#michael kinsella

[kendallsroyco]

Gray sweatpants whore VS Black boxers DILF

[mattmurdeaux]

CHARLIE COX + The HIMBO, WHORE, and DILF strut

STARDUST (2007)

DAREDEVIL (2015)

KIN (2023)

[bellaxgiornata]

"I can fix him!"

Okay, well I definitely can't, but I'm pretty sure him and his dick could fix me.

[theimpalatales]

Kin

Buy me a ☕️

[pastafossa]

"Don't Let Go" (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader, Fic)

Time for Day Six of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! I chose the angst prompt, "Shh, I've got you now. I'm here." with Michael Kinsella! I originally planned to use all three prompts (the above plus 'love bites' and 'spread your legs for me') but this one just sorta worked beautifully focusing on the angst prompt alone, despite my plan. May come back and do a sequel with the other two prompts eventually. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 1.1k

Warnings for this chapter: angst, blood, injury care, mention of reader briefly held hostage, language, mention of domestic violence, some shouting and breaking things (Michael is very angry here, just not at you).

His hands shaking, Michael cleaned you up in the bathroom.

You weren’t sure if that tremor was due to fear, or… or exhaustion, maybe. He probably hadn’t gotten much sleep the past two nights while you’d been missing, held captive in an abandoned building by a group of men who’d been looking to blackmail the Kinsella family. It hadn’t worked out well for them based on the dead bodies you’d seen when Michael had grimly carried you out past his brothers, his hands stained heavily with blood and smelling of fresh gunpowder. 

It was those hands—the very same hands that had so recently dealt out death and destruction—that now tended gently to your wounds. With barely a word save a soothing murmur whenever you winced, he washed away the crusted grime and dried blood from your body in the shower before settling you down on the side of the porcelain tub. Once you were comfortable, he set about cleaning out and bandaging the bloody cuts on your hands and face, the torn skin on your wrists left by the handcuffs, and the burns along your forearm from the cigarettes one man had decided to put out against your skin when you’d spat in his face.

With every injury Michael cared for, however, the more his hands shook, his breathing growing sharper, hissing out from between his clenched teeth. 

No. This wasn’t fear or exhaustion making his hands shake, you realized. This was… 

He rose from where he’d been kneeling in front of you. He stared down at you for a moment with those dark eyes of his, taking all of you in for the first time since bringing you back home—taking in every last swollen bruise and vicious cut, every bandage and mark of pain left behind by those who had wanted to harm his family by using you against him.

…This was rage.

He snatched up the first aid kit, turned, and hurled it with a furious scream. It shattered against the wall in the hall, its impact leaving a crumbling hole in the drywall. Gauze and ointment, bottles of pills and splinters of plastic scattered left and right.

“Michael,” you said weakly. “I’m ok now.”

It was as if he hadn’t even heard you. “I’m goin’ ta find the rest of ‘em and kill 'em for this!” he snarled savagely, his accent even thicker in his fury. Gone was the gentle lilt, the familiar softness he always seemed to gain in his voice when he spoke to you or about you. Now he was every inch the dangerous Kinsella that so many feared, though not you. Never you. Even now you weren’t afraid, despite the way he whirled and paced wildly in front of you, as if looking for the very same ones who’d so recently hurt you. This was rage in your defense, and that made all the difference. 

“Michael—”

“They think I can’t find ‘em?” he spat. “They really think I can’t? I’ll hunt down every last fuckin’ one’a them filthy little cunts fer puttin’ their hands on ya! By the time I’m done wit’ em, there won’t be enough’a their fuckin’ bodies left for their mams to bloody bury!”

This time it was the drinking glass on the counter that paid the price. It flew out into the hall to shatter violently against the wall just beside the mark left by the first aid kit. Glittering shards of glass, some pieces still damp, joined the rest of the debris on the floor.  

“Michael.” You heaved yourself upright on shaky legs, wobbly as a newborn fawn. And it hurt, it hurt to move, cuts tugging, body aching. You tried to blink the dampness away in your eyes, not now, come on. “It’s alright—” “Don’t tell me it’s alright when they hurt ya!” he roared. But the moment he swung back around to face you and saw you on your feet, he spat out a curse. He stormed across the bathroom before you could take more than a step. “Daft woman, sit your arse back down before ya fall over!”

One hand still braced against the wall, you lifted your other arm quickly towards him. He lurched to a stop before he could touch you, an expression of horror twisting across his face, all furrowed brow and parted lips. Only then did you realize what that must have looked like to him—your arm held up to fend him off, trying to stop him from coming towards you, tears in your eyes as if you were… as if you were terrified of him and what he had been doing. 

Gone in a breath was the rage, the fury, replaced by a gutted, heartbroken grief. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have said he was about to cry, too. “Ya didn’t think I was goin’ to…” he whispered, swallowing hard and taking a cautious step back. “I… I swear, pet, I would never—” 

“God, no, Mikey. I know you weren’t going to hit me,” you croaked, trying to put your arm out again in a more welcoming way, and if your breath started to hitch, tears now beginning to roll down your cheeks despite your best efforts, well, surely you were entitled to that, because it had been a horrible few days and the longer you stood here, the more you began to shiver and hurt. It had only been a few minutes since you’d been in his arms, but your body clearly wasn’t ready yet for even that much separation. Emotion welled up inside you like a dark wave, endless, bottomless. You were terrified you’d drown beneath it without him to help you keep your head above water. “I was trying to… could you come over here and… and hold me? I just need…”

He caught you just as the first choked sob tore its way out of your throat, the strength of the sound so violent, so raw it almost frightened you. One of his arms quickly wound around your waist, pulling you in against the comforting, familiar warmth and strength of his chest. His other hand rose to gently cradle the back of your head, bringing your head down so you could bury it against his neck. He rumbled low, soothing notes into your ear, tender words of comfort as you desperately tried to breathe in the scent of whiskey and leather, gun oil and rain between your heaving breaths and broken sobs.

“There ya go. Shh, I’ve got ya now, pet,” he whispered, laying his cheek against your hair. He shifted the two of you carefully across the floor until he could ease himself down on top of the toilet seat, pulling you slowly into his lap. You went without a fight, clinging to him, the fabric of his shirt held tight between your fists as if it were your lifeline. “I’ve got ya now. Let it all out. I’m here, darlin’. Yer safe with me.” 

“Don’t let go,” you choked out, “Please.” “Never. I promise.”

[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".

[kendallsroyco]

A Guide to Charlie Cox's Kissing Method:

1) It will look like he's starving and wants to consume you

2) It will involve the grabbing of necks and chins

3) At times, involves tongue

[mattmurdeaux]

CHARLIE COX CHARACTERS + Their Weapon of Choice

TRISTAN THORN (Stardust) - Sword

MATT MURDOCK (Daredevil) - Billy Club

MICHAEL KINSELLA (Kin) - Gun

[bellaxgiornata]

The 'Oh, Baby' Collection is a collection of short blurbs featuring either Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, or Michael Kinsella paired with either a Pregnant!Reader or a Mom!Reader. More short blurbs will be added over time ranging from fluff to humor or to emotional hurt/comfort.

Collection of Shorts

Predawn Bliss [Michael Kinsella x Mom!Reader] -Fluff

With Care [Frank Castle x Pregnant!Reader] -Hurt/Comfort

Cabbage & Tears [Matt Murdock x Mom!Reader] -Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Sweet of You [Frank Castle x Mom!Reader] -Fluff

Accidents [Matt Murdock x Mom!Reader] -Humor

Changed [Frank Castle x Mom!Reader] -Emotional Hurt/Comfort {Coming Soon}

Overwhelmed [Michael Kinsella x Mom!Reader] {Coming Soon} -Humor

[pastafossa]

"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings for this fic: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)

It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you into a peaceful sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed. 

“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.” 

Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off from the rain when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their family business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had actually wanted this. You knew he'd had different plans when he'd finally gotten out of prison, plans of a quieter, more peaceful life. But he was a loyal man, one who was endlessly devoted to his family, and that loyalty, that devotion was something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of. 

You had thoughts on her, too, but much like your night's rest, it would also have to wait. 

 “We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said to him, and…”

Some nights, nights much like these, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath the weight of expectation and grim responsibility. It was a burden he shouldered without complaint, even as it became clear he was destined to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met that beautiful, quiet man in a small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form, line by line. Over time, as he'd gradually begun to let you in, you’d discovered far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath his fractured armor. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done in the past, had only pried open that door further until he sought you out with regularity, just as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits revolved closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inescapably in the pull of each other’s gravity.   

Neither of you had named what this was between you. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it. 

 “Just… be gentle with him, dear.” 

Somehow, even the quiet knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the warm hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the pouring rain and a gust of chilled, bitter wind. 

“Oh, Michael,” you whispered. 

He was soaked down to the bone, his dark hair plastered against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and his hands, with more of it leaking steadily from a ragged split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he realized you didn’t buy the act, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and limp on your doorstep. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for dark humor and missing by miles.

“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his sleeve and tugged him forward until you could shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness. 

“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said distantly. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, drained of all energy as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head slowly, staring down at the growing puddle of rainwater on the floor, his face twisting through an unreadable expression. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”

“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was still standing shivering in the hall, curled into himself as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”

He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to meet your eye, a sign of just how bad things had gone for him. Some of the blood on his clothes and skin had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a tinted, rusty pink. And that only seemed to make him feel worse, as it seeped into the grooves and lines between each tile, staining it. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”

You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the front door. He went stiff and rigid, closed off the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops. You had to make it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of warm whiskey and leather, of gun oil and fresh rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder. His breath hitched at your voice, his arms still locked between you, a barrier you knew he needed help to break down. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”

He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his arms tentatively unwinding so his hands could find their way around your waist. Almost as if he were still convinced his touch, his need for comfort would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ to give ya. To give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”

“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands fisting in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath rattled out of him, more of his tears rolling down your throat until he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I open the door because I just need you, exactly as you are. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.” 

That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked, ragged sobs, the sounds of someone who hadn't been able to let go for some time. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, comforting whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and back up through his hair as he let fall every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world. 

It took time for that cresting wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat into something slower and gentler. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, setting him down on the side of the tub so you could clean him up. He accepted the care in silence, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready—and besides, people had demanded enough out of him tonight without you adding to it—so you let the quiet have its place as you bandaged him up, cleaning the blood from his hands and drying him off without so much as a hint of judgment. Whenever his breath grew a little shaky again, you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles to remind him he was safe.

You left him alone just long enough for him to change, and you were grateful you'd both decided he should keep a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, this knowledge that your home was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed and he stepped out of the bathroom, dark eyes immediately seeking you out, you tipped your head in a request he follow you before heading towards the bedroom.

He hesitated, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.

It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. So far, it only seemed to happen on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed the other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against waves of grief or bloodied hurt. Until now, however, those moments had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all and well, it was late, wasn't it? It was expected. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed.

That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate as he considered you, his gaze shifting over your shoulder to the open doorway in thought. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge, driven by adrenaline or alcohol or just a quiet moment when you both seemed to be drawn into it. But there was no alcohol now, no mistaking the shift in the air. There’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply good friends.

After a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow. 

The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you. 

Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya,” he murmured, his breath slowly easing down into something like peace, like contentment. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them stole your breath away, filled with tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the bottom and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am again, yer there to bring me back. I just… I feel real when I’m with ya. I…” 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his damp hair as his lips finally met yours. 

Your first kiss with him was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, skin chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a growing confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer, his beard a pleasant scrape against your skin. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed in as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he laid his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering closed as he just... breathed with you. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, the corners of his eyes crinkling, though he didn't seem ready to open them just yet. “Wanted ta do that for a while, now,” he admitted. “Since not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing wider. 

“Can I take ya to breakfast tomorrow?”

You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for. 

“I’d love that.”

And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.

[shiorimakibawrites]

Shiori's Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist

Starring:

Matt Murdock (Daredevil) Frank Castle (The Punisher) Michael "Mikey" Kinsella (Kin) Peter Parker (Spider-Man) Bucky Barnes (Winter Soldier) Sam Winchester (Supernatural)

It's show time!

Day 1

Why? [Frank Castle] [angst] [1: Falling Asleep in the Hospital]

Sleepover [Matt Murdock] [fluff] [18: Pillow Fort]

Day 2

For Better and For Worse [Matt Murdock] [angst, hurt/comfort] [2: “Why? Why do you love me?” + 10: “I'm not good enough.”] [Mrs. Murdock series]

Forget-Me-Nots [Frank Castle] [fluff, hurt/comfort] [2: Flower Crowns]

Day 3

Broken [Sam Winchester] [angst, hurt/comfort] [3: Broken + 5: Self-Loathing + 18: Scars]

Sleeping Beauty [Matt Murdock] [smut] [1: Somnophilia]

Day 4

Dusty Rose [Matt Murdock] [fluff] [4: “Are you blushing?” + 6: Love Bites]

Compromise [Michael Kinsella] [smut] [4: Sixty-Nine]

Day 5

Sunlight [Michael Kinsella] [fluff] [5: Water Gun Fight + 17: Tickling]

On the Brink [Frank Castle] [smut] [5: Begging + 8: Overstimulation]

Day 6

Ghosts [Frank Castle] [hurt/comfort] [6: “Shh, I've got you now. I'm here.” + 7: Nightmare +8: Shaking]

Kneel [Matt Murdock] [smut] [9: “Open your mouth.” + 27: “Let me see what that pretty mouth can do.”]

Day 7

Distant [Frank Castle] [hurt/comfort, fluff] [7: Honest Apology + Alt: “I’m in love with you, and that scares me.”] [Companion to Why, You Are to Me, and Proof of Life]

Sundress [Michael Kinsella] [smut] [7: Nothing Underneath]

Day 8

Winter [Peter Parker] [fluff] [8: “You can sleep here tonight.” + 12: “You remembered?”]

On Display [Frank Castle] [smut] [5: Mutual Masturbation + 17: “Touch yourself for me.”]

Day 9

Can't Sleep [Matt Murdock] [hurt/comfort] [9: Anxiety + Alt: Insomnia] *

Goals [Michael Kinsella] [smut] [12: Deep-Throating]

Day 10

Best Hugs [Michael Kinsella] [fluff] [10: A Hug That Lasts A Little Too Long + 21: Flustered]

Pretty Woman [Frank Castle] [smut] [Alt: High Heels + 31: Stockings/Thigh Highs]

Day 11

Till Death Do Us Part [Matt Murdock] [hurt/comfort] [11: Tears + 11: “I’d be lost without you.”] [Mrs. Murdock series]

Proof of Life [Frank Castle] [smut] [6: “Spread your legs for me.”] [Companion to Why?, You Are To Me, and Distant]

Day 12

Fractured [Matt Murdock] [angst, hurt/comfort] [12: “I did it for you.” + 29: “Talk to me, please.”]

Close Quarters [Peter Parker] [smut] [14: Accidental Stimulation + Alt: Scent Marking]

Day 13

Nobody [Peter Parker] [angst, hurt/comfort] [13: Loneliness + 3: “I feel real when I'm with you.”]

Jealousy [Frank Castle] [fluff] [13: Playful Kiss + 15: “Are you jealous?”]

Day 14

Inheritance [Matt Murdock] [angst, hurt/comfort] [14: “Please look at me”]

Simple Pleasures [Michael Kinsella] [fluff] [19: Touch starved + 1: Reading to each other]

Day 15

Dislocation [Matt Murdock] [hurt/comfort] [15: Hiding An Injury + 20: “Who did this to you?”]

Curiosity [Michael Kinsella] [smut] [23: Toys + 13: "Beg me for it."]

Day 16

Sick and Tired [Matt Murdock] [hurt/comfort] [16: Exhaustion + 28: Chronic Pain]

Panorama [Frank Castle] [smut] [16: Against A Window]

Day 17

For Richer and For Poorer [Matt Murdock] [hurt/comfort] [17: “I'm not leaving you.”] [Mrs. Murdock series]

Hot Cross Buns [Michael Kinsella] [smut] [Alt: Ass Worship]

Day 18

Cardboard Boxes [Frank Castle] [hurt/comfort] [Alt: Moving In Together]

Acts of Service [Michael Kinsella] [smut] [18: “I’m so proud of ya, yer’re takin’ me so well.”]

Day 19

Confessions [Matt Murdock] [fluff] [14: Sleep Talking]

Lacing the Boil [Michael Kinsella] [angst, hurt/comfort] [30: Healing]

Day 20

The Visitor [Michael Kinsella - angst, hurt/comfort] [Alt: “You’re not alone.” + “I’ll always be there for you.”]

To Have and To Hold [Matt Murdock] [smut] [20: “You were made for me, weren’t you?”] [Mrs. Murdock series]

Day 21

Countdown [Matt Murdock] [angst, hurt/comfort] [Alt: Bound/Chained + Alt: “Take me instead.”]

Office Hours [Matt Murdock] [smut] [26: Under The Desk + 28: Hair Pulling + Alt: Almost Getting Caught]

Day 22

Moral Injury [Bucky Barnes] [angst, hurt/comfort] [22: “You haven't done anything wrong.” + 4: “This isn’t you.”]

Hairbrush [Matt Murdock] [fluff] [25: Playing With Their Hair]

Day 23

Shadow [Michael Kinsella] [fluff] [Alt: Adopting A Pet]

Self-Care [Frank Castle] [smut] [23: “If you won’t take care of yourself, I will.” + 22: “Was that an order?”]

Day 24

In Vino Veritas [Michael Kinsella] [fluff, hurt/comfort] [24: Drugged + 24: Drunken Confession + 29: Forehead Kiss]

Paper Thin [Sam Winchester] [smut] [24: “Shh, do you want them to hear us?”]

Day 25

Older [Matt Murdock] [angst] [25: “What's Wrong?” +  23: Father] *

Leave Me Breathless [Bucky Barnes] [fluff] [22: Breathless Kiss]

Day 26

I'm Grand [Michael Kinsella] [angst, hurt/comfort] [26: “You're not fine.”]

Eavesdropping [Frank Castle] [fluff] [26: “Shut up and kiss me.” + 27: Overheard Confession]

Day 27

You Are To Me [Frank Castle] [angst] [27: Near-Death Experience + 21: Fainting/Collapsing] [companion to Why?, Distant, and Proof of Life]*

Very Horny Rabbits [Matt Murdock] [smut] [22: Aphrodisiacs]

Day 28

Sharing An Umbrella [Michael Kinsella] [fluff] [28: Sharing an Umbrella + 16: Accidental Kiss] *

Sandwich [Frank Castle, Matt Murdock] [smut] [15: Threesome]

Day 29

Checkmate [Frank Castle] [fluff] [Alt: Playing A Game Together]

Turnabout [Matt Murdock] [smut] [29: Restraints + 11: Breast Worship]

Day 30

In Sickness and In Health [Matt Murdock] [hurt/comfort][9: “You don’t need to do that.” “I want to.”] [Mrs. Murdock]

The Beach House [Sam Winchester] [fluff] [30: Road Trip + 20: There Was Only One Bed + 31: Blanket Hog]

Day 31

Worthless [Matt Murdock] [angst, hurt/comfort] [31: “Why wasn't I enough?”]

Little Black Dress [Bucky Barnes] [smut] [30: “Take it off. Slowly.”]

*Previous work

[mattzipmua]

CHARLIE COX as MICHAEL KINSELLA

RTE KIN 2.05

[kendallsroyco]

My Four Horsemen of the Thirstpocalypse 😋

Matt Murdock, Michael Kinsella, Tristan Thorn, and Owen Sleater my beloveds 💕

[yarrystyleeza]

You Can Keep It (M.K)

Michael Kinsella x female!reader

Mentions of the Kinsellas' dirty business, mentions of Michael's wife death, but it's all fluff.

Summary: you've had an involuntarily hard limerence on your new coworker, Michael, for a while now. After an office party at the car dealership on a cold night, Michael lends you his jacket.

Word count: 2.11k!

Writer's note: I literally had this idea sparked in my head when I was chatting with the girls on discord the other day—and I really had to write it down! It's short, it's quick, but it's fluff and pining, it's what we live for! <3

You had a bottle of beer between your knees as you sat on the white office sofa, chatting with one of your coworkers about your plans for the weekend.

Amanda had decided to throw a party at the car dealership for whatever reason and you didn't really question it. You needed a break from working and some food because today was exhausting, and this party offered you all.

"I'll be out of town fer the weekend," your coworker said before taking a sip of her drink, "goin' ta see me boyfriend's family fer the first time," you smiled. You know she was looking forward for that day for a really long time, she and her boyfriend were planning an engagement soon and you couldn't be happier for her.

But as she spoke, your eyes strayed away to the farthest corner in the room and you spot him. The gloomy dark-haired man, standing alone, the way he always did. Michael.

Your eyes meet for a second and your face blazing red. Your interactions were less than few, but you couldn't help but smile and feel your stomach churn whenever you spot him anywhere in the crowd, or keep staring at him as he talks, or when he smiles—Oh God, when he smiles. This man was the perfect form of himself when he smiles.

He's Amanda's brother-in-law, and you learned that he was freshly released from prison for the murder of his wife. You didn't know of him before that and you'd be a liar if you say it didn't scare you off the first time you heard of him.

You expected a very frightening looking man but, he was totally the opposite.

Apparently, and presumably, he wasn't the one who did it. Judging from the way he looks whenever someone mentions her—he loved his deceased wife. But only him and God know what happened that night.

You know about the Kinsellas' real business, everyone knows about it, they aren't hiding or keeping it under the wraps anyway—but you often thought of that dirty business' involvement in that poor woman's demise. But ever since he was released, Michael was working his best to stay off the business—for his teen daughter, Anna.

You know, you just know.

Maybe you overheard couple things and maybe you investigated couple others but you're not very proud to say that you know things about this man and his family more than anyone else in the room. You know... Too much. You're Amanda's assistant—you got to be involved in so much shit work, and you knew so much that either could make you feared and powerful or put your head in a guillotine basket.

"Go talk ta him," your coworker nudged your knee with hers. You turned your head back to her, realizing that you were staring at Michael for too long. She smiled. You were a deer caught in headlights.

"What are ya talkin' about?" you were garbled, mind scattered all over the place. But a part of your brain is still there, with the man in the corner—and your eyes fight to look back at him.

"Ya know who I'm talkin' about. Go." she chin-jutted in his general direction. Your eyes follow back to him and his gentle gaze was on you. Once your eyes met again, a smile was slowly drawn on his face and you could see his cheeks prickling from this very far spot you're at. He looks down at his feet then back at you and you slip out of time and space, the air is stuck in your throat and your brain tunes out everything but him.

He's under the spotlight, and the rest is pitch darkness.

You rise from your seat to cross the distance between the two of you. Your heart pounds loud in your ears, your breath feels hot and wet against your face as you march towards him with his focus poured onto you.

His smile deepens the closer you get, until you could see the crow feet on each side of his eyes. You loved his hazel eyes, and you couldn't help but stare into their brown vastness and innocence, getting lost in the drugging color of caffeine.

"Hey," he speaks with a smile and says your name. He knows who you are, the same way as you do. And in fact, the feeling is mutual.

For a moment, you forget how to breathe. "Hey, Michael," you smile and your face is red. You've never said his name out loud before and it sounds way better than the voices in your head.

"How's the party goin fer ya?" you ask, taking a sip of your drink, trying to sound chill and casual and nonchalant—but in reality you were melting into a puddle with his gaze softly casted upon you.

He smiles and you could see the ghost of a dimple under his thick beard. "Grand. Ya?" he simply answered, or that's what he succeeded to delude you with.

You were the first one Michael ever laid his eyes upon since he got released weeks ago. You made his heart tick in a way he couldn't explain. He watched you talk and smile and laugh with your coworkers and he wished he was this close to you.

At one of the few times you got a chance to talk—he was a breath away from asking you out, but he thought it would be awkward and a bit creepy. This broke him into pieces, watching you acting professionally around him while he was almost a pile of sweat and tears in front of you.

Tonight, when he looked at you and you looked up at him, his heart faltered in his chest, each beat is tripping over the other. He tried to appear more staid and calm but he sighs so desperately when you ripped your eyes quickly away from his.

He thought about walking over to you and striking up a conversation and maybe ask you out afterwards—but he felt it was too awkward to do that; he never started the talk—not with someone close. But he wants to be close. He wants to be something more to you. His insalubrious crush on you keeps him up at night and daydreaming in the morning.

"Grand, I guess," you pull him back into reality. You're standing in front of him, here and now, and he wasn't imagining things.

"Glad ye are, pet," your breath hitched in your throat at the casual petname he threw at you. You blink into the distance twice and look back at him. He just called you 'pet'.

You couldn't help but daydream about how other flirty words would sound with his pleasantly gravelly voice. 'Mine', 'baby', 'love', 'sweetheart', 'bug', you wanted to hear it all now. You wanted to hear your name in all of his tones.

"So am I," you had to talk back, you already looked awkward enough with your mind straying every few seconds.

"Wait a second," he gently says before passing you and heading towards the buffet table. You watch him plate two slices of pizza and some other bits and bites before heading back in your direction.

"Here," he offers you the plate. You take a slice and he takes the other, placing the plate on the desk next to him. "Ye've been working all day today, pet, ye must be starving," he calls you with that name again and you turn as red as your blouse.

You nodded with a 'thank you' before taking a bite of your slice. "Ye noticed," it was higher than a whisper, maybe it was a loud thought that slipped out of your mouth, but he caught it, and his face blushes and burns.

He blinks a couple of times, trying to find a way to avoid your eyes because you were staring at him with those pretty orbs of yours and he already started melting under your beautiful gaze.

"Yeah, can't lie," he lets his guards down with a sigh and a smile, "ye were working so hard on yer desk this mornin' and I wanted ta get ye coffee and something ta eat, but felt it was awkward ta do tha'."

There you go. If this wasn't a hint, you don't know what else is. Your grin widened as your heart raced faster. He was so considerate of you, it made your heart sweetly swell and you fought the urge to kiss him—not minding the setting or the fact that none of you have made anything clear yet.

You shook your head. "Not at all, Michael, that would've been a nice thing," you had to encourage him, you wanted things to go farther, to go deeper, and to grow stronger.

"In tha' case, I'll pick up some brunch fer us on me way tomorrow mornin'. Say Reuben sandwiches, black coffee and Baileys Truffles? Is tha' grand fer ya, pet?" you were in awe of him. Was he thinking about this for so long?

You nodded. "But I'd prefer if we had it outside," you didn't know what you said before it left your mouth. You mentally placed your hands over your mouth.

"Ye're askin' me out, pet, is that what ye're doin'?" he smirked and you found yourself blurting incoherent words. You sigh with a smile and look back at him.

"Can't let ya ask me out before I do it first, pet. Understand?" he inches a little closer, but not too close, just the amount enough to let you know that he's so interested in you.

You blush at his demands and you nod with a grin. He chuckled, for the first time tonight, and it was the most pleasant voice you've ever heard.

"I want ye ta go out with me fer brunch tomorrow, pet," Michael was now filled with confidence and pride, "and I want ta pick up lunch fer ya too."

That was too much for you to bare. He asked you out, offered you two meals, and you had no idea what comes next.

"And if ya let me, I will take ya fer a drink tomorrow night."

That was official. He is way more than just interested in you, he was head over heels for you.

"I'd love ta," you coquetted, unintentionally, but to him it was sweet and spontaneous—and that made him fall harder.

Time slipped away with your endless chats and the night began to die out.

"It's getting late fer ya, pet," Michael breaks the silence after pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket. It was then when you found yourself alone with him —beside a couple other coworkers.

"Alright, um... Goodnight Michael." you say, almost turning in your heels.

"Mikey." he corrects you, "it's Mikey. Goodnight, pet." both of you smile and he lets you walk back to your office.

You pick up your purse and keys and walk out of the glass building, after exchanging waves and glances and maybe mental kisses and hugs.

In contrast to the warmth of the place inside, you were hit with a freezing howl of wind and it nailed you in place, hugging yourself while shaking out of shock and cold.

You walk for a couple feet before you heard your name called from behind you. You turn around. It was Michael—Mikey, taking off his black jacket as he approached you.

"There," he surprised you, placing his jacket on your shoulders and you were hit with the beautiful woodsy scent of his. He smelled of cinnamon and dark coffee and mint gum, you swear you could sleep in this forever.

His hands linger on your shoulders for a moment before he backs away an inch. "Tha' was stupid of me ta say back in there, ya shouldn't walk home alone at tha' time."

You tried to protest, but he shook his head, saying your name as soft as a swan feather on your skin. "Let me walk ya home, please." he said, his eyes sparkled in the dim lights.

You walk silently next to him, despite the butterflies loudly churning in your stomach, flying and meddling around in your chest, playing with the strings of your heart and messing with the chemistry of your brain.

You were completely besotted by this gentleman.

You make it to your doorstep and you're about to slip out of his jacket and hand it back to Michael when he stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

"No. Keep it." he says with a smile, inching closer to you, placing a chaste and soft peck on your temple, "goodnight, pet. See ya tomorrow."

Taglist: @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @1988-fiend @floral-charlie-cat @munsonownsmyass @lazyxsquirrel @mindidjarin (feel free to ask for addition or removal 🤍)

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

[bellaxgiornata]

Up All Night

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room

Warnings/tags: Mentions of violence/canon-typical violence, confession of feelings, light angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: You wake up in a hospital bed wondering how you got there.

a/n: Because Mikey always needs more love, I had him on my brain to kick off Tuna-tober. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

A muted, burning pain tore its way up through your abdomen. The feeling had first started off dull–almost like a faint tickle–but gradually the sensation grew sharp and searing, quickly becoming impossible to ignore the further you groggily returned to consciousness. Gritting your teeth together, your eyes squeezed tighter shut as the pain coursed its way up your left side in shuddering waves. Steadily becoming aware of your entire body starting with your partially numb toes, you whimpered softly to yourself. But that persistent dull pain near your stomach easily overshadowed the stiffness in your legs and the uncomfortable ache in your back.

Why did you hurt so much?

Something light brushed along the back of your hand and you startled at the touch. Eyes flying open at the soft contrast to the piercing burn in your gut, you were desperate to see who was here with you–wherever here was. Though your eyes immediately snapped shut again as an unexpected bright light blinded you. That's when you felt a similar sharp, searing sensation in the palms of your hands, too.

“Mmmph,” you groaned. “Hurts.”

“I should think so,” the unmistakable voice of Birdy met your ears. “Ya did try to stop a knife with yer bare hands, dear.”

Your brows knitted together as her words slowly registered in your ears. Attempting to open your eyes again, you squinted up at Birdy's face where she towered above you. There was a solemn expression there as she gazed back down at you.

“What?” you croaked out, voice thick from disuse.

“Ya jumped in front of a knife unarmed, love,” she repeated. “The asshole managed to stab ya in the stomach after slicin’ yer hands up. But he wasn't breathin’ much longer past that, or so I'm told.”

Listening to Birdy’s explanation carefully, you tried to recall any of what she'd said. The last thing you could remember was being called to meet Frank, Jimmy, and Michael down at the pub. After that, you could only recall brief flashes–a black hooded sweatshirt, cigarette smoke, panicked screams, and a blinding white hot burst of pain.

A frown settled onto your mouth as you lightly shook your head. “Why…why would I do that?” you asked her. “I don’t–don’t exactly remember what happened.”  

Birdy’s lips gradually curved upwards into a warm smile before she took a pointed step back from the hospital bed you’d soon realized you were lying in. Her head turned over her shoulder and your eyes followed to where hers had focused. Slumped in half in a chair across the room was Michael. He looked uncomfortable passed out in the tiny seat, his body awkwardly hunched in on itself. There was a deep frown drawing his mouth downwards, a slight crease between his brows. His dark hair was tousled and sticking up in places as if he'd been running his hands through it for awhile.

“Because ya saved Mikey's life,” Birdy explained softly. “That asshole came outta nowhere outside the pub. He was lookin’ for Mikey, but it was you who spotted him first. Placed yerself between him and Michael. Tried to take the knife with yer bare hands. Unfortunately he got ya once before Mikey took care o’ him.”

Eyes growing wide, they returned to Birdy. Slowly her own gaze focused back on you, one brow quirking up onto her forehead as her smile grew wider.

“Michael did what?” you asked in shock.

“He saw to it that the asshole got what was comin’ to him,” she answered. “No one hurts one o’ our own. Ya should know that by now, dear.”

There was something more to the look on Birdy’s face, something hiding just beneath the surface, but it felt like there was a fog in your head making it hard to concentrate. Whatever more she might’ve meant, it was too much for you to piece together.

“One of…yer own?” you repeated, the crease between your knitted brows growing. “But ‘m'not a Kinsella.”

“Mmm,” Birdy hummed out, one hand patting the space beside your leg. “Should probably wake our poor Michael,” she said, your clouded mind noticing that she'd intentionally changed the topic. “Been here all night waitin’ for ya to finally wake up.”

“He–he was?” you asked.

“Think hospital staff were a wee bit scared o’ him,” she continued in amusement, her heels clicking along the floor as she made her way towards him in the chair across the room. “Guests aren't s'posed to stay o'ernight. Yet Mikey here stayed awake all night with ya.” She came to a stop in front of him, a sympathetic look on her face as she fondly gazed down at him. “Poor man only fell asleep a bit ago.”

Your attention shifted back down to Michael still asleep in the chair. The thought of him staying here all night in your hospital room had something warm and hesitant settling into your chest. You'd always had feelings for him, ever since that day he'd been released from prison and you’d actually met him. He wasn’t like the rest of his family, which had drawn you right towards him, but he'd never seemed to notice you more than he needed to, contacting you only when he needed help with something for a job. 

“Mikey, love,” Birdy said, shaking his shoulder gently. “She's finally awake, pet.”

Michael's eyes flew open at the sound of her voice, his head darting straight up almost instantly. He looked completely alert, his attention quickly shifting from Birdy before over to where you lay. When his eyes met yours from across the room, you felt your breath catch. You hoped the heart monitor you were connected to hadn't given away the jolt you'd just felt in your chest as a nervous energy washed over you.

Michael pushed himself up and out of the chair, one of his hands running through his hair as he continued to stare back at you without a word. Beside him, Birdy’s eyes swept back and forth between you both with a growing grin.

“I'll come check in on ya later, dear,” she said to you.

Michael stood rooted to the floor, unmoving even as Birdy reached up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. You saw her lips move beside his ear, but she spoke so softly that you couldn't quite catch whatever she'd said to him. She patted his shoulder afterwards before making her way towards the exit without a backwards glance.

And then it was just you and Michael.

He didn't speak for a long time, his silence only increasing the tension in the air of your hospital room. The nerves in your stomach swirled uncomfortably as you chewed the inside of your cheek. One of your bandaged hands began toying with the stiff hospital sheets as you waited for him to say absolutely anything.

“Why'd ya do that?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. 

“Do what?” you cautiously questioned back.

“Try to stop a goddamn knife with yer damn hands?” he snapped.

You recoiled on the bed in surprise at his angry outburst. Michael had lost his temper before, but in all the time you’d known him, he'd never lost it with you. You weren’t entirely sure how to respond as you lay there beneath the growing fire in his beautiful eyes.

Michael began to stalk his way towards the side of your hospital bed and you stiffened along the hard mattress, the pain in your abdomen sending another jolt through you at the movement. His hands had clenched into tight fists at his sides as he moved with a fury you'd rarely personally witnessed in him.

“That was reckless and so fuckin’ stupid o’ ya,” he snarled. “Ya coulda been killed last night. D’ya realize that? And for what?”

Swallowing hard, you held his heated stare. As terrifying as he was standing there tense and furious, you couldn't help but grow curious as to why Michael Kinsella himself had stayed the entire night in your hospital room. Part of you was beginning to hopefully suspect it was the same reason you'd done what you'd done.

“For you,” you quietly admitted.

He'd opened his mouth, clearly about to continue shouting and scolding you, but your answer had appeared to surprise him straight into a momentary silence. His dark brows drew even tighter together, his lips still parted in shock. A flutter of nerves tore through your sore body next.

“What?” he asked, the edge completely fading from his voice. 

“The night remains a bit fuzzy,” you explained quietly, watching the hard lines of his features soften, “but that guy was comin’ for ya. So I…did it to protect ya.”

The tension continued to visibly ease out of his body. His shoulders gradually relaxed, his hands beginning to unclench from the fists they'd been curled in. The expression on his face switched to one of confusion now as he gazed down at you.

“Why?” he asked. 

You shrugged lightly, wincing a little. “I suspect for the same reason ya stayed here awake all night,” you answered. “Because ya…matter to me.”

Michael blinked rapidly, as if the idea that he meant something to you seemed too ludicrous to believe. Your heart twisted at the sight. 

“But–but I'm not worth riskin’ bein’ killed over,” he countered. 

“Well, Michael Kinsella,” you murmured softly, reaching your injured hand out towards him, “I happen to disagree.”

Michael visibly swallowed hard, the fire in his eyes melting into something hard to decipher. The corner of his lips began to twitch so minutely you almost hadn't caught the movement. And then slowly, his large hand reached out and gently wrapped around your bandaged one very carefully. You smiled up at him, squeezing his fingers despite the searing pain that shot through your hand. 

“How long?” you whispered. 

Shyly, he smiled back down at you with tears welling in his eyes. “Since that God awful party Amanda threw when I was released from prison,” he whispered back. “The second I first saw ya standin’ quietly at the back o’ the group.”

You laughed lightly, but the pain in your mid-section quickly cut the sound off. “What a coincidence,” you told him, trying to smile despite the pain. “‘Cause that was the same moment I knew.”

Michael’s smile briefly slipped, concern returning to his features. “But don’t think I’m done scoldin’ ya for what ya did. ‘Cause I’m not.”

“‘Course yer not,” you said with a grin. 

Michael Kinsella One Shot Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @sunflower-tia @kezibear @loves0phelia @millennial-birkin @steve-chandler