#mikey kinsella x reader

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Self-Indulgent HCs

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

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

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

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

Frank

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Matt

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mikey

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lots of home remedies (idk just vibes.)

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

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

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

“Just lay with me, please”

“Of course, pet. Anything fer ya.”

[bellaxgiornata]

Just teasing this upcoming one shot for Mikey that I have FINALLY finished after months of having it sitting around on my computer. It's a short little fluffy piece that I'll probably share next and hopefully it is still good when I edit it later and am less sleep-deprived...

I don't even know what sleep is anymore after these past few months 😅

New Jeans

Tired of the power struggle and constant arguing between Frank and Amanda, you find yourself distracted by Michael’s ass in a pair of new jeans at an early morning meeting. But your inappropriate daydreams are interrupted when you get caught staring.

[a-leg-without-fear]

Congratulations leggy!

If you are still taking requests for your celebration, I'll take a medium mocha with Mikey.

Thank you so much, Shiori!! One medium mocha, coming up!! <3

It was a calm, sunny, Sunday morning. Gentle sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains, birds chirped in the sparse trees outside the house, and the smell of brewing coffee floated on the air like leaves in the breeze. Notes of chocolate, hazelnut, vanilla, and that distinct coffee smell that was utterly intoxiating.

The wooden steps creaked lightly under your bare feet. You had been sleeping in your and Mikey's bed until the smell of coffee woke you. There was just something about Mikey's coffee that could wake you from a near-coma.

"'Morning, flower," Mikey called from the kitchen, voice gravelly with sleep. A tired smile stretched across your lips. You rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs to look at your husband in the kitchen.

Shirtless, hair ruffled, sweatpants hung low on his defined hips, toned arms leaning against the kitchen island, dark eyes gazing lovingly at you. If you could take a mental picture of him like this, you would.

"Good mornin'," you replied. There was a light bounce to your step as you crossed the living room. You picked up on the quiet music playing from Mikey's phone speakers. Your elbows made a dull thud sound when you landed on the island in front of him.

"That enthusiastic for caffeine, are we?" he teased, looking pointedly at where your arms had collided with the poor counter.

"More enthusiastic to see you, love," you said. An easy smile spread over his lips, eyes wrinkling in the corners and dimples growing more pronounced.

Mikey leaned over the counter, fingers tucking under your chin, and brought your lips together. You could just barely taste a hint of coffee on his soft lips.

"You do want the coffee, though?" he asked, the words buzzing where his mouth met yours. You chuckled into the kiss.

"If you're makin' it, no man could keep me from it."

[farfromstrange]

Pain Relief | Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Summary: You're on your period and you tend to get bad periods, but today is a particularly rough day. You call in sick from work, and when Mikey comes home to find you still in bed, he gets worried. When he finds out why you're writhing in pain, he doesn't hesitate to help you out.

Warnings: Description of period symptoms, use of pain killers, mentions of menstrual blood, fluff, fluff, FLUFF.

Word Count: 2.9k

A/n: So I just got my period and I could barely move for the past three hours. I wrote this while I was literally bawling from the pain, but I thought some of you might need this as well. There is a serious lack of period comfort with Mikey.

It’s half past three in the afternoon, and the sun is up over Dublin, a welcome change in the usually so dull weather. You should be sitting in the backyard with a book and a cup of tea and enjoy the nature behind your house. Instead, you are bound to the bed. 

Every muscle in your body aches. The stabbing pain in the left side of your lower abdomen spreads into your legs, making it impossible to move without feeling like you might pass out. The pain comes and goes in heavy waves. Your muscles contract and you can only whimper as the cramps ripple through your stomach. You’ve tried all kinds of positions, but either your back starts hurting or the pressure you can feel on your lower half gets worse, so you find yourself flipping around every five minutes, and it’s starting to get exhausting. 

It’s not unusual that you wake up long after Michael has gone out, especially not when you have a late shift, though today when you woke up and the bed was empty, you found yourself crying at the loss of warmth. And when you went to the bathroom and realized just why you’ve been feeling like utter shit the past week, you knew that you had to call in sick. Working in the state you're in is not something you can do or should do.

It’s worse this time around. You’re not sure why. Maybe you have been working a little too much lately and the stress is finally getting to you, but it seems almost rude of your uterus to treat you like a criminal during your period. You’ve taken as much Ibuprofen as you could find in the medical cabinet, and it still wasn’t enough. It got to the point where you cried yourself into a restless nap. But the pain only continues to roll you over like a bulldozer.

Now you’re alone at home, the afternoon sun streaming in through the curtains, and you still feel like shit. Another sharp cramp hits you, and you roll onto your side, pulling your knees up to your chest. It elevates the pressure only for a moment before the pain returns tenfold and you try to lie on the other side, curling around your boyfriend’s pillow and hoping that maybe that will help. 

It doesn’t.

You’re not strong enough to get up and grab a hot water bottle or take a shower. You’re stuck here. For a moment, the thought of calling Michael and asking him to come home crosses your mind, but it instantly makes you feel bad. He has more important things to do than to take care of you through something that you’ve been having for years, and before him, you managed perfectly fine on your own. You’re not sure how because you are immobile at this point, but it’s not his responsibility, you think. 

After another miserable hour of agony, the key rattles in the lock. You listen to his distinctive movements as he drops the bag with his prescription on the dining table, takes off his jacket, and grabs himself a glass of water before going on a search for you. 

Michael is more than surprised to find your car in the driveway. He figures you might have come home from work earlier, and that makes him smile, but then he notices that the house is unusually quiet and he grows worried. 

He makes his way up the stairs toward your shared bedroom. He knocks. When you don’t answer, he pushes it open just enough to step inside. The curtains are still in the same position he left them, and you’re still in bed. Under any other circumstances, he would have figured you decided to take a nap after work, but you’re still wearing his shirt that you went to bed with, there is a pack of Ibuprofen on the nightstand and an empty water bottle lying next to your frame on the mattress. 

You’re not okay, and he doesn’t have to ask you to know that. 

“Love?” he says softly. You must be sensitive to light today or the curtains wouldn’t be closed. “I’m back.”

You have your back turned to him. At the sound of his voice, tears well up in your eyes. You missed him a little too much, but now that he’s back, you realize how miserable you look and how ghastly you must smell after hours spent in bed without properly moving. You wouldn’t be surprised if you bled onto the sheets.

The mattress dips as he sits down. “What’s wrong?”

You sniffle and answer, “I’m fine.”

“Yer not fine.”

With a grunt, you manage to roll over. When he sees the sunken bags under your eyes and how pale you are, his eyes soften even more. Michael reaches out to touch your face. “What happened?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”

“I called in sick,” you admit, “because I got my period this morning.”

“Oh.”

“I’m sorry, it’s nothing serious, I promise.” As if to demonstrate, you try to sit up, but your arms lose balance and your face contorts as another cramp tears through your uterus. “Fuck me!” This time, you can’t stop the tears from falling, and you grab a pillow to bury your face in it. The sounds you let out are utterly broken, the exhaustion palpable. 

His hand moves from your face to your arm. “That doesn’t sound like nothin’, love. Ya look like yer in quite a lot of pain.”

“It’s okay, don’t worry about me.”

“I do.” 

“I can handle it.”

“Ya should have called me,” he says. He inches a little closer. “I could have helped ya, maybe got ya something stronger for the pain.”

Another tear slides down your cheek and you look up at him. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” you choke out.

His heart breaks when he realizes that you didn’t tell him because you felt guilty, maybe even a little disgusted. “But yer not–”

“This is not something you should have to concern yourself with.”

“I love ya, of course, your wellbeing concerns me.”

“It’s just a period.”

Michael offers you a soft smile. “Exactly. Nothing I can’t handle.” He strokes your arm. “Is it always that bad?”

You shrug. 

He reaches out to wipe your tears. “So it is?”

“It just…” your eyes look helpless as they stare into his. “It hurts so much and nothing helps.”

He grunts in the back of his throat. That’s why the Ibuprofen is still lying next to you. Michael hates a lot of things, but seeing you cry is definitely the worst because it hurts him just the same. “Oh, my love–” he cradles your cheek, and your eyes flutter shut at the impact, fresh tears pearling off your lashes. “Ya should have called,” he says again. His voice is soft, it doesn’t hurt your head more than it already does, but the guilt has nestled its way into your brain. 

You don’t want to be weak. It’s bad enough you have to use a sick day every month around the first or second day of your period. Now that Michael is in your life, this is new territory for both of you. You’ve never had someone around on bad days, and he’s not used to seeing the effect a bad period has on you because you’ve only just moved in together and before that, you isolated yourself for a day to get better and then swallowed the rest of the pain after. This is bad though, and you hate that you still have found no way to manage it. No doctor or scientist has found a cure for the kind of pain you and many other women experience for many months, and your hormones are so all over the place that even taking the pill will only make it worse. 

You hate yourself and you hate being a woman, especially right now, maybe only right now, but the world just sucks and you want nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die. 

He leans down, his lips brushing your temple. “Shh,” he coos. “I’m here now. Let me help ya."

“How?” you ask. You don’t have the strength to argue as another cramp seemingly knocks the air out of your lungs, and you want nothing more than for it to stop or at least ease up one way or another. 

Michael offers a helping hand and you would be stupid to deny it. You can’t. Your body is too weak to withstand it on its own. You don’t want to be alone. The whirlwind of emotions inside of you feels like such a mess and it’s stupid; you feel like an idiot, but you’re also sad and angry and frustrated and in pain, and it has to stop. You need it to stop. 

He starts rubbing your arm more firmly now. “First, let’s get ya in the shower. I’ll take care of the rest,” he says. 

“I can’t stand–”

“Okay, pet, c’mere.” 

With what little strength you have left, you climb into his arms. He lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he carries you to the bathroom. He even holds you as he turns on the shower and makes sure the water is warm enough for you, making sure you don’t fall over. When it comes to taking your clothes off though, you blush. 

“What?” He stops at the hem of your shirt. 

You cross your arms. “I don’t want you to see, you know, the blood,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s disgusting.”

He gives you a stare of confusion before it turns blank and then the bastard even has the audacity to laugh at you. 

Your eyes widen and you stare at him. “It’s not funny!” The tears in your eyes stem from anger now. 

He catches onto them, and his laughter dies into a small chuckle, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I– I’m just– yer scared I’ll get disgusted… by the sight of blood. Me.”

“Yes, and that’s not funny!” You try not to sob, but you fail miserably. 

Michael takes you back into his arms, his broad shoulders caging you in. He has you fully engulfed now, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just… I don’t mind the blood, okay? I don’t mind any blood. Ya know that.”

“I know.” You cling to him. 

Still, it feels like such a huge step in your relationship, one that isn’t fresh but it’s also not years in the making either, and you simply don’t want him to see you like that. But you also know that standing straight with the pain that is tearing your lower abdomen to shreds is a task that’s going to exert you to the point you might as well fall unconscious. 

“I’ll turn around if that’s what you want, I just want to help,” he says. His puppy-dog eyes meet yours. “Will ya let me do that?”

You take a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a crime scene.”

“Lucky me that I didn’t cause that one, eh?”

Your brain takes a moment to process the words, and they sound so nonchalant coming out of his mouth. His smile is bright and a little mischievous and you can’t help but laugh a little. He can be such a dork if he wants to be. 

“Shut up,” you mutter as you begin taking your shirt off. 

Michael rushes to your rescue. “Made you laugh,” he says. 

“Astute observation, Mister Kinsella.”

“Shut up,” he mimics you, and you can’t help but chuckle again. 

“I’m in pain, I get to say what I want.”

“Fair point.”

He helps you out of the rest of your clothing before turning around as he promised. You step under the warm water, holding onto the wall for leverage. You feel dizzy. All the lying around and the lack of sustenance have caused your blood sugar to plummet, and it’s gradually going down. 

He is by your side in seconds, his promise to stay behind long forgotten. He holds you up, washes your hair, and the sweat off your skin. You protest at first, but he shoots it down with a gentle kiss to your lips, and then you’re on fire again and you can’t deny it feels good to be taken care of. It’s relaxing, almost.

The pain continues to wash over you, but at least you have someone to hold onto now. If you had been fully lucid, you would have cursed him and thrown him out, but you have to admit that you need help. You need his help. He understands you in ways no one else can, and he is the first man to prioritize your well-being when it comes to your period. He’s not disgusted, he’s merely worried and he loves you. That’s something you have to get used to; it might take some time, but Michael does it in a way that makes you feel safe. He has never made you feel anything short of safe. He’s your home. You need him, that’s no longer a secret, and you allow yourself to let loose a little. 

It’s easier to breathe now. He washes you carefully, gets you one of his oversized shirts (his sweaters are too warm, you tell him), and even helps you brush your teeth for the first time today. 

Soon enough, you’re tucked back into bed, once again put on bed rest, while he rummages around downstairs in the kitchen. There is a knock on the front door. You can hear Michael’s voice and is that… Jimmy? It doesn’t last long though, and you hear the stairs creak as he makes his way back to you. 

You’re curled into a ball on your side. Michael smiles when he sees you, obviously a lot more relaxed than before, and closes the door behind him again. He’s carrying a tray with a plate of different variations of fruits, a cup of tea, water, a Coke, and two different kinds of pills. The latter makes you frown. 

“Made you some food before ya pass out,” he says. 

You make some space for him to sit next to you. “Thanks,” you say, then point to the pills. “What’s that?”

“I asked Jimmy if they had something against nausea and maybe some painkillers that might be stronger than the ones ya have here. He just brought them over.”

“Mikey…” You tear up again, but this time not because of the pain. He is so considerate, it makes your heart swell. And maybe it’s a little because of the pain. 

He hands you the water bottle. “Here, take ‘em.”

“You didn’t have to do all this.”

“Nonsense, I– well, I guess I just want to be a good man for ya, and if that means taking care of you while yer on your period, I take my job very seriously.”

“It’s not your responsibility.”

He shakes his head. “You are, my love. I love ya, which means I’m here, always, and I want ya to tell me when yer not feeling well.” Guiding the bottle and the pills to your lips, he smiles. “Now take your pills. Don’t want ta have to tell ya twice.”

You swallow them without hesitation. At some point during your relationship, you gave up on asking what kind of medication his brother and his wife keep around and just hope they haven’t given you any hard drugs. But Michael wouldn’t let that happen, anyway. 

He senses your struggle for a comfortable position and moves the tray aside so you can sit between his thighs. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Your legs pull up instantly, wanting to get rid of the annoying pain in your front, but his next action confuses you. He forces them back down and on either side of his thighs before he slips his large hand under your shirt and places it over your stomach. 

You gasp, feeling a little exposed, but then his fingers start kneading your skin and you crumble completely. Your head drops back against his shoulder. It feels like magic. He’s massaging the sore muscles of your lower stomach while at the same time numbing all other oncoming cramps. He pushes a button inside of you that instantly makes you slack in his arms, and he holds you tighter around your shoulders with the free one.

“How’s that?” he asks. 

“Don’t stop,” is all you know how to answer. 

“So… what?”

“It’s good.”

“Okay, grand.”

“Yeah. Now shut up.”

He chuckles, burying his nose in your hair that now smells like his shampoo, and he continues digging his fingers right where you need them.

Your body grows limp after a while, and when he looks down to check on you, your eyes are closed. You’ve fallen asleep in his arms, and there are no more creases of worry on your face.

Michael presses another kiss to your temple. “Good girl,” he says.

Then, he retreats his hand and gently lays you next to him. He tucks you in the same way he did before. You’re quick to move around in your sleep until you’ve found him again, and your head subconsciously moves to his chest. 

He doesn’t waste time wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, just like every night. And you know that when you wake up, he will be right by your side, not leaving until he’s certain that you’re feeling better. 

Mikey Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked (if any more of you want to be added, let me know)

But also tagging @bellaxgiornata bc I know you're on a Mikey trip and I think you might want to read this, darling <3

[yarrystyleeza]

Reader when Michael confesses his crimes in chapter ten:

I had to do it 😂😂😂😂😂

@bellaxgiornata

[shiorimakibawrites]

Mo Ghrá (Kin Fan Fic)

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

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

Thanks to @shouldbestudying41 for the title suggestion.

Mo Ghrá

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pumpkin bread?”

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

“Really?!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pet?”

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

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

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

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

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

END NOTES

mo ghrá is Irish for "my love".

[peterman-spideyparker]

Nightmares (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

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

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

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

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 2,097

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

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

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

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

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

"Choose!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey, I love—.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whine.

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

“Fuck, Mikey, yes, please!”

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

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

“Ready, pet?” he pants.

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whine.

“Say my name.”

“Michael!”

“Again.”

“Michael!”

“Who d’you belong to?”

“Michael!”

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

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

“Oh,” he blushes. “Sorry, pet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey . . .”

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

“You’d be away from Anna.”

“We’d take her with us.”

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

“I just need t’keep ya safe.”

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

“Why d’ya have so much faith in me?”

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

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

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

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

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

[shelikesorchids-archive]

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Warnings: None, just tooth rotting fluff.

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

Word count: Just over 700

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

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

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

“M’upstairs!” he replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Mind the Gap, Chapter 1

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

Rating: E

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael walked in. “Hi.”

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. “Been busy.”

“Wan’ a drink?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael opened it to find an ID and passport.

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

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

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

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

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

[saintmurd0ck]

shatter me

masterlist

pairing: michael kinsella x f!reader

summary: when michael has a rough night on the job, he looks to you as a source of relief

warnings: lowkey DARK dominant michael, submissive reader, amanda slander, choking, face fucking / m!receiving oral, fingering, p in v, orgasm denial, cockteasing, creampie, etc who the fuck knows

a/n: this is dedicated to my wonderful, beautiful @marvelswh0re -- to whom this was owed from back in october last year 😭💗 also CAN WE FUCKING TALK ABOUT THE BANNER?

song pairings: michael kinsella (an anthology)

The front door shuts with a soft click, bringing with it cool tendrils of night air that snake around your arms. The words in your throat sit thickly as the zipper of his jacket hisses open, thick leather crinkling as it’s draped over the banister.

“It’s late, Michael,” you call softly, setting your book down next to you. Your eyes search for the man who’s kept you up all night. 

Despite him being a shadow in your periphery, you feel him stiffen. Calm fury washes over the house for all of two seconds before Michael sets his gun on the console table, metal meeting wood with a heavy hand.  

On near-silent feet, he emerges from the hallway a minute later, his hardened gaze meeting yours. 

You’re the first to extend an olive branch, casting aside the urge to grimace at the blood speckling his face, or the haunted look in his eyes. “You okay, Mikey?” 

He stares blankly ahead, lips pressing into a thin line. It’s not his blood. 

That’s as much emotion as he’ll ever show on nights like these. 

You leap from your spot on the couch, to intercept him before he reaches the kitchen, but he holds out a hand. “Need t’ do it myself.”

Chewing on your lip, you watch with strained eyes as he wets a cloth before lifting it to his bloodied face. The water runs crimson as he wrings it out, droplets sliding over the reddish-purple splotches marring his knuckles.

“That bad, huh, Mikey?” you say, ignoring the uneven rise and fall of your chest. His shoulders slump as he throws the cloth in the sink. 

“Michael,” you insist, restlessness colouring your tone. “Talk to me.”

He shakes his head, bristling as he pushes off the countertop. He doesn’t talk, no. Instead, he makes his way over to you, his steps deliberate enough you almost assume he’s heading back outside. 

Michael blows out a shaky breath as he towers over you, hazel eyes boring into your own. Unable to look away, the hairs on your arms stand up, on par with the want beginning to pool deep within. He swallows, tracking the way your gaze flits to the muscle feathering in his cheek, to the trace of hair peeking out from underneath the edge of his sweater. He toys with the hem of your shirt, bunching the fabric in his hand, before dragging the tip of his finger up the column of your throat. 

His name is a trembling prayer on your lips as he lifts your chin up, faces bare millimetres apart.

“Don’t wanna talk, pet,” he murmurs, catching your bottom lip in his teeth.

A shudder fires down your spine as you slip your tongue into his mouth, savouring his warmth, the taste of smoke and whiskey that’s always been Michael. “Then show me what you want.”

It isn’t the lack of urgency in your voice that fractures his restraint. As he wraps his hand around your throat, a faint growl resonating in his chest, it’s what you leave unspoken that makes him explode. 

Shatter me. 

He drives you down onto the couch, stifling your moan as he squeezes your neck tighter. “I don’t want you hurt, pet,” he whispers, leaving open-mouthed kisses over your jaw, “so you tell me if you can’t handle it, yeah?”

You smirk, bucking your hips into his erection. “You know I can.”

The melody of his groans spur you to hook your legs around his middle, giving him full access to grind into your core. He wrests back his control, determined to replenish the well, to rebuild the walls of his resolve. 

For Michael, this isn’t about blowing off steam. It’s more of an intimate fact that no-one in the family is or ever will be privy to. Not even Amanda. 

Never Amanda. 

So you’re entrusted with the understanding that when words fail him, when all he’s left with is the knowledge of how to take… 

You’re his profane virtue, the hellfire to his gasoline—slashing-and-burning time and time again if only to keep these demons at bay.  

Bearing his weight down on you, Michael slides one hand into your hair, gripping the strands tight while the other lifts your shirt, exposing your already-peaked breasts to the chill of the room. The frosty air stings your bare skin, but Michael closes his mouth over the pebbled flesh, claiming you with his teeth and tongue. 

And as you surge forwards, the thrill of his ministrations fuelling your molten centre, you trace your kisses around his tattoos; the delicate arrow on his collarbone, the swirls on his outstretched wrist. His skin tastes of gunpowder, pine and sweat, a testament to his previous whereabouts, and the resolute, internal force Michael tries so desperately hard to conceal. 

I see you, your eyes blaze. I see you. 

When he kisses you again, fire wreathing in every breath, he yanks your dampened underwear to the side, fabric ripping somewhere, anywhere. 

“Who do you belong to?” he snarls, plunging two fingers deep inside you, wetting his lips as your pussy stretches around him. 

You squeak your answer as he thumbs your clit, slipping over it with absolute ease. “You, Mikey.”

His other hand drifts to your waist, gripping hard enough to bruise. “Tha’s fuckin’ right.”

You keen into his touch, eyes squeezing shut as he curls into that spot, bringing you to the edge almost instantly. 

“Tha’s fuckin’ right,” he hisses, pausing to spit onto your gleaming cunt.  

Release barrels through your body as you clench around him, your breathing turning ragged with the tide of your orgasm. He withdraws his hand, springing back onto his knees to take his clothes off. 

Clarity blankets his face for a second as he remembers the cum coating his knuckles, and so he acts. Lifting his soaked fingers to the seam of your lips, Michael’s voice turns vehemently low. “Suck.”

You oblige him, reveling in the taste of yourself and his domineering command, watching as he pulls away to remove his sweater. 

He catches your stare, lip curling in amusement. “You too, pet.”

Nodding furiously, you slide your panties off, frowning at the sizeable rip near the seam. Michael says nothing as you throw them to the side, palming his straining cock through his boxers instead. Your tongue presses against your cheek as he nears, brooding hunger radiating from every inch of his body.

He kicks his boxers away, cementing your position on the couch by straddling your chest, eyebrows furrowing into a piercing glare. Bracketing his knees on either side of you, he pins your arms above your head, his beading precum salty on your awaiting tongue.

“Gonna take it?” he whispers, every word clipped.

“Yes,” you breathe, angling his cock into your mouth, moaning around him as his length reaches the back of your throat.

He grits his jaw, pushing downwards so he can look at his picture of sin: your lips, wrapping around his cock with every deep, rolling stroke, the honeyed anguish of your fingernails digging into the tops of his thighs, and your ardent expression as he fucks your face, as deep as he can go. 

At the sensation of his torment ebbing away, with gratification remaining as the only kindling for his sparking nerves, Michael curls a hand in your hair, fisting the strands at the nape of your neck. Hot tears spill down your cheeks as his pace quickens, Michael’s hushed grunts of ‘take this cock like you mean it’ almost pushing you over the edge.

He skirts the precipice, but that’s as far as he’ll go. For now.

He flashes you a furtive smile as he climbs off you, only to assume a position between your legs. He licks his palm before dragging it across your folds, pausing for a moment to spit where his hand meets your pussy. 

The moan in your throat falters as he pumps himself, moving slightly to tap the head of his cock against your clit. You inhale sharply as he nudges himself into you, but he withdraws before you can even think to claw at him, to beg him for even an inch. 

It’s the sweetest kind of agony, knowing that you’re moments away from being satiated, yet you’re hopelessly trapped underneath him; the mercy being his and his alone. 

He coats himself in your slick, flexing his hips to rub his length against your folds. You glance upwards, at the wild look of determination spilling across his face. 

It turns out that that’s all he needs for the inferno to come to life.

Michael slides home in one smooth stroke, wasting no time in hauling one of your legs onto his shoulder, pounding into you as deep as he can manage. With every snap of his hips against yours, his restrained groans blend into the crook of your neck—a fevered combination of your pulse, caught between his teeth, and a fervoured haze that he can’t help but lose himself to. 

You match his pace, thrust for thrust, biting down on whatever part of him your mouth skims over first. You’re close—so goddamn close that your pussy becomes a vice, the dam about to break with the force of a tidal wave. 

“No,” he rasps, shaking his head forcefully. “Not until I say you can.”

You lurch forwards, a plan unfolding in your head to simply do it and face the consequences, but that tiny, almost insignificant, obedient fragment of you moves to get your leg off his shoulder, resolving instead to curse him a thousand ways in your mind.

Your vision fringes in white as he drives himself forward, grunting his approval at your subservience. He cages you in, almost entranced at his effortless ability to angle his thrusts to hit all the right places, to arm you with a satisfaction no toy could ever hope to achieve.

A corner of his mouth quirks upwards as you start to whimper, close to tears because he feels too fucking good not to let go. He draws back to squeeze his hand around your throat before sealing your lips with his own.

“Soon,” he whispers, pulling away to lift your hips up.

Nothing is delicate about the way he fucks you; not with his hands spreading you apart, or the mixture of your sweat and arousal dripping down his body. 

Michael knows, just from the way you’re panting his name, that you’ll take him with you when you explode. 

His eyes flutter closed as he leans over you, bracing his forearm around your waist and grasping the arm of the couch for balance. A kind of delirium washes over him as he moves quicker, not intending to stop until he gets what he wants.

On any ordinary occasion, his answer would be your pleasure, but not tonight. 

Tonight belongs to him.

He looks to you, tersely repeating the command he’s been yearning to give. “M’gonna fill ‘ya up.”

And he clamps his hand over your mouth as your knees dig into his sides, his fingernails marking you all the same with the force of your tandem orgasms. He bows his head as he spills into you, his entire body taut with the kind of hedonism derived from being your equal, the mirror image of your resplendent apostasy. 

You don’t keep track of how long you stay like that, or the time it takes for you to muster the energy to roll away.

What you do notice is that for once, Michael lays there with no hints towards his previous stressors, no recollection to the very thing that had plagued him to begin with. 

You find that your voice is steadier than it was before. “Better, Michael?”

“Better,” he affirms, reaching for your hand to intertwine it in his own.

tags {x} for some of my mikey girlies (yes, even if you haven't seen the show) @bellaxgiornata @peterman-spideyparker @marvelswh0re @mindidjarin @murdock-and-the-sea @reborn-rekall

[sunflowersandsapphires]

Congratulations on the milestone!! That's so exciting!!! 🙌🏻🎉❤️

Can I send Mikey a sunflower for some hurt/comfort? Maybe Reader is in need of comfort after a day of hearing too much internal negative self-talk?

Note: there are descriptions of hair in this drabble! Specifically of brushing it and pulling it back. 

Tugging at the hem of your shirt, you sighed as the material failed to fall in a flattering way. Time was running out and you needed to settle on a damn outfit. Chewing at the flesh of your bottom lip, you rushed back to your closet, hands coasting over fabric as you searched for a more suitable outfit. 

Nothing felt appropriate. All too bland, or revealing, or preppy for a night out with your gorgeous husband. Flexing your clammy hands, you blew out a tight breath, pulling another handful of tops off their respective hangers. 

You’d tried on half your damn closet by the time Michael walked through the bedroom door. Normally, his footsteps made you grin, his presence reminding you that you were safe and loved. Today, though, the sound of stairs creaking made your hands tremble, nearly smearing mascara across your cheekbone. Tossing the closed wand aside, you fumbled for your brush, yanking at the rat’s nest of tangles on the back of your head. If you could just get it tied up before he walked in the room…

The door opened. As always, your husband’s resting frown softened into an affectionate smile when his gaze wandered over you. 

“Hiya pet,” Crossing the bedroom in long strides, he knotted his burly arms around your waist, drawing you close. “Fuck, it’s good to see ya.” 

“You saw me this morning,” You chuckled weakly, shoving at his arms so you could finish styling your hair, praying he couldn’t see how frizzy it was from where he was buried against your neck. 

“Been so long,” Michael purred, nudging your ear with his nose. “Could barely stand it.” 

Snorting at his exaggerated whine, you shook your head. “Missed you too. Let me finish getting ready and I’ll be all yours.” 

Mikey gave a dramatic huff, plopping down on the edge of the bed to watch your reflection in the standing mirror. Heat clawed at your cheeks, your eyes avoiding his loving gaze and focusing on the imperfections along your hairline instead. You batted at the flyaways with a scowl, anxiety swishing in your gut when they refused to fade into your hair. 

“Stop tha’,” Michael scolded gently, cupping his massive hands around yours, shielding your hair from further torment. “Ya look stunnin’, pet.”

“Thank you, Mikey.” The smile you directed at him didn’t meet your eyes. You looked awful. Worn out and ashen. Michael deserved someone beautiful, and put together, and confident. Not the mess of a woman he’d settled for. 

Tucking your trembling fingers around your elbows, you ducked around Michael, firmly ignoring his crossed arms and furrowed brow as you dug through the pile of clothes on your bed to find your phone. “You ready to go?”

“Hold on a minute, love.” You froze, hands half buried in a heap of wrinkled cotton. His disappointment was palpable, forcing a lump to your throat. You couldn’t ruin something else for him. You couldn’t–

“Wha's wrong, pet? Why won’ ya look at me?” Calloused skin rasped over your hands, turning you by the elbows until Michael could study your scrunched face. “Talk to me, please.”

“Nothing’s wrong, Mikey. I promise–” Swallowing the crack in your voice, you tried to reassure him, but he persisted. 

“Don’ lie to me. Somethin’s botherin’ ya.” Lifting one hand to cradle your cheek, Michael’s eyes dug into your own with a concerned intensity. “Did I say somethin’ wrong?”

“No, of course not. You never do, I just–” Inhaling shakily, you leaned into the arm he wrapped around you, resting your face against his shoulder. “I don’t feel like I’m enough today. The thought of going out is making me…nervous.” 

“Why didn’ ya say somethin’?” He murmured, thumb brushing over the baby hairs lining your nape. 

“You’ve been looking forward to our date all week,” You pouted, blinking back frustrated tears. “You deserve to have fun, Mikey. I didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

“I’ve been lookin’ forward to spendin’ time with ya, pet.” Your husband’s lips brushed over your forehead as he spoke, breaking the sentences up with a sweet kiss. “Doesn’ mean we needta go out.” 

“It doesn’t?” You borrowed your eyes skeptically, sure that he was lying to spare your feelings. 

“Course not.” Mikey smiled, scratching underneath your chin. “I’d much rather stay home with ya, eat on the couch and watch that show ya like. How’s tha’ sound?”

Chewing on your bottom lip with hesitant optimism, you nodded. “Good.”

“Why don’ ya bring a blanket downstairs and I’ll order take away?” With a sturdy push, he tilted your chin up, planting a stubbled kiss on your lips. “Ya can even take yer clothes off, if ya want. No needta keep ‘em on if we stay ‘ere.” 

You laughed brightly as he grabbed a handful of your ass and smacked it lightly before releasing you from his grip. “If I’d known you had ulterior motives, I wouldn’t have said anything.”

“Can’ help it, pet. Yer too damn gorgeous, how am I supposed to keep my hands off ya?” He waggled his eyebrows at you, beaming when you giggled. “I love ya, pet. Never wan’ ya to feel nervous. Not ever, ya?”

“I love you too, Michael Kinsella.” You pecked his cheek, grinning into his beard as the weight of your anxiety fully dissipated.

[bellaxgiornata]

In Search of Solace 1|: Breaking Down

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

Warnings/tags: 18+; depiction of seizures, depression, fluff, emotional hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, slow burn, smut

Summary: When Birdy witnesses him at his most vulnerable, Mikey finally loses it. After unloading the truth about how he can no longer continue down this path, Birdy promises to help him relocate to a town in the U.S. near Anna's new university–far away from the Kinsellas. But while Michael grapples with the man his family forced him to become, struggling to find peace in his new life, he's surprised when he finds his solace in you and your strange dog.

a/n: I've been sitting on this first part for months and finally decided to post it!! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @loves0phelia @sleepysleepymom

Michael shuffled his way carefully down the edge of the road between both drives, one hand braced against the cool stone of the fence that separated his house from what once had been Jimmy and Amanda’s house–though Jimmy had now long since moved out. He walked slowly, placing each foot deliberately in front of the other as he moved along the darkened street. The rough stone scratched against the palm of his hand as he rounded the corner of the fence, the sharp texture of it helping to keep him semi-alert as he tried not to lose his footing. 

Tonight had not remotely gone well. Michael had needed to leave the family meeting early, unable to sit through anymore of the arguing that had erupted between Jimmy and Amanda before that feeling had hit him. That unfortunately familiar feeling which he absolutely loathed and had no control over. A feeling he was grudgingly growing used to the more he experienced it.

Vision blurring as he began to make his way up his own drive, he watched as his front door swam in his sight, becoming nothing but a haze of shapes and color. Michael stuck a hand into his jacket pocket, his fingers feeling around for his house keys as he tried to hurry his pace, all of his senses steadily beginning to weaken with each step. A tremor had started in his right hand as he began to frantically grab at the keyring in his pocket, but his twitching fingers made it difficult for him to just grab the damn thing and pull it out of his jacket.

All he wanted right now was to make it inside his house before he collapsed on the pavement and had a seizure out in the open for anyone leaving the meeting next door to see. Besides Amanda having accidentally stumbled on him like this once quite a while back, no one else in his family knew about his seizures–and he wanted to keep things that way. The last damn thing he needed was anyone to look at him with pity in their eyes, as if he was weak or some sort of embarrassment. Like he was less than the man they'd all come to expect him to be.

As he neared his door, he felt his heart palpitating, the hammering of it wracking his chest so hard it was impossible to ignore. A sheen of sweat dampened his brow despite the chill of the night, the corner of his mouth beginning to dip downwards as the muscle twitched in his cheek. He wasn’t going to make it inside this time, he could already tell by how loud the ringing in his ears had grown. 

This was all because the family meeting tonight had been an absolute disaster. Jimmy and Amanda couldn’t agree on a damn thing as usual. They'd done nothing but fight in front of everyone the whole time, and somehow Michael had once more been dragged into the middle of the entire situation between them. All because he’d been so fucking stupid as to seek comfort in Amanda after what had happened months back with Molly. 

He should have never slept with Amanda–any of the times he had–despite her and Jimmy splitting up. But he hadn’t truly thought things through at the time, he had just been desperate to feel like someone cared about him for once in his life. And for a brief bit that's what he was able to pretend with her, that she cared about him, but after a while he couldn't pretend that any longer. And he hadn’t truly realized just how difficult his undefined relationship with Amanda would make everything farther down the road. Because now everything felt like it had long since become too much for Michael. 

Which was why he was now left resting a shoulder against his front door, trying to hold himself upright as the buzzing noise grew to an unbearable level in his ears while everything in his line of sight blurred to indecipherable shapes and a mass of colors before his eyes. It had taken him quite a few tries, but he’d finally managed to remove the keys from out of his pocket after many careful attempts. Unfortunately with the rough and jerky movements of his now trembling arm, the keys inevitably slipped from his fingers as he removed his hand from his coat. He felt the little circle of metal slip from his fingers, but he was entirely incapable of reacting in time. The keyring began its inevitable descent to the ground as a rush of helplessness crashed into Michael.

He’d meant to let out a curse when he'd felt the keys slip from his fingertips, but he could barely move his mouth. He didn’t have control over his body anymore, a gargled noise vibrating in his throat instead of the curse he'd meant to release, but all he could hear was the incessant buzzing noise in his damn ears as it remained at an unbearable volume. Michael’s eyes began to close partially as his body slumped further against the wall. His legs were quickly going numb as his arm began to shake more violently at his side. Then his entire body began to drop, absolutely nothing working like he was desperately willing it to. As he collapsed to the ground, he thought he heard a voice, but whether it was close or distant was indistinguishable. Everything besides that goddamn buzzing in his ears sounded like it was coming to him from beneath the surface of water now.

Part of him knew that he was laying there on the ground just before his front door. Somewhere in his mind he was aware of that. But for how long he lay there feeling like he was sinking down to the bottom of the ocean floor was unknown to Michael. He hated whenever these seizures happened, each time more terrifying than the last. He couldn’t hear anything. He couldn’t feel anything. He couldn’t really see anything as he lay there, either. It felt like an endless stretch of nothing that he was trapped inside, just hoping he’d somehow come back out of it, landing once more back into his body that he couldn't exactly feel at the moment. These seizures always felt like a waking nightmare to him.

After an undetermined length of time that felt like hours to Michael, the first thing he eventually became aware of was the pain in his back. It started off dull before it grew in intensity to something sharp and persistent. He must've fallen on it when he dropped to the ground and he found himself wondering what else he might’ve hurt this time with the way he'd fallen. After a few more seconds passed he realized his neck hurt, too. Though as more feeling gradually came back to him, he figured it was probably due to the angle his head must’ve landed in. 

Breaking through his thoughts as he steadily became aware of his body once more was the sound of a voice again. Gradually the ringing in his ears began to die down, but he swore he felt gentle hands on his face accompanying the voice. Blinking slowly and unevenly, Michael tried to focus his eyes on the mass of color swimming into view in front of himself, trying to make sense of what it was. Eventually the ringing in his ears dissipated as his vision gradually became less blurry. After some effort Michael was eventually able to realize who was there touching him and speaking to him.

“I'm right here with ya, Michael,” Birdy's panicked voice was saying. “Ya aren't alone, love. I've got ya. I'm here, Mikey.”

Michael opened his mouth, a garbled groan tumbling out of it. He heard Birdy immediately praise a higher power as her hands began running less frantically over his cheeks. The sight of her terrified face hovering just before his finally became clear, her blue eyes creased with worry as she studied his own face in return.

“Are ya alrigh’, pet?” Birdy asked him. 

Hesitantly Michael tried to push himself upright on shaky hands without answering, unsure if he even could properly speak yet. Embarrassment flooded him when Birdy's hands landed on his shoulders, carefully trying to help him into a sitting position before gently leaning his back against the front door behind him. He hadn't wanted anyone to find him like this.

“I saw ya run out of the meetin’ not lookin’ so grand,” Birdy explained, a hint of fear in her voice. “Followed after ya and saw ya just drop straight to the ground shakin’. What's goin’ on, pet? Is somethin’ wrong?”

Somehow a bitter breath of laughter passed his lips as Birdy lowered to sit on the pavement before him. Her dark brows only further drew together on her forehead at the noise, concern still clearly written on her features. 

“What isn’ wrong anymore, Birdy?” Michael shot, his words slurred together as he fought to make his tongue move.

“What d'ya mean, love?” she asked carefully.

Michael slowly shook his head, not wanting to elaborate any further. But with the way Birdy's eyes narrowed at him, he knew she wasn't about to drop it. Especially not after how she'd just found him.

“Talk to me, Michael,” she nearly demanded. “What's goin’ on with ya? What aren't ya tellin’ me?”

“Don't wanna talk ‘bout it, Birdy,” he warned, his tongue moving a little easier this time.

Birdy's lips thinned on her face, her eyes suddenly narrowing into a look of determination that Michael knew all too well. She wasn't letting this go. 

“Let's get ya inside, Mikey, pet,” she said, carefully wrapping one of his arms around her shoulders while her other hand snatched the keyring he had dropped from off the ground.“Then we're goin’ to talk ‘bout whatever is goin’ on with ya. And ya know I'm not takin’ silence as an answer.”

Michael sighed, struggling to rise up onto his feet even with Birdy's help. His body felt like lead, his limbs feeling heavier to move than usual. His mind still felt sluggish as he carefully rose to his feet, briefly swaying unsteadily on them while Birdy tried to support his weight and keep the pair of them from tumbling backwards. When he'd finally regained his balance, she shifted them closer to his front door before unlocking and opening it. 

Moving slow and cautious, she helped lead him over the threshold and inside his house. She paused briefly, closing the door with one hand behind them softly before awkwardly continuing to maneuver the pair of them down his narrow hall and towards the sitting room without bothering to remove either of their shoes. 

Once they'd reached his sofa, she lowered him down onto the cushions before sinking into the space beside him. Michael's eyes remained fixed on his hands in his lap, something like shame burning in his gut under her stare which he could feel boring into the side of his face. This was exactly what he'd hoped to avoid tonight when he'd left the meeting. That expression of pity he knew was on Birdy's face without even looking at her. He could just feel it.

“What was that, Michael?” she tried again, voice softer. “Outside when I found ya on the ground shakin’ like that?”

Gritting his teeth together, he kept his focus on his hands. If he didn't answer her, he feared that she might just go telling someone else in the family what had happened, and he absolutely didn't want that. So unfortunately now it felt like he didn't exactly have a choice but to tell her the truth.

“I have epilepsy,” he grudgingly confessed. “On occasion I have seizures.”

Birdy made a faint noise of surprise beside him, shifting further towards him on the sofa.

“Since when?” she asked. “I've practically raised ya since ya were a boy and I've never seen that happen before.”

Michael ran a hand over his forehead, his fingers running over the sweat that had accumulated on his brow not that long ago. “Started when I was in prison,” he admitted. “Gotten worse afterwards with the stress of everythin’.”

“Stress?” Birdy asked in confusion. “What stress? Ya always seemed fine when I saw ya, pet.”

Her words had caused something inside of him to abruptly snap, his carefully crafted calm having finally reached its limits after years of being stretched thin. He felt his anger rise straight to the surface as his head spun towards Birdy, noticing how her eyes grew wide in surprise and even fright at the expression on his face. 

“Ya thought I was fine?” Michael spat. “Are ya fuckin’ jokin’ me? I was released from prison to move straight back into the house where my wife died, Birdy!” He flung a hand sharply towards the fireplace across the room from them. “The goddamn hole from the bullet that killed her is still right fuckin’ there! Every goddamn time I come home it's always right there! Fuck, I was barely released from prison a few days before Jamie was killed! My own goddamn son!”

Birdy's eyes grew even wider, her body going stiff on the sofa beside him as she held her breath. But now that the words had started to come, he couldn't seem to get them to stop.

“Not a damned one o’ ya even thought to check in on me after he died right in front o' me,” he continued to rage on, feeling hot tears of grief and anger burning at his eyes. “He was mine, too, but none o’ ya gave a damn ‘bout how I felt! No,” he said, shaking his head roughly and ignoring the pain in it as he did. “All I was good for was clippin’ Jamie's killer for Amanda and Jimmy and puttin’ a damn target on all o’ our backs for doin’ it. And then Amanda still had the fuckin’ audacity to come at me after the fact ‘bout Jamie, makin’ me feel like an asshole for not openly claimin’ him as my son after all these years when she's the one who chose Jimmy over me to begin with! The hell else was I s'posed to do? Ruin my brother's fuckin’ marriage completely?”

Michael could feel the tears beginning to sneak their way out of the corner of his eyes, his fury fast giving way to that feeling he always had whenever he eventually made his way back home at night after a job. That feeling of resignation and defeat at the situation he felt trapped inside. The situation his family had somehow forced him into and had made his life. Something he'd never felt he'd had a choice in. Beside him, he noticed the expression on Birdy's face soften as she listened to him.

“All I wanted,” he continued, voice filled with far less fire, “was to come back home and have a relationship with Anna. I just wanted my daughter, Birdy. That's all. Just wanted a normal job and the chance to raise my girl. But the lot o’ ya couldn't even let me fuckin’ have that. No, ya needed me to keep doin’ yer dirty work. Pushin’ me into it and makin’ things fuckin’ worse for me and my chances at gettin’ Anna back. And don't–” he began, shaking his head again as warm tears spilled down his cheeks, “–don't get me started on Bren and all the shit that happened when he was released. Shoulda fuckin’ killed him myself the day he was let outta prison. He wasn't much of a father to begin with and he should've never gone near Anna.”

“Yer right,” Birdy quietly agreed. “He shouldn't have.”

Hesitantly she reached a hand out, lightly grasping one of Michael’s and giving it a gentle squeeze. His eyes dropped down to their joined hands, a frown pulling his lips downwards. 

“I didn't know ya felt this way,” she continued softly. “I'm sorry, love. I–I should've known. Ya just always seemed so put together, I never realized ya weren't doin’ alright.”

“Used to use the gear and booze to handle it all,” he admitted quietly. “That's what I did before. To deal with the stress of everythin’. But those all trigger the seizures now.”

Michael's face twisted in pain and he quickly ducked his head, trying to hide from Birdy. Her arms were soon wrapping around his shoulders though, pulling him in towards herself. Hands rising up, he soon buried his face in them, his teeth clamping down so hard on his bottom lip to muffle the sound of a distressed sob that he almost drew blood.

“This isn’ what ya want, is it, Michael?” she asked gently. “This life?”

“No,” he choked out, shaking his head from its place buried in his hands. “No, I hate it. I hate everythin’ ‘bout it. I can’t–can’t keep doin’ it anymore. The killin’ and the drug pushin’. Worryin’ if things I do are goin’ to land back on Anna. If I'm goin’ to get her killed just like–just like her mother.”

Birdy sighed, one of her hands beginning to soothingly rub Michael’s back as he exhaled a deep, shuddering breath. The moment felt oddly reminiscent of the times she used to comfort him when he was a kid and he'd come to her with something Bren had done. 

“Ya need to get out, sounds like,” she murmured. 

A bitter laugh broke out between Michael's tears. Pulling his face from out of his hands, he glanced up at Birdy beside him, a dark, mirthless smile on his mouth.

“That'll never happen and ya know it, Birdy,” he told her. “They'd never let me just walk away.”

Birdy's eyes hardened as she held his gaze, her lips thinning along her face. “I helped yer mother and sister get away from Bren, didn't I?” she reminded him. “Ya don't think I can handle the others? Get them to leave ya outta all this?”

“That was different,” Michael pointed out, shaking his head. “They rely on me too much. Need me too much.”

“They can rely on someone else then,” Birdy stated sharply. “Because if ya want out, Mikey, I swear to ya I can get ya out before the end o’ the week. Ya hear me? I'll get ya out if that's what ya want.” Her expression softened, something like guilt flashing in her eyes. “Maybe I should've gotten Jimmy and ya out years ago ‘stead of selfishly keeping the both o’ ya here.”

Hope sparked in Michael's chest at her offer, the hope of a way out of this life that he'd never had a say in to begin with. The life that was breaking him down to nothing, slowly killing him from the inside out with all the shame and guilt and pain and disgust he buried deep down inside of himself and pretended wasn't there.

A small, sad smile reached his lips as he focused on Birdy beside him. Her hand was still comfortingly rubbing his back, a small smile forming on her mouth.

“Ya would do that for me?” he asked, almost too afraid to believe it was possible.

Birdy's hand on his back patted him firmly, a fiercely determined look in her eyes. “I'll get Anna and ya both outta here, Mikey. Just leave the Kinsellas to me,” she answered. “I'll deal with the lot o’ them. Then ya can go make yer own life for once, Mikey, love. Whatever ya want it to be. If that's what ya'd like. Far, far from here.” 

A small, watery smile slipped across Michael's lips. He nodded gently in response. “I'd like that,” he confessed softly. “I'd like that a lot.”

[murdock-and-the-sea]

cingulomania · michael kinsella x reader

cingulomania (n.)

a strong desire to hold a person in one's arms

pairing: michael kinsella x reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. little angst, hurt-comfort, mentions of verbal abuse (sort of), protective!Mikey

a/n: (repost cause I accidentally deleted this off my blog 😬)

SUPER SAIYAN SELF-INDULGENCE GOOO! ( •̀ ω •́ )y Have this small rusty thing before I get swallowed by my 2nd semester at uni

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

Sitting on the steps in front of Michael’s house, the door pressed cold against your back, causing you to shiver. His laughter drifted over to you over the fence as you did your best to fight the lump building back in your throat.

Normally, you’d be happy that he spent the evening over at Jimmy’s - at least he wasn’t cooped up alone. He was in company, surrounded by his family —

Family.

The very word made you choke right now.

The laughter quieted, and after some hushed goodbyes, you heard his footsteps approaching, the gentle rhythm stopping abruptly as he spotted you on his stairs.

“Shit, ’s that you, pet? What happened?”

You wanted to answer but fighting your tears took too much out of you. Hours ago, when you had nowhere else to go, it seemed like a good idea to run crying to Mikey. But when you found out he’s not home, it woke a new, bitter anger in you. So you sat down here, sulking and bathing in self-pity. Probably catching a cold, too.

You turned away from him in shame, remaining silent. The sun was dipping below the rooftops, giving you hope that the growing dusk would hide enough.

Briskly, Michael walked up to you, voice laced with worry as he called out your name once more. Gently, he put a hand under your chin, turning you towards him and you could hear his breath hitch when he saw your tear-stained face and red eyes.

His whole body tensed, eyes darkening dangerously as he drew a deep breath.

“Who did this to you?”

Lips quivering, all you could do was let the tears fall as you closed your eyes. You didn’t need to say anything; he knew the answer already. Cursing, Michael reached over your head, hands trembling with anger as he tried to fit the key into the lock.

You were a useless mess, sniffling and wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You wanted to apologize. You wanted to explain that it wasn’t that bad, and really, you shouldn’t have come. It’s alright. It happened before.

You’ll live, right?

But then why did you feel so stupid and pathetic. Why couldn’t you say something, anything.

The door creaked open, Michael pushing past you to get inside while you just choked quietly on a sob. There was the familiar click of the light switch, and a curse or two more from Mikey as he hauled you up in his arms.

And all you could say was sorry.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry; you kept repeating as your face pressed to the crook of his neck, drowning in your tears and his scent. The softness of his sweater and his embrace felt like his love was cutting you open, your very being exposed: raw and vulnerable and inflamed and his hand caressing down your back, running along the seams of your soul where the stitches came undone.

And his lips pressed against your forehead, burning your skin, setting you alight.

You weren’t sure how long you two stayed like this. By the time you calmed down, the room was swallowed in darkness, Mikey sitting on the couch and you on his lap, huddling closer for warmth. You broke the silence with a small cough, only now registering the itchy soreness in your throat.

“Wanna tell me what happened?” Michael asked softly.

You shrugged, pressing your face against his chest.

“The usual.” you mumbled quietly. “It just… just got out of hand a bit.”

He took a deep breath, pulling you closer. “’m sorry.”

This wasn’t the first time you came to him for comfort and by now, he was more than familiar with the arguments you had with your family. It made his blood boil just to listen to you talk about the constant, petty quarrels you got caught up in with them, the way they treated you like absolute shit.

Countless times, he offered to talk - or preferably, beat - some sense into them, but you always declined. Sweet you, always hoping, always reassuring him it’ll be fine.

“It’s not your fault.” You continued. “It started small, y’know? I don’t even remember what it was now. Isn’t that crazy?” You let out a weak, unimpressed laugh. “But then something got in me… I-I snapped back at them and we all started yelling, and screaming and it was bad. Like, bad. Just grabbed my phone and…”

Your voice cracked, and it broke his heart to see you so vulnerable and hurt, even if it was such a frequent part of your life. That in a grotesque way, you made it sound natural. But the bastards you called your family could put even a Kinsella to shame.

Mikey rubbed your back, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize, love. You did good, coming here.” 

He was more than ready to help and hell, there wasn’t a thing that he would not do to protect you. Even so, there was one thing that he couldn’t wrap his head around tonight.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

You groaned, pressing against him impossibly tighter. “I dunno. I felt guilty.”

“Guilty?” he asked, taken aback.

“Yeah. Like I expected you to just be here, waiting to fix this for me. But then you weren’t here, and I realized I can’t keep doing this to you. You deserve better.”

“Oh, love.” He said, pulling back from you only to slide a hand to your face, palms warm against your tear-stained face and you couldn’t help but sigh as you leaned into his touch. “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for ya’, you hear me? I’ll always be here for you.”

“Michael…” Despite your best efforts, a few more tears rolled down your face, but he was quick to wipe them away.

“Shhh. ‘S okay. You just say the word, and I’ll deal with ‘em.” he said, gaze dark and intense. “Just one word ‘s all you need.”

There was a sincerity in his eyes that should have scared you, but it made you feel safe instead, guarded from any harm. Still, you couldn’t help the breathy laugh at what he was suggesting. “Thank you, but I think I’ll keep them around for a bit more. In spite of everything.”

You put your hand over his, sighing in content, finally truly calm.

“Can I spend the night?” you asked, voice still a little shy.

Michael snorted. “Bold of ‘ya to assume I’d let you go back to them.” He wrapped his arms tighter around you as if driving his point home.

After a bit of comfortable silence, he shifted a bit and took a deep breath before speaking. “Listen pet, I’ve been thinking.”

Oh damn. Your anxiety wasted no time to flare up again, mind going haywire over what he would want to say. Did he suddenly change his mind?

“So I’ve been wonderin’ for a while and, uhh…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting a bit more before blurting it out. “I think you should move in with me.”

Oh.

Oh.

You felt speechless, your heart leaping to your throat. It’s not that you didn’t want it - in fact, it was something you’d be more than happy to do. But still, there were a few things holding you back. The longer you stayed silent, the more worried Michael looked.

“What’s wrong? That not somethin’ you were thinking of?”

“No, it’s… it’s not that. I’d love to, Michael.”

He sighed, a little upset. “But?”

“I just don’t want you to run into this because you feel like you have to. I appreciate it, I really do, but I dealt with my family this long… I can take it a little longer.”

Michael huffed, averting his eyes. “I can’t though.”

“What?”

“I can’t.” He repeated, a bit more sternly. “I can’t keep sitting here, doin’ nothing when I know how they treat you, how they abuse you every day.”

You felt new tears welling up in your eyes, feeling more loved than ever before. “Michael…”

“Listen, let’s just try it, ok? And if it’s not working out or…” he paused, his voice a little weaker. “...if it’s not what you imagined, then we’ll help you find a place, yeah?”

You pondered it over again, lips pressed into a thin line but deep down, you already decided.

“Okay. Yeah, okay, let’s try.”

The way his face lit up warmed your heart, and he pulled you back into his embrace again. “You won’t regret it, pet. Trust me. I’ll keep you safe here.”

Damn him, and damn your tears again. You quickly wiped them away as a new fear making home in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll have a lot of stuff to pack though, and I’m not sure they’ll let me back.”

“Don’t ya’ worry your pretty little head over tha’. I’ll go with you, and we’ll take Jimmy. We’ll help you pack… and nothing else, I promise.” he added, with just a hint of mischief when you gave him a stern look. “Unless you want us to take Eric to scare ‘em.”

You couldn’t help but giggle at that, snuggling up against him, head on his chest and for once, you felt like you had a way out of this. “I love you, you know that?” “Mmm. Had a hunch.” He leaned down, whispering an ‘I love you too’ against your lips before kissing you, and it felt like nothing ever before. It was gentle, and caring, yet there was a possessiveness set deep in it that let you know he’ll always take care of you.

[farfromstrange]

Matt smut coming in a moment!! I finally got down to write it and I’m almost done.

*pats myself on the back*

But then there is this fucker in the back of my mind:

I’m pretty sure he whispered, “Don’t hurt me.” But I did anyway, so…

ANYWAY TODAY IT’S HUSBAND’S TURN

You’re welcome :)

[shiorimakibawrites]

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

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

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

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

Sharing An Umbrella

Walks were part of your routine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Just remembering how we met,” you said.

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

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

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

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

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

“It does?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’ll be grand,” you said.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Cheesy Hash (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

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

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

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

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 990

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Michael.”

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

“Mm, I get breakfast, too?”

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

“Ooh, scandalous, Mikey.“

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

“Surprise me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mm, so sexy.

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

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

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

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

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

“I like that idea.”

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

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

“And if I don’t?”

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

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really meant all weekend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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