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somethingblu3 · 8 months ago

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Velvet Green | Simon Walker

Read on Ao3 Here.

18+ minors dni.

Masterlist

Fandom: Hollyoaks.

Summary:

Moving back to Ireland after Lynsey's death, you bump into Walker, who loves messing with you even right in front of your older brother, Brendan..

TW: Voyeurism, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent , Incest, mention of religion.

Pairing: Simon Walker x Female Reader.

Word Count: 2,053 Words

"Come on, you can take it; I know you're no amateur", Walker smirks as he looks down at your lips, gagging around his cock.

It had been so long—almost a year since you last saw him—that your life had completely changed. You had to leave Hollyoaks if you wanted to survive; everyone seemed to end up dead there, and Lynsey was the last straw, so you packed up your backs and moved back to Ireland with your Sister Cheryl. For the most part, the move had gone smoothly until you bumped up to Walker in a bar. You had done a double take, not expecting to see him at all. At first, you thought you were dreaming or maybe spiked. Perhaps it was only until he grabbed you, pulling you into a firm kiss, that you realised he was real.

Walker shoves his hands onto your head, forcing you up and down on his cock. Part of you wants to slap the smirk off his face as he continues to thrust, increasing the tension with every pull of your hair. His cum dribbled down onto your chin as you pulled back with a 'pop' sound. He looked almost pleased as he wiped it away with his thumb from your chin. Forcing you up onto your knees, he then shoved you onto the bed. Stumbling back, you grabbed onto the headboard to brace yourself as Walker pulled down the rest of his jeans, exposing his dripping cock, still stained with your drool and saliva.

"God, how much I've missed this pussy”, Walker grins as he spreads you wide, already entering a finger inside you. Luckily, you are wet already, as always. Your underwear is practically drenched as he moves his fingers around it in your clit.

The moan you make is embarrassing, almost a whine. It had been so long since you had Walker inside you, even just a finger alone.

"You've been keeping yourself prepared for me, I bet? Like a good Catholic girl," He smirks.

At that comment, he now adds a second finger inside one that makes you shiver as he glides it up and down in your slick. You could come just like this, you think as you arch your back to give him access. As your hands grip the bed, they play with the light lavender fabric of your panties. You're determined to break them so you can at least feel the ghosting of his throbbing cock.

"Please…" You beg

You know he's not giving in yet.

"Come on, little one, I know you can take another. Don't you want to be good for Daddy?” He knows you've been waiting so long for this.

He grins, your eyes land on his tongue as Walker takes one finger out of your clit. How you long to have his mouth sucking against your pussy, but instead, he inspects his fingers dripping with your cum and shoves it into his mouth and swallows.

"Fucking gorgeous, you taste just as good as I remember," He praises

He seems to know what you want, you whine, your gaze never leaving him as he scoots to the bottom of the bed so his face is buried between your legs. And, of course, Walker doesn't give you what you want as he ignores the aching of your clenching walls instead of biting down hard on the inside of your thighs. You whine in frustration as you dig your hands into his hair, trying to inch him closer.

"Ah ah bad girls don't get rewards" He warns

He teases you even more, his tongue running up your leg even further until he stops at your toes and stops at your ankles, which makes your legs vibrate.

"I kept thinking about you when I was with her - My Wife" He grins.

A smirk grows across your face, and you can't help it. It feels almost powerful to know that while he was fucking his Wife, the Mother of his children, he was thinking of you the entire time. It definitely stroked your ego precisely what he wanted.

He still wears his ring in bed, but you don't mind its presence. It's a constant reminder that she's almost with the two of you in bed together. That thought turns you on even more, especially when it is drenched in your own cum, a little parting gift. You whimper as he digs another digit inside you, this time rougher than the first. Now you can feel the metal of his golden wedding band hitting against your clit, which creates an entirely new sensation adding even more pressure. Before you knew it, you were a quivering mess below him. Walker inched closer, pulling your legs apart with his cold hands.

"Don't hide from me, beautiful" He says as your legs shake.

Finally, he gives you what you want, even with the teasing.

He traced delicate patterns against your clit. You vibrated with each flick of his tongue as he moved faster and faster, like he was craving and dying to have you. Your eyes roll at the back of your head as he hits the spot. You get lost in your pleasure as his tongue rotates around your swollen bud, bringing you the ecstasy you've so badly craved.

"I think you've waited long enough," Walker growls as he presses his hands on the bed inches away from your head, lining his cock into your throbbing wet cunt.

It's easy for him to get his hands going straight to your waist, nails digging into your skin as he begins thrusting and pounding into you. You bounce against the bed, the headboard creaking, and you can feel the metal of the mattress below you jittering, making your heart thump as he quickened his pace. He's so deep inside you that you can feel Walker's cock in the pit of your stomach, and as you look down, you swear you can see it thrusting inside of you. Your whimper is embarrassing even so that Walker reaches his hand out and places it over your mouth.

"God, you're so fucking desperate and pathetic", He taunts, which only makes you cum more.

You wonder how long you can last, probably not long. You had missed Walker so much, but you knew this wouldn't be the last time you would succumb to him.

"Don't give in yet", Walker growls, his lips pressed against your neck. You see him eyeing your skin like he's desperate to leave a huge mark, a hickey so that everyone would see and so that Brendan would know that you were back with him again.

You sigh, but it comes out more like a moan as Walker arches his back into you, distracting you from your thoughts about your brother. He must have known as he pressed his mouth around your neck, biting down hard. It's painful, but you're used to his violent hickeys at this point.

The thrusting of his cock was more unbearable than his bite; it was like you were out of practice as your walls clenched around him.

"So tight" Walker panted as sweat trickled down his forehead, his panting increasing. You had always forgotten how intense his stamina was. He could go for hours and hours even.

He's about to warn you that he's going to cum, but something stops him. A knock.

"What the fuc-" He sneers

You bite his hand, and he lets go, yelping in pain.

"It's Brendan," you tell him urgently.

"Shit, shit," he pants as he tries to come down from his release without spilling all over the bed, but his cum leaks onto the velvet green bed sheets everywhere.

"Hide," you instruct him quickly as you pull down your clothes and conceal your hickey with your long hair.

"Where?" Walker questions.

You run out of options; his cock is leaking too much cum to hide under the bed or in the closet; instead, you decide to shove him under the covers. It's the best you can do for now as Brendan enters, completely oblivious.

"Hey, Sis," he greets.

You whimper, knowing that Walker is below you under the covers. He had complete power to control you like a marionette, to embarrass you and degrade yourself right in front of your older brother.

"What did you want to see me about?" you ask curiously. You could feel Walker's laughter muffled against your thigh. He was clearly taking advantage of this as his teeth grazed against your vibrating skin.

"What? Can I not see My Sister?" He complains.

You shake your head. "Of course not. It's just that… it's been a lot since Lynsey," you say. You don't know why those words came out of your mouth, but they were.

"I know…" He sighs.

And now you feel bad for bringing her up. Lynsey was like an Aunt or a Sister. You were all so close that you considered her family at this point. Now that she was gone, there was a huge gaping hole left that couldn't be replaced.

"How have you been doing? Since everything?" You ask Brendan, fearing Walker had been too quiet under the covers.

"I haven't been doing well…" He admits, "I've been drinking."

And it's at that moment that Walker decides to get up to mischief. He decides to circle his tongue around your wet, throbbing clit. The wetness seemed never-ending as he sucked and sucked against your skin, making you groan.

"Is everything okay?" Brendan asks.

You almost whimper out his name: Walker. With Brendan's eyes lingering on you, it took everything in your power to hold your tongue.

"I'm fine," You tell him, but Brendan doesn't seem to believe it.

"Really? I don't think you've been the same since she's…died. You've been acting differently; you've been studying so much you never come out of your room," he remarks.

You give him a shrug. "I don't know… I just want to do better and have another chance."

"At what?" He asks.

Just as you are about to tell him, Walker decides to continue playing his game. This time, he adds a finger, the one with his wedding ring. You feel an intense shock of cold against the sensitive spot of your skin. You can feel yourself turning red right in front of Brendan, who gives you a puzzled look in return as your breathing grows and hitches.

"I don't buy it," Brendan tells you plainly. "You're trying to use all that to cope, right? I guess I'm glad it's not drugs or… Walker."

You give him a frown, and at that, Walker picks up the pace as he pumps his finger. You brace yourself for an orgasm as your hand reaches for the nightstand beside your bed, clutching it while also aware of your brother's gaze.

"Darling, are you sure you're alright?" Brendan asks. He must know by now that something is going on.

"I'm fine," you stutter.

You can feel Walker groaning and chuckling against your skin as he bites down, clearly enjoying every second while Brendan is entirely oblivious, at least for the most part he is.

"If you need anything, I'm here," Brendan says as he removes your hand from the nightstand and holds it tightly before kissing your knuckles.

You nod as you squirm, but all you can focus on is the dampness spreading beneath you as Walker wriggles under the bed sheets, his tongue exploring every crevice of your clit. The sensation is almost overwhelming, heightened by Brendan's silent presence as he attempts to collect his thoughts.

You know Lynsey was always a soft spot for him, and Walker's boldness only adds to the tension. If Brendan knew that Walker was right under the covers at this very moment, he would be livid.

Still, deep down, you suspect he'd also find a strange satisfaction in it. With a sigh of relief, Brendan finally gets up and exits the room. You wait a while after he leaves before you dare to remove the covers, revealing Walker's messy and unkempt hair as he stares up at you with an irresistible grin.

“I hate you,” you mutter, rolling your eyes.

Walker licks your essence from his hand. “Are you sure about that?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Very,” you tell him firmly.

#simon walker #simon walker x reader #simon walker fanfiction #simon walker hollyoaks #hollyoaks #hollyoaks fanficton #holyoaks smut #simon walker smut #neil newbon #neil newbon x reader #neil newbon fanfiction #neil newbon smut #simon walker x female reader #walker

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bitchesmoonwalkin · 2 months ago

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this is part two of a shadow over lirim: the first day

warnings: implied future non-con - otherwise we're all good for now

read:

“-hear me? Are you okay?”

Finn woke up with a pounding headache, the events of the last few hours rushing through his head, and someone shaking his shoulder, trying to get him up.

With a groan, he pushed himself upright, sitting against the headboard of the largest and most comfortable bed he had ever been in. Across from him, another human boy, seemingly about his age, sat back on his heels from where he had been leaning over Finn.

They stared at each other for a solid ten seconds before the other boy broke the silence.

“Are you okay? I mean, besides the whole, you know, kidnapped by Alphas thing we’ve both got going on.”

Finn sighed, leaning his head against the wall and closing his eyes against his headache “Yeah, I’m alright. Fucking cloroformed me or some shit, though. I’m Finn, by the way.” No response. Finn cracked open an eye. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?”

The boy bit his lip, considering his answer. He was pretty; clearly shorter than Finn and with a slight build and fluffy, curly brown hair and doe-like eyes. Had they met under normal circumstances Finn would probably have hit on him by this point in the conversation.

“I’m Alfie, I’ve only been awake maybe ten minutes? Twenty? Already tried the door, though. Locked. And yeah, I’m fine, all things considered. We can’t have been taken more than a few hours ago; I’m wearing the same clothes and I’m not thirsty yet, or anything.”

Silence fell, more comfortable this time, before Finn spoke some minutes later.

“How’d he get you?”

“He came to my house. Hurt my family. I don’t-whoever took us isn’t afraid of the law.”

And, well. Shit. Finn wasn’t sure how long they sat there after that - minutes? hours? - both boys trying not to think about the uncertain future ahead of them, before footsteps sounded from outside the door.

The two of them scrambled off the bed, Finn bracing himself against the wall behind him while Alfie held his ground not two steps in front of him.

The door unlocked, swung open. The boys froze as a Beta walked in, palms up in a placating gesture.

“Easy, kids. I’m not going to hurt you. I don’t have much time, your Alphas wanted to be the first people you saw when you woke up and if they find out I was here we’re all fucked. I’m Brín, I’m only 27 so Eric took me by accident a few months ago thinking I was an omega; I’ve worked for them ever since. I’ll help you both however I can, okay? They’re so high up in Alpha society that they have to follow tradition and won’t bond you until the end of the first week - if you don’t get out before then, you’ll have to try and head for Ireland or Spain since they’ll still let bonded omegas cross the boarder without their Alpha.”

“Bonded?” Alfie’s voice was incredulous.

“They’ll-like a vampire, essentially. They bite you and from then on you’re considered their legal property until you turn 25, at which point you’re considered an equal-status Alpha instead of a beta.”

“So the way they grow their population…it’s like vampires? We won’t be like, experimented on or anything?”

Brín hesitated slightly, and Finn felt like the ground fell out from beneath him. “Nothing like that, but…Eric and Darius aren’t exactly model citizens and it’s not exactly uncommon for omegas to be…used…by their Alpha. I’m sorry, boys, I really am.”

The door shut behind Brín with a horrible sense of finality and Finn fell to his knees and screamed, both hands over his mouth to muffle the sound as best he could. Bile rose up the back of his throat. He couldn’t get Brín’s voice out of his head, the word echoing over and over.

Used.

Alfie was sat with his knees to his chest, back against the side of the bed. “Finn?” Alfie’s voice was small. “I don’t know what to do,” he admitted.

And for once, Finn didn’t either.

#whump #whump scenario #cada creates

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the-hinky-panda · 1 year ago

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Show me all your tatt's, not just the ones that's on your hands

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

Part V

Chibs finally has you in his bed, wrapped in his sheets and nothing else. Smoke from the firepit still clings to your hair, adding to your perfume of eucalyptus and jasmine. Earthy, clean, and feminine. He buries his face in the curve of your neck because he wants to drown in that scent. Your skin is soft but in the dim lighting of the antique bedside lamp, his fingers encounter more raised scars than he anticipated. But gathering those stories will wait until morning.

He can tell you’re used to quick fucks, just scratching an itch and moving on. Your hands are busy, in constant motion: raking through his hair, pressing into the sinews of his back, sliding over the curve of his ass. You’re quick, efficient, working towards the completion of a task. When you reach for his cock is when he grabs your ever busy hands, holding your wrists together in one of his own hands and pinning them above your head.

“Slow, lass. We have all night.” He presses open mouth kisses along the line of your jaw. “And I intend to enjoy every minute.”

You give him a pout but your eyes have nothing but heat in them. “You better not be taking things slow because of what I told you earlier.”

His free hand finds your breast, his thumb flicking your nipple, your back arching underneath him. “Gentle and slow are two different things, luv.”

Your mouth twists into a crooked grin before your legs wrap around his hips. He can feel the strength in them, especially when you squeeze your thighs around his, nudging the tip of his cock against your core.

“Fucking hell, woman!”

You wink up at him. “Years of riding horses, luv.”

Well, if that’s the way you want this to go, who is he to deny you that? He can go slow the second round, after he wears you out a little bit. He’ll give up some ground there. He allows you to move him into position, notched against your entrance. You bite your lip and raise an eyebrow when he rolls his hips forward, sliding partially into you.

“Looks like I win this time.”

He huffs a laugh. “Don’t get used to it.”

He releases your hands and they immediately pull his face down to yours. You kiss him slowly, languidly, and he slides into you completely. It’s obvious you’ve headed his request to slow down; you’ve conceded some ground as well. Your legs remain wrapped around his hips, your hands gripping his shoulders so you have leverage to follow his pace. It’s a fucking spiritual encounter, your movements completely in sync with his, and it feels fucking amazing. He wants to slow it down even more, savor the feelings of your skin against his, your wet heat gripping his cock perfectly.

But then your breath catches, your head tips back and back arches and he knows the end is coming. The headboard bangs against the wall as he chases his completion, spilling himself inside of you at the same time your shake underneath him with your release. He drops his forehead to your shoulder, pressing slopping kisses against your now salty, smokey skin. It takes a moment for him to realize the person on the other side of the wall is banging back with an irritated “Knock it off and go to sleep!” Both of you glare at the offending wall and shout “Fuck off” before dissolving into a fit laughter.

He rolls onto his back, still chuckling, pulling you against him. You curl comfortably against his side, your head resting on his chest and a leg wrapped around his. He realizes this is the lightest he’s felt in months. The weight of grief with the recent losses, the stress of running the club, it’s suffocating. Being in Ireland drudges up an endless amount of memories and failures as well. All of it heavy, weighted chains pulling him down. Even his most recent failure with Althea, sex was something about proving something, his feelings for her, the shaky trust that would never be good enough for her. He had tried, he honest to God had tried to make it work with her.

He’s tired of failing with relationships.

But now, he feels like he’s able to take in a full breath of air now. With you, there’s no proving anything. There’s no competition or pushing each other until the other snaps. You fell into bed because you liked each other, respected each other. You didn’t second guess his every move and he didn’t worry about what you wanted from him. It was simple, direct, and hands down one of the best sexual encounters he’s had.

He very well could fall in love with you.

“You okay?”

He can hear the doubt in your voice, the caution in your touch as you trace the edges of the tattoo on his chest. “Fuckin’ stellar luv.”

You laugh quietly. “I have that effect on men. And a couple women.”

“Oh, I wanna hear that story.”

You kiss him briefly, sweetly, before sliding out from under the blankets. You reach down and start gathering up your clothes and he realizes that you’re getting ready to go back to your room. He reaches out, slides a hand over your back, along the curve of your waist, and rests it on the top of your hand.

“Stay.”

You turn and look at him over your shoulder, hair mussed and skin glowing warm in the soft lamplight. You’re a vision and he could stare at you for the rest of the night if you’d let him. He really hopes you’ll let him. A soft smile tugs at your lips, all sarcasm and biting wit gone from it. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lift your hand up and brush your lips over his knuckles. “Okay. Let me get cleaned up and I’ll be back.”

He watches you cross the room, not a scrap of clothing on your body and zero shame in that state. He has questions about the scars he came across on your shoulder and stomach. You have tattoos that he hadn’t seen before: a horseshoe with sunflowers around it and an abstract horse made of curling lines on your shoulder blade. Both have initials and dates hidden in the artwork. He wants to know the stories behind those too. You step out of the bathroom and return to the bed, returning to his side. You lay your head on the pillow, facing him, your thumb running along his cheekbone, that soft smile returning to your lips before your eyes close.

Who is he kidding? He’s already fallen in love with you.

#chibs x you #chibs x reader #chibs telford x you #chibs telford x reader #chibs telford fic #chibs sons of anarchy #chibs telford #chibs imagine

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thefrontofmymind · 2 years ago

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hiii i love your instagram prompts! idk if you take requests but i'd love if you made one where y/n is the lead singer of a band opening for the 1975 on tour :)

supporting artist!reader x matty healy instagram blurb

(FC: Pomme)

a/n: hey so i had a not-so big brained moment and forgot this request asked for a lead singer of a band but i hope it's still okay. requests are open and any feedback is greatly appreciated. kisses!! xxx

nmemagazine Who is yn? This up-and-comer has made quite a splash in the past year and it seems only up from here! Between securing a supporting spot on The 1975’s ‘At Their Very Best’ Tour, just about to embark on their UK & Ireland leg, as well as a heavily anticipated debut album just months away, we’re sure you’ll want to keep an eye on her! More info at the link in our bio!

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ynfan1 so proud of her!!!!

1975fan1 she seems so cool! so excited for tour!!

ynfan2 gahh!!! i remember when she would play venues for like 100 people and now she’s touring with the 1975!!!

yninstagram alexa, play she’s leaving home by the beatles (sidenote: couldn’t be more excited for the next month or so <;3)

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ynfriend don’t be too long!!

>yninstagram you know i couldn’t go without you!!!

ynfan1 SO EXCITED TO SEE YOU IN EXETER!!!!!

ynfan2 so prettyyyyy

ynfan3 mother is mothering so hard rn

pollymoney buzzing for you to join us xxx

>yninstagram me too ! x

yninstagram Brighton, you were beautiful, I just wish I didn’t rip my favourite pair of pants minutes before I had to go on stage. Xxx

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ynfan1 I was there!!! You did amazing!!!

>yninstagram thank you dear xxx

1975fan1 i’d never heard of her before last night’s show but i was impressed! you got a new number 1 fan!

ynfan2 can’t wait to see you!!!

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yninstagram via stories:

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ynupdates yn performing in Exeter! tonight she made a speech at the end of her set to introduce The 1975: “I want to thank you for listening and letting me perform here tonight, but I know you’re all not here for me. So I’d like to introduce the one, the only–my bosses–The 1975!”

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ynfan1 she was so good!!!

ynfan2 she’s so sweet!! My new fav artist!!

1975updates “Did you see yn before? She’s pretty cool–very talented…She’s also pretty hot which is great on tour…She knows this I told her.” -Matty tonight about yn, the supporting artist on their UK tour.

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1975fan1 ah matty healy, trying to get cancelled since 1989

1975fan2 ok but likeeee why could i see them together???

>ynfan1 no bc ur so right

1975fan3 ok matty’s got a new girl time to lay down in a busy intersection

ynupdates yn went live on instagram this morning!! she was hanging out with Polly from The 1975’s band!

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yn1975fan1 ok but yn and polly as besties,,,,,a dream come true

>yn1975fan2 ikr they’re so cute!!!

yn1975fan3 the way yn knows all the words to the sound and sung it flawlessly on the live…iconic behaviour

ynfan1 did anyone see when yn was asked if she heard what Matty said on stage and she was like ‘of course! he tells me like every day’ i ship them so hard!!

>ynfan2 literally!!! And she got all smiley and giggly after too!!

yninstagram tfw u hit ur face on the headboard see u tn o2 xxx

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pollymoney you scare me babes

>yninstagram dw abt it babes

ynfan1 omg are you okay????

>yninstagram yeah honey just a minor nosebleed xxx

ynfan2 how did you hit your face on the headboard??

>yninstagram got a lil too crazy ig 🤪

trumanblack nice ;)

>1975fan1 mATTY SKJHGSDKUYDOS

ynupdates yn tonight in London!!

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ynfan1 she seemed so happy tonight!!

>ynfan2 ikr!! She was so smiley for the whole set!!!

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trumanblack via stories:

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1975updates tonight in Glasgow, yn joined the band on stage to sing Jesus Christ 2005 God Bless America!! It’s the first time since the song was released that it has been performed live!

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yn1975fan1 did yall see how cute yn and matty were????

>yn1975fan2 when they hugged at the end of the song and he kissed her head?? I DIED

1975fan1 just about sobbed when they sang this

yn1975fan3 ok but between how cute yn and matty were on stage and their ig posts on tour does anyone get the vibeeee

>ynfan1 i ship them so hard

yninstagram mon bonheur xxx

TAGGED: trumanblack

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trumanblack xxx

yn1975fan1 sHUTUP I CANT BREATHEEEEE

yn1975fan2 OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG SO CUTE!!!!!!!!!!!

1975fan1 welp,,,time to jump in front of a bus

yn1975fan3 idk who I’m more jealous of

yn1975fan4 my PARENTS <;33

#matty healy x reader #matty healy imagine #matty healy blurb #matty healy request

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allthishumanityforfree · 7 months ago

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I am dumn anon (if you remember, i asked you about headboard & being a top).

From your post & ask, i confuse about your view on andrew+paul's relationship.

You believe that andrew+paul are in committed romantic relationship right? Or they have special bond, love eachnother, always support each other, just beautiful friendship?

Thank you for your patience 💗

Nothing dumb about those asks; not everyone has to hear the feral, sex-starved thoughts of gay men like I do and speak that language.

We don't know their relationship, we likely never will, maybe they don't know. I entirely believe Paul and Andrew have something special going on. They are each other's people and entirely love each other. They have said as much. I personally find it strange to declare your love to a friend that much but I am a cold, little human with attachment issues.

Do I personally think they have explored each other's bodies? Yes, I do. Would I be surprised if they still were? No. I also can see Paul is head over heels with Andrew and thinks he's the best thing that ever happened to Ireland and acting in general.

I can't say if they are in a committed boyfriend's situation. I do know Paul has been posting soppy-ass songs on Instagram, and Andrew giggled about waking up in love in the BuzzFeed video. Whether it's with each other, who the fuck knows. The world is usually too cruel to let these things happen. I am rooting for them.

Their selfie is also far too soft for me not to believe something is there. I hate looking at it, it's too personal and soft to be in public. Andrew is such a private human, and I suspect Paul will be more private post-Phoebe, so I don't think we will really know.

Paul hugging other people, and Andrew being out with other people doesn't mean they aren't together. They will continue to exist without each other and be seen with other queer people. I love how Paul has surrounded himself with older gay people, though.

#asks #I sadly am aware two people in romantic love with each other doesn't always mean they are in a relationship #this is too long but i have a lot of weird anons today

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farfromstrange · 1 year ago

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Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 3: I'll Show You Every Version Of Myself Tonight

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

Summary: Michael recalls what happened during the day, and he tells you the truth (kind of).

Warnings: Angst, mention of death, non-sexual intimacy, Michael just hates himself, description of a seizure, slight hint at a panic attack (?), Everyone telling Mikey what to do (and they're being assholes about it)

Word Count: 7.7k

A/n: As promised, this is the day from Michael's POV, and explaining why he was so desperate that night (and wanted to get away for a few days). I struggled a lot with so many characters and writing their accents, so I apologize for any mistakes! Also, we have some plot in here and some of the other Kinsella family members, but nothing too major. Also, I do not accept any Birdy slander!

His hand strokes leisurely over your bare thigh. You’re lying with your head toward the headboard while he’s lying the other way around; He’s propped himself up on a pillow at your feet and draws absentminded shapes on your skin.

Silence has settled over you. Your eyes are closed, your breathing steady, but you’re not asleep. He can tell by how you react to his touch.

Your skin feels like silk under his fingers. You offer a little bit of calm, the end he had been begging for after this awful day, and being with you now, still close but not holding each other, he revels in the intimacy of it all. You share time without talking, and maybe that’s a bad idea with how many secrets are between you, but that is not what bothers him.

“What are you thinking about?” your gentle whisper breaks through the silence, but it doesn’t burst the bubble you have formed around yourselves.

Michael sits up, He’s wearing boxers and nothing else, and the closer he gets, the more the temptation rises to run your hand through his hair – all of his hair. You reach out to touch his torso. His chest hair feels soft under your fingers.

He sighs wearily. One of his arms hooks around your bent knee and he places his head upon it. You look at him from your comfortable place on the pillows. There is something about your eyes that puts him into a state of awe. Your hand is still stroking his chest, but it’s not sexual, it’s caring, it’s a silent testament.

“Today was…” he’s not sure how to describe it. Every single one of his days feels weird somehow.

You pulled him somewhat back into the present, but deep inside, he still lives in the past. In his mind, he finds himself back in prison sometimes, and that’s terrifying. He has adapted behaviorisms that he would have never thought possible like keeping the untouched food out instead of throwing it away, not shaving, only showering at certain times and most of all, he still struggles to sleep in a bed. He tried. After meeting you, it became easier, but he feels himself slipping back into the same patterns from before.

“What?” you ask.

He shrugs.

“Talk to me, please.”

With you, nothing can hurt him, he thinks.

“I went to see Anna this mornin’,” Michael says, and if you hadn’t focused on him, you wouldn’t have been able to hear his voice. That’s how quietly he admits it to you.

You frown. He can tell the thoughts are connecting in your mind.

You know a little about family law in the UK, but you have never thought about what it would look like in Ireland.

You know from experience that if you’re single, unemployed, fresh out of university, and merely twenty-one years old, a court probably won’t grant you custody of a one-year-old. Even if you’re related. Even if you tell the court that the biological parents – or one of them, at least, even though ignoring abuse can also be counted as such – are abusive and controlling toward their other children. Without proof, they won’t believe you, and if they don’t believe you, you won’t get custody.

And if you were in prison for eight years after being convicted for the wrongful death of your own wife… well, chances are that getting custody or even visitation rights as the biological parent is going to be a hard task unless the child isn’t safe where it is now – but Anna is safe, from what you heard from Michael. And the court isn’t sure if he bettered himself enough to be a father to her. After all, he connects to very serious trauma that a child her age shouldn’t even have to carry, and even though the courts are sometimes unjust when it comes to custody battles, they are very vigilant in this case.

You get it, but you also see a side of Michael the authorities don’t seem to get. He’s a good man. He deserves the chance to at least reconnect with his little girl after being deprived of her for so long.

You know how much it hurts not being close to someone you love, although in your case, it was your own choice to leave. Still, the pain is grand and anyone who has to carry it might tend to make stupid decisions along the way. Like seeing the very same daughter he is not supposed to even be near.

“Are you allowed to?” you ask because maybe he is and you read it all wrong.

But then he shakes his head and he says, “No.”

“Michael!”

“I’m sorry, I just can’t– I needed t’see her. I didn’t talk ta her, I just sat there t’see if she’s okay. I had ta–“ he breaks off. “I do it to convince myself she’s real and that‘m not dreamin’. I just want her back. Is that so wrong?”

“It’s not wrong, but you could risk everything just by watching her from a distance. If someone finds out–“

Your eyes soften amid the initial frustration when he moves his head to press his forehead against your knee. You can no longer see his eyes, but the tears pearling off of your skin tell you he’s crying.

You touch his head. “Michael, darling,” you say, “please, talk to me so I can understand.”

He sniffles. Slowly, he lifts his head and crawls over to you. He reminds you of a cat like this. His head finds support on your chest as he curls into a ball, and you wrap your arms around him.

“It’s okay…” You run your hand through his hair. “I’ve got you.”

It surprises him how comfortable he is in being vulnerable around you. You unveiled his guarded heart and started slowly breaking down his defenses. He let you in enough for you to see parts of him he had long kept hidden, and you are on your best way to pull it all out of him.

He shudders under your gentle touch. You are so soft. Not just your skin; your touch and your soul are soft. You cradle him like he is everything to you, but he can’t believe that he would be or should be everything to you. He’s not deserving. He tried today but failed again.

The foundation that kept his face stern before and added a supposed strength to his demeanor burns under your touch, and soon he is standing in the ashes of pretense and he feels it all.

He denied himself to feel the pain all day and now you’re here and you are so fucking soft– He starts sobbing into your chest, allowing him to fall further and further and further without a ground to land on. But there you are, catching him as often, and you don’t let go until you’re sure he’s safe.

Your arms have become his forever sanctuary. Feeling comfortable with you has been a hard task from the start and he still struggles, but he can’t help but let himself go in your embrace. You know exactly what he needs. You know who he is and you still stick around, and you know what he needs. It’s not just sex, it’s comfort, something he tried to hide by taking you against the wall, and it was good and he needed it, but he needs this so much more.

And he realizes that he needs to talk to you, too. He can’t just rely on you to touch and comfort him, something he has been lacking for eight years and perhaps even sometime before that while he was burning his life to the ground with a bad decision after bad decision and lost what was dear to him – he has to talk to you to earn that comfort because if he doesn’t, it feels like he’s using you and he once again starts hating all aspects of himself with a passion unmatched.

You’re doing this because you feel like you have to, he figures; because he’s broken and he looks like it most of the time, and you like to fix when something is broken to earn yourself a little love back, but you deserve more than you think you do and he doesn’t want you to please him just for the sake of pleasing him. He wants you to feel comfortable around him, too, and he wants to give back what you are giving him, and not just through countless orgasms. You’re worth more than that.

He contemplates, then makes a decision that is hard to swallow, but you deserve it. And so he tells you exactly what happened.

— Earlier that day —

Hearing the lack of trust in your voice when he admitted that he didn’t want to go home moved something in him. Of course, you’ve only just started to get to know each other, but there was something else in your voice that made his heart sink.

Darkness attracts light. The sun gives way to the moon at night, but the sun always finds a way to shine the brightest. Too much darkness can kill the light, and without light, darkness would take over and then there would be no happiness.

You’re kind, you put love into every little thing you do and you care about people. That’s the kind of person that people who are much darker than you feel like they can use, and knowing you, you probably let them. But even you reach your limits.

He could see in your eyes though that you meant it when you said you would help him get a proper job and fight for Anna, and considering you barely know him, that’s a big display of trust – you trust in his ability to be better, at least, and that is something he holds very dear to his damaged heart.

It’s been a while since someone was so endlessly willing to forgive him and to actually put in the effort to try and be with him; he knows how exhausting it can be, that sometimes being with him can become draining, and that it runs the people around him dry. At least it used to be this way. He hurt you, but you seem to have faith in him. You believe in him, you don’t think he will run you dry and you’re not exhausted. You may be a little weary, but he would never blame you for that. Even more now, Michael wants to stay true to his promise.

He feels alive with you. Safe. Loved. Cared for. And whenever he is close to you, he feels the desperate need to protect you, not just from him and this stupid life he has been born into but from any other possibility of harm that might come your way. He wants to make sure you’re okay, and that you have someone you can rely on, too. But there is something you’re hiding, he could tell. He’s not an idiot, he can tell when someone isn’t being entirely open with him, it comes with the Kinsella name; he has to know people, be able to read them, and judge quickly but with precision.

He tried not to let the nagging feeling of you hiding something more serious from him get to him because it is your life and he still feels like he needs to prove himself to you more than anything, though the inkling he has won’t leave him.

The way you froze when he finished the sentence for you, “We haven’t reached tha’ level of trust yet?” This small moment of hesitation told him that there must be more to it. But he can’t think about that, not now.

Anna is wearing her usual school uniform as she strolls past the restaurant with two of her friends. He suspects they are her friends because she’s laughing. A sad smile finds its way to his lips. She looks happy.

He remembers the day she was born. Every parent is somewhat afraid to screw up, especially with their first child. Some are more nervous, others less. Michael was the kind of first-time Dad that found himself thinking too much about what could happen. He was scared of not being enough, of subjecting his daughter to the dangers of his family, and he questioned if he even had what it takes to be a good father. He read books, asked Jimmy and Amanda, and he annoyed Birdy almost every day until the day Anna was born.

He remembers repeating one sentence in his head, “I can’t do this.”

But then he heard her first cry, and it took him only a second to realize that he was a Dad now. He remembers the moment he first saw her face, and he forgot everything around him.

The most pivotal moment was though when he got to hold her in his arms for the first time, so small and fragile, she fit snugly into the crook of his arm. Was he afraid of breaking her? Yes. More than anything. But all she had to do was open her eyes and look at him, and his previous fear of ‘I can’t do this’ evaporated. Left behind was only endless love and a sense of needing to protect the new life in his arms. He swore he would do anything to assure she would have a good life, no matter what.

And then, almost as if the first-time-parent jitters were an omen, he failed. He failed to be a husband and a father. Jimmy has always managed to coordinate his children, his wife, and the Kinsella life just perfectly, and Michael believed he could do it just like him, just like his brother – but he failed. He always wanted to be just like his brother.

At first, things went great and he gave everything he had to give, but then real life settled in, and he fucked up all the good things in his life. He fucked up his marriage and he fucked up as the Dad he promised his daughter he would be. In the end, he lost both of them. He lost Allison permanently because he was too caught up with himself and his family, and he lost his daughter, too, because he just wouldn’t listen to his gut, and his fuck-ups turned into a complex construction of dominos that were set out to tear his life and his soul lower than the ground.

If he could turn back time, he would. But he can’t. He can only try to turn what little of the steering wheel he has left around to get back what he has left of what he lost, and that is Anna. His love for her has not changed since the first day he held her in his arms, only his attitude toward himself and his life changed, and he feels even more miserable now than he ever did before.

Before he can register it, Anna has disappeared behind the trees. Once again, she didn’t see him. Part of him hopes that one day, if he keeps this going, she will catch sight of him and that maybe she will be happy to see him – does she even know what he looks like? Does she remember? Does she remember the times he told her he loved her?

He’s not sure how a child’s brain works, or what the trauma did to her, but he would like to know. He would love to understand what makes his little girl tick, even though she is less of a little girl now and starting to grow into a young woman. He missed so much, and that makes him so fucking angry.

He missed her, but he’s not sure if she missed him. Allison’s mother has never been a fan of him, but after she found out he was responsible for her daughter’s death, her dislike turned into pure hatred. She would have killed him if she had gotten the chance, he’s sure, and she would if she ever saw him again, he is even more sure of that. But he wouldn’t blame her; he deserves it.

All of this pain, he deserves it. He convinced himself a long time ago that he is suffering for a reason, and that led to a strict belief that every bad thing coming his way will be because pain is the only thing he deserves, and happiness was not made for a man like him.

Michael empties his double espresso that tastes cheaper than the brew you can get at a grocery store. You make much better coffee, even if it's just a boring double espresso.

But you are a good thing, and good things wither in his presence. He tries to shut the voices out, but after seeing Anna pass by happier than he has ever seen her before, they just grow louder.

He makes his way to Amanda and Jimmy’s house then. His hands are buried in the pockets of his jacket that still smells like you the day he lent it to you. His brown eyes are sunken as he crosses the corner to the street his family lives on – most of them, anyway.

He rings the doorbell and the gate opens to let him in. When he steps toward the front door, Jamie greets him.

“Hey,” Michael smiles softly.

“Hey,” Jamie acknowledges him. “Mam’s in the kitchen, Da’s downstairs with Eric, Uncle Frank an’ Birdy.”

The boy doesn’t even question his appearance, so he probably doesn’t know about the fight that drove Michael and Jimmy apart only a few days ago, and neither does he seem to know about the call he made to Amanda before deciding to drive his life against the wall – if it weren’t for your desperate need to fix people, he would still be stuck there.

He nods. “Thanks, Jamie.”

It is weird to see him so grown up after all these years. He’s almost his height now. The feeling of looking at Amanda or Jamie or the life his brother has built for himself is something he can’t describe, but it runs deep and it finds its way into his bloodstream to poison him. It makes his limbs heavy with the weight of lies and the unknown on his shoulders, and his heart turns into the cloudy Dublin sky.

Michael steps inside.

“Which one are ya here to see?” Jamie asks.

“Your Dad,” he says.

“Okay, cool.” He leaves just like that, with no questions, not even a glimpse of suspicion.

Ignoring Amanda in the kitchen, he makes his way through the house and into the basement. The stairs creak slightly under his weight. The closer he gets, the more can he make out Frank’s voice. The wood of a cue stick hitting the object balls on the pool table fills his ears. Some of them seem to fall into the pockets, and he hears Jimmy clap proudly to himself. Frank’s tone of voice is concerned though, and Michael stops to listen.

He’s come at just the right time because the next thing he hears is his name. “And what about Michael?” Frank asks.

The sound of one of the balls flying off the table echoes through the room. Jimmy sets his stick down and sighs. “What about him?” he retorts.

“I’m askin’ you.”

“I’m not the boss of him, he made tha’ very clear.”

Their argument wasn’t even about that. Whatever Jimmy had been on that day, he chose his words to hurt him. Talking about Allison and Anna the way he did, and then talking about you as if there would be no good in being together with you cut Michael deeper than he showed at that moment, and he almost lost you because of that. Maybe he didn’t mean it, but he deserved that broken nose nonetheless.

“Jimmy.”

“Wha’?”

“Whatever fight ya two had–” Frank begins.

“It doesn’t matter,” Jimmy cuts him off. “I haven’t heard from Mikey in days. I dunno where he is. He’s not answerin’ my calls either.”

It’s Birdy’s voice next that tries to diffuse the obvious tension. “Maybe he just needed t’get away,” she says. “Away from all this, I mean. He just got out of prison. Cut the poor boy some slack.”

From the start, Birdy has always been the woman with maternal instincts, and Michael often found comfort in her kindness. She took care of him with a love he lacked during his childhood, and when he got out, she made sure the house didn’t look like an empty, haunted space anymore but that he could actually live in it again. She cares, and it shows in the way she speaks about him. He’s grateful, but he knows it won’t warm Frank’s heart the same way. He doubts the man is possible of positive emotions; he’s always been a rock, and he doesn’t care. Even the topic of family is just a job for him.

As expected, Birdy gets ignored.

“Is he still workin’ fer Amanda,” Frank asks, “washin’ cars like I told her?”

“He was,” says Jimmy. “Until a few days ago, he took it very seriously. And then he left.”

“Good. Maybe he’s finally thinkin’ ‘bout what’s best for him, and that’s not washin’ cars. He belongs here, with us.”

Michael can only imagine Birdy’s disapproving glance. “He wants to get Anna back,” she argues.

“He can do tha’ while he’s workin’ with Jimmy.”

“No, he can’t.”

“Birdy’s right,” Jimmy says. “Amanda tried tellin’ him she’d put him on the books but he didn’t have ta work, but he wants to. He’s takin’ this very seriously and I can’t say I blame him.”

“This is bullshit!” Frank stops to take a sip from his beer. “Ya’ve grown soft. Let’s jus’ hope Michael will come to his senses. We have bigger fish ta fry.”

He hears Jimmy scoff. “Wha’, like Eamon?” he asks.

“No, Birdy’s new washing machine–”

By now, her eyes must be bulging out of her head with how hard she’s glaring.

“Of fuckin’ course, I mean Eamon!” The glass of Frank’s beer bottle hits the counter of the small bar before he says, “And fuckin’ Moor, that bastard.”

“We’ve had this conversation before, right after Michael got out, remember?”

“We all remember tha’,” Birdy cuts in. “And I was seemingly the only one who cared enough about his well-being to check on him.”

“Yeah, Birdy, we know yer a saint,” Jimmy sounds almost bitter.

“Don’t get smart on me now, Jimmy,” she says. “He’s your brother.”

“I know.”

“Eamon,” Frank says, acting as if the topics of conversation aren’t all over the place, “has us by the balls. We have ta do somethin’. Remember that dealer down on Parnell Street, hm?”

Silence follows.

“Yeah,” he says, “he’s dead. He got shot this mornin’ around eight. While he was buying a fuckin’ drink at the gas station.”

Parnell Street. Michael knows a lot of streets by heart, that comes with the territory, but that name strikes a chord. The gas station on Parnell Street is about a fifteen-minute walk from Merrion. He knew before that Frank has people there, but Merrion isn’t just a street anymore.

House number 13, that’s where you live. You drove past it before you parked a good length away from the café and he walked you there. That was at seven-thirty.

He connects the dots and the second he does, his heart stops.

Are you in danger?

Michael is convinced now more than ever that he needs to get out. He can’t protect you if he does the very same thing that he is trying to protect you from. He needs that job and he needs to try to distance himself. What if you get caught in the crossfire? Or Anna? He can’t relive the same hell again. It’s bad enough he dreams of that cruel night eight years ago every time he closes his eyes; he doesn’t need to add you to that list, too. He can’t bear to lose one more person he loves.

“What do ya want me to do?” Jimmy asks, exasperated. “Want me t’start a seance and bring him back?”

“I need Michael,” Frank states. “We need manpower. He’s good at what he does. Not only does he throw a mean punch but he actually takes this shit serious when he needs ta. And he’s a damn good shot. He needs t’come back, otherwise–”

“Dead meat?” Birdy finishes.

“Yeah, dead fuckin’ meat.”

He steps out behind the shelf that has kept him hidden from their prying eyes. He doesn’t let him finish his sentence.

Birdy is the first to catch a glimpse of him, her grim expression lighting up almost instantly. “Michael,” she says softly.

He nods curtly, trying to smile, but he fails miserably.

All eyes are on him now. He feels like an animal in the zoo, judged for existing, judged for being himself, and the only person excited by his sight is Birdy. She’s the one visitor at the zoo that seemingly enjoys every caged animal she sees. The sight of Michael’s dark features is not pretty, he knows that, but the looks he receives leave a bitter taste in his mouth. They pity him. He hates that just as much as silent judgment.

“Hey,” he says.

“How have ya been, pet?” Birdy asks. “Or more like where? We were worried ‘bout ya.”

She steps up to him and cradles his face. She traces the butterfly bandage on his forehead, chuckling a little, then moving on to the cut on his nose. She clicks her tongue. “How’s the other guy?”

It’s meant as a joke, but Michael takes it seriously. He looks at Jimmy, then back at her. “I’m grand,” he says. “And the other one’s good, too. ‘t was just a brawl.”

“Hm,” she disagrees, but she leaves it at a gentle hum.

Frank’s smile is fake when he looks at him. “We were just talkin’ about you,” he says.

He wants to tell him he heard, but he keeps his mouth shut. If he pretends he isn’t angry, maybe he can get out of this without any trouble.

“Oh, yeah?” Michael asks.

“Yeah. How’s the job?”

“Grand.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” You asshole, he thinks.

“You enjoy washin’ cars?” Frank is really pushing it this time.

He feels so small under everyone’s eyes. Jimmy looks almost regretful and Eric is someplace else, his eyes focused on the snakes in the terrarium, but everyone else makes him feel so damn small. He feels his shoulder slouch, but then he thinks about Merrion Street, Parnell, the gas station, and then you.

You.

Anna.

Himself.

“It’s not bad,” Michael lies, “but I’ve decided t’work someplace else.”

Everyone looks shocked now, even though Birdy’s eyes scream more surprise than the sense of betrayal he sees in Frank’s eyes, and even Jimmy looks like he didn’t see this coming. Considering Michael was once willing to do everything they told him to, he doesn’t blame them. It’s a big chance for all of them, but especially for him.

Change is good, change is what he needs. He turns it into a mantra or else he won’t believe it, cave, and then return to the same man he was before. The thoughts of, “They’re your family. Would it really be that bad?”

But you would never approve. Or would you?

No, he can’t think like that. He wants to be just Michael for a while if not forever.

“I came to tell ya that. I quit,” he repeats. “The job with Amanda, I mean. I quit that.”

“Come again?” Frank asks.

“Yeah.”

Jimmy curses under his breath, “The hell, Michael?!”

Michael caught them off guard. Good. The almost defeated expression Frank carries along with his anger and exasperation almost makes him gloat. Maybe he is already gloating a little inside because he found something more important than blood, in more ways than one, and he is fighting for it now.

He hasn’t fought for something in so long.

“Where?” Jimmy collects himself first. “Where are ya gonna work?” he asks.

“I’ve got somethin’,” says Michael, “that’s all ya need to know. That’s why I came here. I didn’t want t’ leave ya in the dark.”

“You came here to tell us ya quit the job with Amanda?”

“Yeah.”

“Pet,” Birdy prompts.

Michael shakes his head. “I need to get Anna back. For tha’, I need a more stable job. Appease the courts an’ all that. I can’t let anything, not even the smallest mishap get in the way of that. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”

Would you be proud of him if you heard him stand his ground? He likes to think you would be. It makes the heavy heart he gets from the look on his brother’s face a little easier to just accept. He needs to burn bridges, not appease others. And this is one of the bridges that need to be incinerated.

“Are you sure about this?” Birdy asks.

“Yeah, I am,” he says.

“Fuck,” Frank curses to himself. “Can we talk about this, Michael? Just for a minute?” It sounds like a question but it’s actually a perfectly concealed demand.

Michael sees through his charade. He shakes his head again. “I made my decision, Frank.”

“When we put ya to washin’ cars, this is not what we meant to happen–”

“Oh, I am well aware of tha’,” he sounds bitter now, and he can taste the copper of blood from where he bit his cheek in an attempt not to yell or throw another punch. “Things change,” he says. “People change.”

Birdy tries to pour some water on the fire that is starting to consume everyone in the room, but it has been fueled by oil and gasoline and water only makes it worse.

“Anna belongs with Michael,” she says. “I’ve said it before, but she’s a Kinsella. Mikey deserves a chance to prove himself to get her back, don’t ya think?”

Jimmy nods at the same time that Frank starts to shake his head. “Eric!” he calls out and his son flinches. He’s still standing close to the snakes. “Don’t ya have anythin’ constructive to say?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Michael says.

Eric closes his mouth again. He doesn’t look like he wants to be there, anyway. His skin is sickly pale and he appears almost… guilty.

“That’s all I came here for. I quit. I’m sorry.”

He’s not sorry. He feels sorry, but not for this.

“Maybe if we take a calm minute to think about this–” Birdy tries again.

He shakes his head. “No.”

“Pet…”

“I’m sorry, Birdy,” and with her, he means what he says. “I can’t,” he says.

On his way out, the weight that is lifted from his shoulders only lasts a few seconds before his brother’s voice puts twice as many bricks back onto his shoulders, dragging him further down.

“Michael, wait!” Jimmy calls out.

Michael clenches his jaw and halts. “What?” He turns around.

“I’m sorry for wha’ I said the other day, about Allison and Anna and that girl Amanda saw you kissin’,” he says. “I was on edge and it wasn’t fair, especially not blamin’ ya fer Allison’s death. I know yer strugglin’ and I’m sorry, but ya can’t just leave because of tha’. It was just a fight.”

“I’m not leavin’,” he clarifies, “I just quit my job with Amanda. There’s a difference. I’m still here. Fer family.”

“Is there a difference? Ya’ve been gone for days. I was worried. We all were.”

“Were ya, really?”

They stare each other down. The rope of tension is so visible, it could be cut with a knife.

Jimmy takes a step closer, his voice softer now. "Look, I didn't mean half of the things I said. I was angry, and I lashed out. I want you back in our lives. I want ya back where you belong, workin' with me. We're family, Michael."

“This isn’t about you, it never was,” Michael snaps. “This is about me and Anna and… and–” He knows he shouldn’t have said your name, but it slips before he can think, and his voice echoes through the house.

“So yer still on about her?” his brother asks.

He screwed up. You were just a stranger seconds before, and as a stranger, you were safe. Now Jimmy knows your name and probably everyone else, too, and being a Kinsella is already dangerous enough, he doesn’t need you involved with every single member of his family, but now that Jimmy knows you are one of the reasons he wants out… his brother might not become the problem, but Frank might, and Michael could shoot himself for being such a fool.

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter,” he says. “Point is, I’m gettin’ another job and ya can’t stop me. I want t’be better.”

“We’re family,” Jimmy repeats.

Michael scoffs. "Family, huh? Is that what ya call it when you drag my personal life into our fights? When you use my dead wife, daughter, and her against me?"

“Ya heard what Frank said about Eamon–”

“I’ll cross that bridge if it ever comes to it, but I’m not playin’ that game. I can’t get involved, and I won’t. Why can’t you just accept tha’?”

“Because Anna, I get, but this woman, Michael,” Jimmy says.

His eyes darken. “Careful,” he growls.

“I stand by wha’ I said. This relationship is doomed. People have died already. What if someone starts a war? They’re not gonna give a fuck about whether or not yer goin’ straight now. You know how it is; they always find a way t’ destroy us and what we love. You’ve experienced it yerself.”

His words cut deeper than a knife. Michael's heart aches as he realizes the truth in his words — love and happiness within the Kinsella family come at a devastating cost. He stabbed a dagger straight through his heart and pulled it back out. As if the demons in his head weren’t saying the same thing, Jimmy had to go ahead and drill the hurt even deeper, the fear and the uncertainty.

He thinks about Allison, her blood heavy on his hands. He went down too many wrong roads and ended at a point of no return. Now that he has found a way out, that way seems to be the same one-way street heading in another direction, but the end is still a huge wall he will run into, and then he will lose everything dear to him.

But these thoughts are poison. They’re toxic. He can’t let them get to him, even though he has never taken his brother’s words more seriously. He’s always valued Jimmy, even when he’s angry. What he loathes is the truth of his words. It would be kinder if he was lying; it would make the decision so much easier. It wouldn’t make him rethink what he said, what he chose and is going to choose – he wouldn’t question what he feels for you, which is the part that tears ripples through his soul and the home you’ve made there, shaking his world and inevitably, yours.

He understands the risks. But he yearns; he yearns so desperately for a chance at redemption. The threat of violence used to be his life, but now it hurts even him to think about the chance of the monsters jumping out of the shadows and cutting him and his loved ones apart piece by piece. He saw the worst of humanity and he knows it can get worse.

The pits are sheer endless. There is no going back no matter where you are, no matter how hard you try to pull out - It's a door that reads "pull" but you push, and even when you pull, the door won't open. It isn't locked, you're simply trapped, and it's the same with his emotions.

Michael knows he has a hell lot to lose, and he needs to acknowledge that instead of listening to the voice in his head that continues screaming, “Run!”

But it isn’t him who should run.

“I deserve a second chance,” he says.

“Of course, ya do,” Jimmy says, “but–”

“No, that’s all. I deserve a second chance. Period. So does Anna, and so does she.”

“Michael–”

The sound of heels clicking against the floor follows the sound of a closing door. Amand rounds the corner, her brown curls swaying with each of her movements, and she stares at the men before her in bewilderment.

Michael feels his throat tighten when he sees her.

“What is goin’ on here?” she asks. “I can hear ya shoutin’ through the whole house.”

“Michael quits,” Jimmy tells her.

It’s as if he had been waiting for a moment to snitch. Two against one, and if he adds everyone in the basement, he’s standing alone against five Kinsellas. Just because he made a decision. He chose something for himself. It’s almost as if they can’t live with that.

“Quit wha’?” Amanda asks.

“His job.”

“What?” She crosses her arms and looks at him. “Michael–”

“Don’t,” he cuts her off. His expression hardens. "Don't act like you care, both of ya. Don't. You may mean it, but no matter what I do, yer just gonna continue sabotagin' every attempt I make at bein’ happy. I can't keep lettin' ya dictate my relationships. I won't let you ruin what I have right now. Don’t tear her away from me.”

Why he sounds like he’s begging, he’s not sure. But standing alone against the force of his family feels humiliating enough to shatter his confidence.

“Is it about the girl?” Amanda asks. Her body is turned to Jimmy, asking for his approval, and he nods.

Michael rolls his shoulders. He doesn’t want to get angry, he doesn’t want to hit him again, he just wants to go home – he wants to go to a home that isn’t a place but a person, and he needs it now. He’s not sure how he survived up until this point, but it’s getting harder to breathe as the current drags him down.

“It’s about more than tha’,” Jimmy adds to his initial agreement.

At least he got that right.

“It’s about family and the choices you’re makin’, Michael.”

Michael's voice rises, finally, his pent-up frustration spilling over. "No, Jimmy!” his voice bounces off the high walls that turn into a microphone with the force with which he delivers his words. “I'm choosing myself, fer once,” he says. “I've spent my whole life doin’ everythin’ fer this family, but I failed the people I care about, I lost everythin’ and now I just want to fuckin’ fix things! I won't let ya tear me down just ‘cause you can't handle the choices I make."

"Michael, we all care about you," Amanda says. Her voice is gentle, but he often likes to compare her to a venomous snake. Her words can sound nice, but the meaning behind them can be deadly as soon as it reaches your bloodstream. "We want what's best for ya."

"What's best for me is to be with her, with Anna- I want to be just Michael. I wanna be free from this toxic cycle. I won't let you or- or anyone else dictate what makes me happy. I've had enough. This is my life, for fuck's sake, let me just have tha'!"

"But yer a Kinsella," says Jimmy, "You can't change that." His anger transitions to silent anger. "No matter how badly you wanna escape, you can't."

Michael turns on his heels. "Maybe not, but I can sure as hell try," he says, ready to leave the house behind.

He feels trapped, not just in there but on this street. He feels trapped everywhere, the walls caving in around him. He's breaking, as is the world, the universe, and reality; everything seems to be falling apart, and he is reaching for the only lifeline he has. As he walks away, he can feel their stares burning into his back, but he no longer cares.

He thought he could at least breathe once he was away from the house, but then his walls are caving in, too. He’s started tearing what little clothes he has into a bad – just enough for a few days – when he feels the room… shift.

The air grows thick with his mounting anxiety, his heart pounding in his chest like a trapped bird desperately flapping its wings against a cage. His vision blurs. A sharp pain shoots through his skull, but it’s only momentary.

Somehow, he manages to make his way into the bathroom. Maybe cold water will help, he thinks, but then the room shifts again and again and again, and his now wet fingers slip from the tap. The water is still running into the sink, but he can’t move. As the room shifts, so does his brain. He can’t think, his eyes only able to scan silhouettes, and his knees give out. His body betrays him.

The world around him warps and distorts. The sound of running water turns into a shrill melody as if someone is blowing a flute directly into his ear. The tiles beneath his feet become unsteady, their patterns dancing and morphing before his eyes. His fingers twitch as he tries to somehow lean against the toilet, but he has no power over what he’s doing. The spiral keeps going further down, dragging him with it.

Time seems to both stretch and contract, the seconds drawn out agonizingly, yet passing in the blink of an eye as his body convulses. He doesn't exactly register what's happening. Sometimes, it feels like he's watching himself seize uncontrollably from the outside, other times it feels like a very vivid dream and then there are times, like now, when he's conscious but also feels detached and not conscious at all.

Fragments of pictures flash before his eyes like a movie. He feels the fear deep in his bones, and it turns into personified matter dancing through his daydream - but it feels more like a nightmare that doesn't belong to him like Freddy Kruger messing with his head and threatening to cut him up. The body he's in can't possibly be his own. He fears losing control; he fears being consumed by the darkness that lurks within his bloodline, and it grips him tightly. He fights against it, struggling to retain a sense of self amidst the overwhelming chaos, but he's tired.

He's not sure how long he's lying on the floor, but eventually, his muscles ease up and he slumps. The world returns to his senses, but he still feels disoriented and takes a moment to realize where he is. As he lies there on the cold bathroom floor, the tears mingle with the sweat on his face. He wipes it off his brow, but he is still sweating.

It isn’t the first time this has happened, but he hates it more and more every time. If only he could understand what’s happening, but asking for help isn’t his strong suit and he has other things to worry about. His ‘episodes’, as he dubbed them, are the last points on the list.

He’s not at home here anymore, Michael reminds himself because he doesn’t feel like it. He feels trapped in his own house. The bullet holes are so close, he feels he can touch him through the walls.

And then he decides, he really can’t stay here anymore. Not tonight, at least, and not tomorrow either. His head is all over the place. In every corner, there is an invisible trigger and he is haunted by the ghosts of his past. They follow him everywhere.

The past follows him everywhere but into your arms, and so he fights against the ache in his muscles to rise back to his feet and packs his bag.

By the time Birdy comes around to check on him, the light in the kitchen is dark, the blinds are drawn close and when she knocks, no one answers. Michael is gone again, and she wearily leaves it be just like that – who is she to keep the poor boy from happiness? If he doesn’t want to stay, he shouldn’t have to stay.

But that’s just what she thinks. She knows as soon as Frank or Jimmy finds out he has disappeared again, kindness is the last thing that will follow Michael wherever he goes now.

When he tells you about it that night, he leaves out the part about Eamon and whatever else is threatening the existence of the family business right now because you don’t need to know that. He tells you about the fight and Jimmy and his decision to quit his job with Amanda and move on to be with Anna, and you listen without a word.

You listen and when he reaches the point of talking about packing his bag, he stops. You think that’s it, that’s what you believe, and he wants to keep it that way. He doesn’t tell you about the seizure or the taunting memories.

Michael ends the story at a point he knows will suffice but still keep you safe, and you don’t seem to notice that he’s holding back because damn it, he’s crying, sobbing even, and all you want to do is comfort him.

He feels guilty for lying again, but it is for your own good. If you knew what was going on right under your nose, close to your own home and close to your heart with him here, you wouldn’t be able to deal.

But there are things Michael doesn’t know about you, and he can’t even begin to fathom how wrong he is about you not being able to deal with the violent lifestyle of his family. No matter how scared you might appear, it is not always because of the reasons he thinks it is.

You’re a good liar, excellent even, but there is a gut feeling inside of him that won’t go away, and he holds onto the hope that one day, he will learn who you truly are, as much as you wish to know who he truly is.

Only then can you both be unconditionally happy with each other – honesty is key, and it is still lacking in every one of your conversations.

Michael just hopes you will be able to survive whatever rocks life might throw your way because losing you is not an option he wants to concern himself with – in more than one sense.

Tagging: @bellaxgiornata @shouldbestudying41 @your-not-invisible-to-me @glowstick-lesbian @ms-murdockswift @acharliecoxedfan @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattmurdocksscars @roseallisonparker @1988-fiend @norestfortheshelbywicked

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #kin #michael kinsella angst #reader insert #no y/n #michael kinsella fluff #hurt/comfort #but mostly angst #charlie cox #michael kinsella x female reader #chaos theory

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veetyuh · 1 year ago

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Rock

Quick one shot warm up in between other stuff -- Connor has an episode while Alistair is at work, and Alistair drops everything to comfort him.

pairing: scotland/northern ireland

word count: ~1.1 K

cw: implied self-harm, angst

ao3

Rain. Why did it always have to be fucking raining? Alistair scowled as he walked, unsheltered from the drizzle save for his thick, rapidly-dampening coat. Puddles rippled around his leather ankle boots — patterned with white stitching, they had been his attempt to evoke a hint of good spirit and, dare he even suggest, whimsy, in his dull, grating office life. But rather than kicking up red dust in the American west, they were kicking icy, muddy droplets onto his own slacks. Fuck, he’d have to wash those. What complete and utter shite.

His towering form once again proved a great asset. Alistair’s long strides parted passers-by like water. Chin up, shoulders back, and glaring at anyone who crossed his path, Alistair made good time back to his brothers’ town house in Wimbledon. His first attempt at sorting through his keyring went astray as the metal slipped through his thick, calloused fingers. The Scotsman grumbled a swear before leaning down and retrieving them from the wet ground, and finally unlocking the front door.

“Al!”

No sooner had he stepped inside than he was greeted by the familiar voice of one of his brothers. With a quick glance to the living room, he noticed a pair of big forest green eyes peeking at him from over the sofa.

“Hey.”

He shrugged off his coat and boots, placing both near the door. “You’re home early!” The diminutive figure of Dylan emerged from the furniture and approached him from the sitting room.

“Aye. Heard what happened.” Alistair grumbled his answer before wiping his sopping wet bangs out of his face. “How is he. . . ?”

A grimace crossed Dylan’s face, and his hesitation told Alistair all he needed to know. Something must have changed in the Scotsman’s own expression — something small, but which was plain as day to someone who had known him for so long — because Dylan was quick to read his concern, and follow it up with reassurance. “He’s doing much better now than he was earlier! Just. . . Well, you know.”

Alistair did know. He knew that it never got easier, that the pain being less frequent only made it more disturbing when something did happen, and that each new tragedy was liable to send Connor into an episode. But moreover, he knew that he should have been here. He swallowed his guilt, gave a curt nod to Dylan, and trudged up the stairs, each step creaking under his weight.

Alistair opened the door to his room as silently as he could, in case Connor was sleeping. But rather than resting, the redhead was perched on the far edge of their bed, pressed up against the window and staring through the wispy curtains at the streets below. In the pallid light, Alistair could make out a dark stain blooming in the many bandages of his back.

As he moved closer, Alistair could hear the faint sound of an electric guitar. Closer inspection revealed a pair of tiny headphones clamped over Connor’s ears to be the source. He’d taken quite a liking to modern music, being a musician himself and having missed out on the hits from the previous two decades. Or, Alistair thought he liked it; it was difficult to tell when he listened to his walkman in the dark, listlessly sipping his coffee as he watched the rain.

“Hey.” Alistair’s greeting was much softer now, but never without an edge of gruffness. He collapsed onto the bed with a heavy sigh and leaned back onto the headboard, but flinched when a yelp came from his brother.

“Jesus, Mary, an’ Joseph—” Connor nearly jumped out of his skin and ripped the headphones off his head, the sorrowful voice of the lead singer coming through much clearer as the speakers toppled onto the mattress.

“A’m sorry,” Alistair stated, internally chastising himself for not making his own presence known. “Ah didan mean tae scare ye.” Connor took a moment to recover, one hand pressed over his heart as he forced himself to take deeper, steadier breaths. “Y-Yer fine!” he tried to smile, but it was thin and wobbly. “I-I just didn’t hear ye come in, that’s all.” Despite the scare — or, perhaps, because of it — Connor had already begun to inch closer to Alistair, his coffee forgotten on the windowsill.

“Aye. Well, Ah shoudae been here tae begin with.” The brunette muttered, bitterness lacing every word. Paperwork could have waited. His frail, injured brother could not.

“No no, ye stop that, now.” Connor frowned, but did not hesitate to lean into his chest and turn the Scotsman into his own personal pillow. Listening to his heartbeat always seemed to soothe him — and, like clockwork, Alistair could feel his brother’s body go limp against him. “Yer no obligated tae babysit me every hoer of the day.”

“’s no babysittin’.” Alistair grumbled, wrapping one massive arm around him.

Looking after him, treating his wounds, cradling him at night, and talking him down from attempting — it was never babysitting. It hadn’t been when he was in agony every waking moment, alternating between blissed out on painkillers and Dylan’s potions, and begging Alistair to let him die. And it certainly wasn’t babysitting now, just because he was finally on the upswing. Setbacks were bound to happen, and Alistair needed to be here to support him.

“Whatever ye call it,” Connor sighed, “you’re entitled to a life oetside o’ me.”

Thick brows furrowed downward into a scowl. Alistair didn’t want a life outside of Connor — he couldn’t live with himself if he were out pub crawling while his older brother was home, wounded and wailing in anguish. And moreover, if it weren’t for Connor, Alistair wasn’t sure his life would be worth living.

Albeit, the Connor he had now was a far cry from the Connor he remembered, who braved the Romans, crossed the frigid ocean just to see him, and brought him up with a gentle hand. He was a hollow shell of himself, toned muscle and adventurous spirit given way to frail bones and endless misery. But Alistair would do what he did best, and protect him until he was better. . . Even if that day never came.

“Wheesht yer puss. A’m ‘appy whaer Ah am.” Alistair mumbled, pressing a kiss to the top of Connor’s forehead. He closed his eyes and listened to the rain, taking in the warmth of Connor’s bare skin and the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

Connor smiled into his chest.

“. . . Aye, me too.”

#hetalia #hws #hws northern ireland #hws scotland #hetalia fanfiction #scotnorn #nornscot

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the-sleep-shop · 29 days ago

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ambfurniture · 10 months ago

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dtaylor67 · 9 months ago

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swedzo · 2 years ago

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supernaturalgirl20 · 3 years ago

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What’s a Month?

Part 3

Pairings: Dieter Bravo x f!reader

Warnings: Smut 18+, explicit, unprotected sex, PinV sex, oral (both receiving), angst, mutual pining, hidden feelings, mentions of drugs and drug abuse, divorce, fluff.

Summary: Dieter needs some time away from Hollywood, and the drugs, and the ex- wife. So his PR team have sent him to a remote cottage in Ireland to take a breather. You are a journalist and your boss has sent you on a wild goose chase. What happens when your both booked into the same cottage with the r man who broke your heart?

Part 2

Comments and reblogs really appreciated 🥰

You practically jumped out of your skin as you sat up quickly in bed, rubbing the sleep from your eyes. Did someone just scream? You listened carefully and then you heard it again. Dieter! Flipping back the covers you run into his room in nothing but short and a tank top.

Bursting in his door you find him sitting back against the headboard and pointing at the glass window. “There’s something out there. There’s a…there’s a goat or something and it’s just staring at me.” Don’t laugh at him, this isn’t funny. Trying hard not to laugh you bite into your bottom lip.

“Dieter there is a goat staring at you.” He whips his head around quickly to look at you, fear in his eyes. “It’s the plastic goat by the desk, you know the one that’s here for decoration,” you say pointing at the plastic goat. He looks at it then and lets out a little laugh as he scratches the back of his neck. Aw he’s embarrassed.

“Are you ok now?” He nods his head keeping his gaze away from you until you move towards the door. “Wait!” Stopping, you turn back to face him and you can see the hesitation in his eyes as he plays with the hem of his t-shirt. “Can you…can you stay here tonight? I don’t want the alone.”

He’s looking straight at you now with those puppy dog eyes and you can’t say no. “Uh fine but we’re putting a pillow wall between us.” He nods his head rapidly as he scoots over on the bed, holding up the covers for you to slide in. “Night Dieter.”

***

Dieter just lay there staring up at the ceiling as he listened to your breathing even out, signalling you had fallen asleep. Fuck I need to lay off the drugs. Made a fool of myself. She’s not gonna want you back now you idiot.

He turned on his side and even though there was a pillow between you both he could still see the back of your head, your hair cascading onto the pillow. He remembers when you would cuddle into him at night. He felt safe, loved. Why did you let your insecurities ruin everything. Closing his eyes he drifts into sleep dreaming of a time when you loved him.

The next morning he stirs awake feeling something move beside him. He peaks open his eye to find you cuddled into him, arm draped over his stomach and head resting on his shoulder. He couldn’t help the smile that spread over his face. So much for the pillow wall.

***

Nuzzling into your pillow it feels, warm? Opening your eyes just a little, you realise that sometime during the night you moved towards him. Arm and leg thrown over him. Heck you were practically straddling him at this point. Jesus! Even when your asleep your seeking him out. You chance looking up at him and sure enough he’s wide awake, gaze set on you.

“Morning sunshine.”

“Morning,” you say pulling yourself off him and sitting up. He follows your lead but makes sure he’s sitting close, legs still touching.

“Thanks for last night…I…I need to lay off that stuff. I’m sorry if I woke you I…”

“Dieter it’s ok I didn’t mind. Once you’re ok that’s all that matters.” Looking over at the offending object standing at the window you snicker.

“What’s so funny?” He says, amusement in his tone.

“Oh, just the goat that terrified the Dieter Bravo, Oscar winner.” He follows your line of sight and bursts out laughing.

“Fuck, I was really off my face wasn’t I?”

“Yep! Maybe stay off it altogether while you’re here.” You look at him now, his face alight with happiness, eyes crinkled in that way you’ve missed. A little flutter in your chest has you remembering a time when this was a regular occurrence. You panic. “Anyway, breakfast?”

“Yes please I’m starving.” You can feel his eyes on you as you hop out of bed and suddenly, you become very self conscious. Practically running out the door you fail to see the look of adoration on Dieters face.

Breakfast was, silent. But not those awkward silences where you overthink everything and are unsure of what to say. No. This was comfortable. A silence that said more than if you had been talking. It wasn’t until you were both cleaning up that he spoke to you. “You remember that time we just took off for the weekend and my PA and my agent couldn’t find us. I went totally MIA.” He says it so casually with a smile on his face that you freeze for a second. He remembered?

“I rented that cabin out by the lake and we had no laptops, no phones, we just existed.” He stares out the window now, a distant look in his eyes and you take this opportunity to look at him, really look at him. His hair is longer now, curling at the ends and he has significantly more greys than before but that somehow adds to his handsomeness. You remember that weekend so fondly. It was the only time you had him completely to yourself, no distractions.

“It’s the happiest I’ve ever felt. That weekend with you. I still think about it. I…” He coughs then and shakes his head a little. “I’m sorry. Don’t mind me. So, plan for today?”

Whiplash. That’s what you have right now. He changed the topic so suddenly and now he’s staring at you. “Uh…I…I’m going to head down to the village and pay the little bookshop a visit, maybe chat to some of the locals. I don’t know.”

“Mind if I tag along?” His hazel eyes look at you now with hope and although you need to be away from him now. Your emotions are all over the place. You haven’t the heart to refuse him. “Sure, why not?”

***

You were beautiful.

He’d always thought so but looking at you here and now as you riffle through the old books - a genuine smile on your face - you looked like a goddess.

“I remember when my John used to look at me like that. Used to have butterflies in my stomach. He always made me feel like the only women in the world, especially in a room full of people.”

Dieter is embarrassed. His face beet red at having been caught staring at you with heart eyes. His hand automatically goes behind his head, scratching nervously. “I…we…she’s not my…”

“Ah! I get it. But you love her?” The old women - maybe not old, probably late fifties- looks at him now, an eyebrow raised in question.

“Yes! I do. I love her.”

“Then I suggest you tell her.”

“Oh I…I can’t.”

“Nonsense. Of course you can.”

“We have a…a history. Not a good one…I hurt her and I don’t think she’ll ever forgive me.”

“Well I’m no expert and I certainly don’t know either of you but if it’s any consolation, she keeps stealing glances when she thinks you’re not looking. Do with that information what you will.” She rests her hand gently on his arm, her eyes boring into his.

“You only get that kinda love once in a lifetime. Don’t let it pass you by; again.”

What is it with old people coming up to him on this island? “Hey, are you ok? You seem distracted.”

His eyes find yours and he can see it. Right there in front of him. His future.

“I’m fine. Find anything good?”

“Found a few books I haven’t read. This place is amazing. I’m gonna spend my whole month right here.” Please don’t. “Wanna get some food?”

“Sure.”

Later that evening, after having went for a walk trying to get a feel for the place you decide to have a quick shower. You’re distracted as you make your way to the bathroom that you don’t see Dieter walking towards you until you smack into him. His hands wrap around you steadying you and you let your eyes trail up his bare chest until you meet each other’s gaze. Your is beating wildly in your chest and your skin is on fire from his touch. There’s a heat in his gaze that’s sending a spark straight to your core.

“Sorry I didn’t see you…I was just going to have a shower.”

“Me too.”

Oh fuck! Don’t think about him in the shower, all naked and wet and… His eyes never leave you and he begins to pull you closer until you’re flush against him. You could cut the tension with a knife. A hand comes to gently cup your cheek and his thumb rubs circles into your skin. He begins to lean in slowly until your lips are a breath away. Automatically closing your eyes waiting for the kiss you so desperately want. But it doesn’t come.

“I’m sorry, I can’t.” Suddenly his arms drop away from you and he’s turned the other way and you vaguely hear the door to his room close. What just happens? Your breathing is coming in ragged breathes and your heart is hammering in your chest. You feel…you don’t know how you feel. Relieved? Hurt? Both?

Why couldn’t you just hate him, it would make this far easier. You know the answer to that too. You could never hate him. Not when the sight of him makes your heart flutter, makes the butterflies in your stomach explode, makes your skin tingle. No you could never hate him because you know deep down that it’s quite the opposite…you love him.

I’m so fucked.

Part 4

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