the door, the sound resonating through the house. 

Michael followed him out of the house. Stalking him. 

(Y/n) walked down the steps, unaware that anything was happening after she argued with her fiance. Her skin still felt damp and soapy after rushing from the shower when she smelled smoke. She walked into the kitchen where a burnt freezer pizza sat on the stove, as if the pizza was in Pompeii during the eruption of Mt Vesuvius. 

She couldn't decide if she wanted to laugh or cry at the situation. Which was worse? She picked up the pizza and threw it into a trash bag before walking to the front of the house. (Y/n) peaked her head out the front door and sighed at the missing car. 

She turned back around to go upstairs again when she noticed the missing picture. Tears of frustration stung her eyes. Richie always had the strangest stint of jealousy towards any photos of her and Michael. She only had a few now, most went to her mother or were left at the apartment they had moved from. 

(Y/n) sighed and stopped back up the stairs to finish her shower. She plugged in her small portable radio and allowed the first music station to play as she tried to relax under the heat of the water. Finish rinsing the soap from her itchy skin. 

The music cut off. A new bulletin played. 

'Michael Myers notorious Haddenfield serial killer escaped late last night. Residents of Haddenfield have been warned to lock their doors and stay indoors after 8 pm' 

Her breathing hitched. 

It couldn't be the same Michael? 

Could it? 

Heavy footsteps could be heard outside of the bathroom. She hoped it was Richie. At least she thinks she does. The water squeaks to a halt and she wraps the towel around her body.

Her throat tightens as she reaches for the door, it twists and finally she opens it. 

A chest in blue overalls covered in blood meets her gaze and she looks up into a masked face. 

"Michael?" She whispered. 

He cocked his head and she could see his crystal blue eyes she had always loved. They felt empty even when they were children but they always seemed to sparkle when he looked at her. 

"You're finally taller than me," she said. 

He simply held up his bloodied pinky finger to her face. Fear pumped her blood throughout her body. 

Wasn't he some cold blooded killer now? He looked it. He grunted, placing the knife in his hand down. Michael grabbed her hand, moving her pinky up. 

"Promise" his voice was rough and dry. 

Their pinkies locked just like they did back then. 

[muddywarriorcat]

Been having a rough day and thought about this Michael x Reader scenario to cheer me up a little. Just some fluff. Readers gender identity is not specified. Also kinda OOC, I mostly based him off of a headcanon of him in a relationship.

Imagine you sitting out on your back porch of you and Michael’s shared home, whether it’s the Myers house or whatever you imagine doesn’t matter. You’re sitting there taking in every negative emotion and thought and feeling and letting it wash over you because you simply can’t find the energy to find the positives in life.

Then, you feel someone approach you from behind, standing next to you now. It’s Michael of course who sits down next you you, not saying a word as usual. You don’t look at him as you’re currently trying to process everything but eventually you and him make eye contact, even with his mask on.

He’s staring back at you already even before you laid your eyes on him. He doesn’t speak, but instead slightly tilts his head. It’s a question. A silent “Are you okay?” You don’t have the energy to answer him and avert your eyes from him and focus your attention on the ground. You begin spiraling again. You want it all to go away but you can’t help but feel all of it. You tell yourself it’s what you deserve.

Before you spiral any further, you suddenly feel yourself pulled into a massive bear hug from Michael. His hugs are always tight and firm and this is no different. He’s warm as well, it’s all strangely comforting despite what his “day job” is. You don’t even realize you’re crying at first, it was almost a knee-jerk reaction, and you only noticed once your throat became sore as you let out a broken sob.

Michael holds you for a while, not letting go until your crying has subsided. He rubs your back and holds you close even if you try to pull away. Eventually you calm down enough and he lessens his grip on you to let you pull away. You give him a soft “Thank You” and he returns with a short nod. He gets up pretty suddenly, before reaching his hand down to help pull you up to your feet. Your legs are a little shaky but he helps you find your balance and the two of you walk inside, holding each other by the waists.

Once inside, Michael does whatever it is you want to do. Whatever it is that makes you happy. Watch your favorite movie or tv show. Helps (well, tries to help) you with making some food. Crafting something. Drawing. Just laying on the couch and resting. Anything you need, even if he doesn’t love it. What matters is making sure you’re okay, and you bet he’s not going to stop until he’s sure you are. He’s extremely stubborn like that. It can be annoying but in times like these it can also be really helpful.

Kinda basic buuut it made me smile especially when I feel like shit. Hopefully it can help someone else too if they need it.

[beastsovrevelation]

Anyone want Crowley x Readers? Or War x Readers? I don't know how long I'll take to start uploading my WIPs, and I don't like to not upload. Female Reder. Both male and female Crowley (not at the same time). War'd be... Herself.

What are you saying? I'm procastrinating? Why, ✨yes✨, how did you know? On my WIPs, original works, and papers for uni.