#michael kinsella fanfic

[peterman-spideyparker]

Nightmares (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

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

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

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

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 2,097

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

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

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

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

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

"Choose!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey, I love—.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whine.

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

“Fuck, Mikey, yes, please!”

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

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

“Ready, pet?” he pants.

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whine.

“Say my name.”

“Michael!”

“Again.”

“Michael!”

“Who d’you belong to?”

“Michael!”

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

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

“Oh,” he blushes. “Sorry, pet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey . . .”

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

“You’d be away from Anna.”

“We’d take her with us.”

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

“I just need t’keep ya safe.”

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

“Why d’ya have so much faith in me?”

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

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

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

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

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[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."

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[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Fifteen]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.6k [Series Masterlist]

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

a/n: Finally y'all get that meeting with the Serpents and a protective and angry Mikey in this chapter. Feedback is always appreciated!

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Fingers wrapped around the handle of the gun still concealed in your parka's pocket, the cold metal of it in your hand felt like a comfort as you ascended the large hill just on the outskirts of Dublin. A quick glance over your shoulder allowed you to see the glowing lights of the city just behind you. Somehow that also felt comforting right now.

Dotser had dropped you off just a bit away from the base of the hill where the meeting was taking place in an attempt to remain hidden so the Serpents didn’t know you hadn’t actually come alone. Which had surprisingly taken more coaxing on your part to get him to listen to you than expected–apparently Birdy had made it clear nothing was supposed to happen to you under his care. So he’d argued with you about going up there alone and inevitably had you late for this meeting, but as you finally reached the top of the large hill, there was admittedly a part of you that felt better knowing he was nearby–even if you knew he was too far to truly help. Because even you weren’t stupid enough to think that you weren’t on your own handling whatever happened next here.

“Wondered if ya would show.”

You froze at the accented voice, your hand curling tighter around the gun in your pocket as your heart jumped in your chest. Trying your hardest to remain calm, your eyes focused on the figure emerging from around the single, lone motorcycle parked in the open field. The moonlight glinted off of something in the man’s hand as you saw him swiftly raise it from his side. By the time the realization that he had a gun had dawned on you, it was already too late. The weapon was trained on you, right on your chest. You felt fear flood your veins, your mouth suddenly dry. 

But he was alone. And judging by the few patches on his cut–the leather vest all MC members wore–he didn’t appear to rank in the charter. That was possibly the only good news right now. 

“You didn’t give me much choice,” you replied.

Your eyes followed his movements carefully, watching as he gradually approached you. He was studying you closely in return, his eyes clearly surveying you from top to bottom. You only hoped you could continue to keep the gun in your pocket concealed from him. You didn’t want to know what he would do if he noticed it.

“Hands out o’ your pockets,” he ordered, gesturing his gun at you. “And slowly. Don’ try anythin’ with me.”

Inhaling a deep, quivering breath, your hand gradually released its hold on the gun in your pocket. You felt like you could hear the pounding of your heart in your ears as your hands very slowly slipped out of your jacket, the chill of the night hitting them instantly. Even if you could still feel the heft of the gun noticeably weighing your jacket down, it felt vastly less comforting with your finger so far from the trigger.

The man continued to approach you, casually closing the distance between the pair of you like a snake stalking its prey. He was sizing you up, his gun still firmly pointed at your chest. You fought the urge to cower or look away from him–you didn’t want to give him any further of an advantage against you. Didn't want to show him the fear you felt. 

When his eyes eventually landed back on your face, he spoke your name. Your actual name, not the fake one you’d been using here. Jaw clenching at the sound of it, you fought hard to keep your composure. If he knew your name, you suddenly had a lot of questions that needed answers. How had he found out? Had he alerted Victor yet? Why was he asking you to meet him? Especially considering he was alone and seemed to be operating outside of the MC. 

You had questions and you needed answers if you wanted to stay alive, but the only way to get them would be to keep a level head. It wasn’t like you hadn’t dealt with trigger-happy outlaw bikers before. You could handle this. You had to.

“That’s who ya are, yeah?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered.

He nodded, coming to a stop just in front of you. He pressed the barrel of his gun into your chest, shoving the end of it sharply into your sternum. You only straightened your back and held his stare in response, even if internally you were terrified of what he might do. You knew he was trying to intimidate you, and truthfully it was working, but if you let it show, then he had the upper hand. And you couldn’t have that.

"Ya are Michael Kinsella's bitch, yeah?" the man asked.

Unable to hide your confusion and shock at his unexpected question, your brows rose high onto your forehead, a frown settling along your lips. How could he have known you had been somewhat seeing Michael? And what the hell would the Serpents want with him?

You needed to tread carefully.

"What're–"

The Serpent shoved the gun harder into your chest, cutting you off immediately as he lowered his face to yours. You swallowed hard, fighting to keep the tremble from your lips.

"That was a yes or a no question," he growled. "Are ya fuckin' the Kinsella or no?"

Technically you weren't fucking him yet, but you didn't think he cared about technicalities. It seemed like he already knew the answer, too, especially considering he must've known you lived right next door to Michael since he’d slipped something into your sister’s letterbox for you to find. 

"Yes," you answered. 

"Thought as much when I saw ya both walkin' around the city together," he said with a nod. 

Your mind raced, trying hard to piece everything together. There were only two times you and Michael had gone walking anywhere together, which meant…

"It was you," you stated, the realization hitting you. "You were the one tailing us. In the hoodie."

"Figured ya saw me," he replied. "Wasn't supposed to be there or I'd have taken my shot at him. But I was curious 'bout ya when I saw ya with him," he continued. "Thought I might find out who the bitch was that Michael Kinsella was seein'. See if ya could be the bait to lure him out."

Your lips parted in surprise at his words, panic building even further inside of you. Was he trying to use you for bait to lure Michael out to kill him right now? Had you unknowingly just walked into something?

"Yeah, ya see, that was my first thought," he continued, grinning when he saw the look of fear on your face. "But then I looked into ya. Saw who ya really are." 

He barked out a harsh laugh, the noise causing you to flinch. The faint glow from the moon above and the city lights behind you cast just enough light onto his face allowing you to see the dark, shadowy expression there. He looked more dangerous now than he had a few minutes ago.

"The Mother charter's missin’ cunt," he said with a sharp laugh. "Right here in Dublin. Imagine my surprise when I found that out. Runnin' from Victor? The Viper ? Ahh, 's’just too good."

"What do you want?" you asked him.

His smile faltered at your question, his eyes narrowing threateningly back at you. The man's lip curled up into a sneer as he pressed the barrel of the gun more firmly into your chest.

"I want ya to give me Michael in exchange for keepin’ your secret," he snapped back. "For now, at least. Might be useful for me to hang onto for a bit." 

"Why do you want him?" you asked carefully. 

The Serpent barked out another sharp laugh. You stood there entirely still, incredibly aware of the gun bruising the space along your sternum. 

“Ya fuckin’ daft?” he asked. “Eamon wants them all dead–especially Michael. He put out a special bounty for The Magician.”

Your frown deepened at the nickname you’d unearthed for Michael when you’d been digging up dirt on the Kinsellas the other week. But what the Serpent said had made sense. Birdy had told you the Cork charter might be looking to get into smuggling and dealing, and apparently Eamon was the main supplier in Ireland. They wanted an in, and Eamon wanted the Kinsella’s dead. It was a perfect opportunity, really.

Eyes dropping down to the front of the man’s cut, you noticed he had a single patch. The singular patch every Serpent member had. It meant he wasn’t a prospect, but he wasn’t necessarily someone that mattered. Gradually your eyes slid back up to his face, your mind piecing things together quickly.

“You’re here on your own,” you said slowly. “Hoping to take Michael Kinsella for yourself to please your President. You want rank.”

“Doesn’ fuckin’ matter, does it?” he shot back. 

“It means they don’t know who I am, do they?” you asked him, feeling a little bolder the more you spoke. “None of the others know I’m here, because if they did, they’d have already alerted Victor. And you haven’t told Victor I’m here because then you’d lose your chance of making a name for yourself with the Serpents. Because wouldn’t you look like hot shit taking out Michael Kinsella and in turn winning the Serpents Ireland’s biggest supplier?”

Something flickered across the man’s face in the dark, his back straightening. “Think ya have it all figured out, d’ya?” he growled. 

You opened your mouth to speak, but before a single word came out, the Serpent lifted the gun from where he’d had it pressed against your chest. With a solid thwack he slammed the butt of the gun upside your temple. White flashed across your eyes as you cried out, searing pain shooting through your head. Your body crumpled in half as you stumbled a few steps backwards. Eyelids fluttering, you tried to regain your balance, struggling not to fall on your knees before him.

“I’m not fuckin’ playin’ here,” he warned. “I’ll give ya a couple o’ days, but I want ya to bring me Michael.”

He pulled something out of his coat pocket and threw it at you. The object hit you in the shin, bouncing off of you and falling into the grass before you. You groaned, a hand flying to your head where he’d struck you. Immediately you winced, pain shooting through your skull. Something warm and wet met your fingertips–you had to have been bleeding. 

Sluggishly your gaze dropped down to what he’d tossed at you. It looked like a small flip phone.

“Ya get Michael alone somewhere, ya text me on that burner phone,” he ordered. “If ya don’, I tell Victor and all the other Serpents in Cork that you’re here. If I smell a trap, I tell Victor and all the other Serpents in Cork that you’re here. If ya try to pull anythin’ with me–try to disappear on me?” 

His hand darted out, gripping a fistful of your hair and yanking your head upwards, forcing your eyes to meet his as you yelped in surprise. A dangerous smile was spread across his lips.

“I think ya fuckin’ know what I’ll do,” he told you. “Ya got three days, and that’s me bein’ generous. Don’ fuck it up.”

Forcefully he flung you to the ground, his grip releasing your hair as he did. Your hands scrambled out in front of you, trying to catch yourself as you fell forward onto the grass. Heart violently thundering in your chest, you stayed like that on all fours as you heard the sound of the lone motorcycle rumble to life. Your eyes closed when you heard him rev the engine, fingers curling around the blades of grass. 

A few moments later, you heard the bike tear off with a roar, the noise steadily disappearing into the night. When silence finally met your ears, you collapsed to the ground, tears burning at your eyes and racing down your cheeks. No longer needing to try to look brave, you let yourself cry in the grass. 

What a fucking mess you’d wound up in now. You had three days to deliver Michael to that nameless Serpent. Which of course meant he was going to kill him, though obviously there was no way you were going to let that happen. But clearly anything deviating from that–if you ran, or if the three days were up, or you had the Kinsellas’ try to take the Serpent out–you’d have the entire Cork charter after you along with Victor on his way to Dublin. And that meant you’d be putting Megan in danger. And Michael. Possibly Birdy and the others.

What the hell were you supposed to do? You would never give up Michael, but you didn’t want to be thrown to Victor, either. He’d only hurt you before he inevitably killed you. And he’d probably find a way to drag it out and make you wish he’d get it over with. That thought alone had you curling in on yourself in the grass, tears pouring down your cheeks even faster.

In the distance, you heard the distinct sound of a motorcycle gradually roaring nearer. The sound shot a spike of adrenaline through you, the familiar rumble causing you to sit bolt upright in the grass, one hand flying to your forehead as the world around you briefly spun at the movement. You winced in pain, removing your hand from your forehead as you tried to focus in on the noise of the bike. It sounded like it was coming from the opposite direction of where the Serpent had just left; it was coming from down where you knew Dotser was waiting for you. 

Had the Serpent circled back?

Carefully you rose to your feet, pocketing the burner phone and blinking rapidly when your vision briefly blurred and you’d once again become dizzy. You stumbled forward, having to quickly catch your balance as a hiss of pain shot through your teeth. Recovering seconds later, you stuffed your hand back into your parka pocket, fingers wrapping around the handle of the gun as you began to make your way back down the hill. If Dotser was in danger you weren’t just going to leave him to fend for himself.

As you crested the top of the hill, you caught sight of a motorcycle pulling up beside Dotser’s parked car. You swore you spotted two people getting off of the bike before the headlight on it had turned off, throwing them back into darkness. But it hadn’t seemed like Dotser had been alarmed at the appearance of whoever they were, and you hadn’t heard gunshots ringing out. It must not have been the Serpents–they certainly didn’t share bikes like that anyway. But as you continued on your way down the hill, you wondered exactly who it could’ve been on that bike. Only Birdy and Frank knew you were out here.

You didn’t have to wait long to find out, though. As you continued your descent down the hill towards the two vehicles, your temple throbbing as you felt blood trickling down the side of your face, you spotted someone pulling off a helmet and aggressively throwing it to the ground. Then their figure began storming its way over towards you, moving at an alarmingly fast pace. Your hand squeezed around the handle of the gun in your pocket, but almost one second later a sinking feeling hit you in the gut right before you heard the unmistakable and furious voice of Michael Kinsella.

“What the fuck d’ya think you’re doin’?”

You winced at the anger in his words as he continued to stalk his way towards you. Instead of answering, you blurted the question that was on your mind.

“How did you know I was here?” you nervously called back.

Michael’s enraged steps were swiftly closing in on you, shrinking the distance between the pair of you as he approached, a gun held firmly in his right hand. In the dim light from the moon you could see the sheer fury etched across his handsome features as his eyes bore into you. The look on his face alone sent a chill through you. But then you saw the exact moment he spotted what must’ve been the nasty gash on the side of your head considering how fast his expression switched from murderous to concerned and fearful. His eyes widened, dark brows rising up onto his forehead as his lips parted in surprise. He hesitated for the minutest of moments before he was sprinting the remaining distance towards you, stuffing his gun into the back of his jeans as he ran.

You came to a halt when Michael stopped before you, your eyes guiltily darting away from him and towards the ground. He reached his left hand out without a single word, his fingers carefully gripping your chin and turning your face to the side further as he examined the wound on the side of your head. You heard him suck in a sharp breath beside you before you felt the tips of his fingers on his other hand just lightly brush over the skin next to the injury. You grimaced at his faint touch and something like a rumbling growl vibrated in his chest instantly.

“It’s not that bad,” you whispered.

Michael didn’t reply. Instead, he gently turned your face back towards his, your eyes gradually making their way back up to his. Michael’s hazel stare pierced into yours through the dark, his lips pressed into a thin line. You could practically feel the heat of his anger burning into you just through his glare alone.

“Who did this?” he asked.

You shook your head, his fingers still holding your chin as you did. The Serpents wanted him dead, Michael could not be running off after them just because one of them hit you.

“It doesn’t matter,” you told him. “You’re not going to–”

“Who did this to ya?” he repeated fiercely, releasing your chin and taking a step closer to you, his face hovering before yours. “The asshole on the bike who just peeled out o’ here? He the one, Grace?”

Eyes going wide, your mouth fell open. He’d spotted the Serpent leaving?

“Take that as a yes,” Michael growled, turning on the spot.

He took two steps before your stomach twisted uncomfortably, watching as his right hand withdrew the gun from the back of his pants. You immediately took off after him, ignoring the way pain shot through your head as you bolted forward. 

“Michael, stop!”

Your hands reached out, grabbing onto his brown jacket and pulling roughly against it. Michael came to an abrupt stop, turning back towards you with a dangerous look in his eyes as he stared you down. The muscles in his cheeks were twitching and seeing that look back on his face only sent another chill through your body. He looked absolutely murderous. 

“Let go of me, Grace,” he ordered, barely contained rage in his voice. 

Your fingers curled tighter around his jacket as you shook your head at him. “No,” you told him. “You’re not going after him. I won’t let you. He’ll kill you.”

Michael took an intimidating step towards you, his face mere inches from yours. Though the proximity was anything but intimate with the way his expression was twisted in fury and his sharp, angered breaths were causing his chest to heave as he glared back at you.

“ I’m goin’ to fuckin’ kill him !” he roared at you, ignoring the way you flinched at the volume of his voice. “Ya think I’m goin’ to let some asshole threaten ya and then beat ya? Think I’d let that go unanswered? D’ya, Grace?” 

He raised the gun in his hand, the barrel of it pointed upwards towards the sky. Your eyes inevitably were drawn to the weapon at the movement, goosebumps rippling over your arms beneath your jacket. You were torn between fear for Michael’s safety, surprise at his rage openly on display, and absolute admiration for how far Michael was willing to go to protect you.

Though you were immediately drawn back to the matter at hand. The Serpents wanted Michael dead because Eamon wanted him dead. That Serpent that had just left here would shoot Michael on sight without hesitation. And if Michael somehow managed to kill an MC member instead, he'd have a whole new problem to deal with. 

He couldn’t chase after him.

“You can’t,” you said firmly, shaking your head again. “You can’t go after him, Michael.”

“The fuckin’ hell I can’t,” he snapped at you. “And don’t think I’m not wantin’ an explanation for whatever the fuck ya think you’re doin’ meetin’ with them all alone when I’m done dealin' with this.” He pointed a sharp finger towards your jacket pocket. " Or an explanation as to why you're carryin' a fuckin' gun on ya, Grace."

He firmly grasped your wrists, removing your hands from their hold on his jacket before he turned back around, stalking off towards the motorcycle he had rode in on. Inhaling a shaky breath, you followed after him, tears stinging at your eyes. You had to make him understand the gravity of this situation.

“The Serpents want you dead, Michael,” you shouted after him.

Michael stopped mid-step, his shoulders squaring as he stood there. Slowly, his head tilted to the side as he listened to you.

"The one I met with," you continued quickly, "he told me they're going after the bounties Eamon put out on all of you. Especially you, Michael. They want Eamon for a supplier. So if you chase after him, he'll kill you on sight."

Michael looked over his shoulder at you, his jaw clenched tight. The fury was still clear on his face but you pushed on, spotting Dotser and Michael’s brother Jimmy nearing the pair of you.

“And if you kill a Serpent, you’ll have the whole charter bearing down on your family here in Dublin,” you told him. “The club is a family, too. You kill one, you’ll have them all after you. And if you somehow prove to be difficult enough,” you said, pausing to draw in a deep, shuddering breath, “they call in the Viper." 

You held Michael’s stare unblinkingly. His brows drew faintly together as he processed what you'd said, a look of confusion drawing over his features.

"Viper?" he asked.

You nodded solemnly in return. " My ex. He deals with…problems that any charter can't handle on their own. If you start killing off members in Cork, you’ll have Victor here in Dublin so fucking fast that you might as well put a bullet in my head right now.”

Michael’s eyes dropped to the ground, his left hand rising up to run across his mouth. You could see the tension slowly leaving him as the weight of your words settled on him; even his grip on his gun wasn't as tight and determined as before.

“So I’m–I’m just s’posed to let that fucker get away with layin’ a hand on ya like that?” Michael shot back, his eyes darting back up to you. "Ya expect me to do nothin' 'bout that?"

Your eyes darted to Jimmy who’d come to a stop beside his brother. He was eyeing you curiously, seemingly really noticing you for the first time. For a brief moment you wondered what Michael must have told him about you for him to come out here to help his brother, but now wasn't exactly the time to wonder what Michael’s family thought about you. Attention returning back to Michael, you answered him.

“There’s–there's nothing you can do about what happened to me right now,” you told him, shaking your head. “He told me I needed to deliver you to him in three days or he’d alert the charter in Cork and Victor to the fact that I’m here. So I don’t–don't think it's a good idea to go racing after him and shooting first without thinking it through," you admitted. "Birdy wanted me to meet with her and Frank after this. Right now, I think that's the better option than chasing that guy down. It's better to not make a bigger mess out of everything. Think the best choice would be to be smart and handle this with some thought before action."

"She has a point, brother," Jimmy cut in, gesturing a hand at your face. "And your girl looks like she could use some medical attention. Let Dotser take her back to Birdy’s. We can meet 'em there and figure things out."

Resignation slowly made its way across Michael’s face as he shot his brother a look. Jimmy held his brother's stare for a few seconds as if the pair were silently communicating with each other. Eventually Michael let out a loud sigh, returning his gun to the waistband of the back of his pants.

"Fine," he grumbled. "Just give me a minute with her, would ya both?"

Both Jimmy and Dotser nodded, making their way back to the car and the motorcycle parked a little way off still. Nervously you focused on Michael who was watching the pair of men walking away. You felt guilty for having lied to him before coming out here, even more now that he'd caught you in the lie. 

Gradually Michael turned, making his way towards you. He moved quietly, his eyes on the ground as he took each step until he’d once again stopped in front of you. A second later he finally looked up at you, the anger entirely missing from his face now. Instead, there was something warm and caring reflecting back at you in his concerned eyes before they focused on the cut along your head. He winced visibly at the sight of it.

"I'm fine," you whispered. 

"Are ya?" he asked as his sad, pain-filled eyes met yours again. "You're in the middle of a lot o' shit right now, Grace. Because o' me."

You shook your head quickly, ignoring the sharp pain as you did. "No, it's because of me. Because of Victor," you disagreed.

Michael scoffed loudly, shaking his own head. "But no one would have taken notice of ya if ya hadn't been with me , Grace," he pointed out. 

Hands curling into fists at your sides, you were terrified he'd suddenly tell you he wanted nothing to do with you. That this was all a mistake. That you were safer without him–all things you'd wanted to say and do to keep him safe and couldn't exactly blame him for. Your heart had begun nervously thrumming in your chest in anticipation of those words as his hand reached out, carefully cradling the side of your face that wasn't injured. It felt like you couldn't breathe as you waited for him to speak, his thumb lightly brushing back and forth along your cheek.

"I'm goin' to fix this," he assured you. "Goin' to make this right. To make sure ya are safe. Ya have my word, pet. He'll pay for this."

Gingerly his hand slipped back to gently grasp the back of your head, carefully drawing you into himself. Hands flying up, you wrapped your arms eagerly around Michael’s waist, desperate for the safety and comfort he exuded. He held you securely in his arms in return, one hand stroking affectionately down the back of your head as he lightly rested his against the top of yours.

"I'll keep ya safe, I promise ya," he murmured. "I got ya now, pet. Ya here me? I got ya now."

Burrowing further against Michael's chest, your eyes closed as you relaxed into his protective embrace. Despite how your night had gone, you felt safe with him. Fingers tightening further around Michael’s jacket, you held on to him like he was your lifeline. 

You didn't want to let him go.

[shelikesorchids-archive]

Cold Hands, Warm Hearts

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Warnings: None, just tooth rotting fluff.

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

Word count: Just over 700

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

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

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

“M’upstairs!” he replied. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Mind the Gap, Chapter 1

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

Rating: E

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael walked in. “Hi.”

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

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

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

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

He shrugged. “Been busy.”

“Wan’ a drink?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Michael opened it to find an ID and passport.

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

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

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

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

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

[a-leg-without-fear]

Congratulations leggy!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[saintmurd0ck]

shatter me

masterlist

pairing: michael kinsella x f!reader

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

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

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

song pairings: michael kinsella (an anthology)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Shatter me. 

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

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

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

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

Never Amanda. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tonight belongs to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mattmurdocksscars]

To Tell The Truth

A/N: Hello, loves! Have some Mikey content! This does contain spoilers for the new season so beware that! We start off a little angsty then get fluffy then get smutty. So we have a bit of everything here!

Word Count: 2148

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

When Michael called to ask to come over, you were not expecting him to show up with a six pack dangling from his fingers that already had two beers missing from it. 

"Woah. We celebrating something or what?" At Michael's scoff, your expression softened. "What happened, Mikey?"

"You remember tha' girl I was seein'?"

"Yeah, Molly right?"

"Yeah. Well, you'll never guess what she's off doing."

"Tell me."

"She's getting married." Your eyes widened and then your heart broke for Michael. 

"Oh, Mikey…"

"The worst part is, she didn't even bother ta tell me. I found out from her coworker." Michael took a large swig from the beer in his hand and then laughed bitterly. "I must be a magnet for taken women or somethin'."

He continued on to tell you about how Amanda had been following him lately too and how he didn't know what to do now. It broke your heart to see him so broken but it also pissed you off to hear him talk so poorly about himself. Like he didn't deserve better. 

"Maybe I'm just meant to be alone."

"That's not true, Mikey."

"Yeah? And how do you know? Every girl who's interested in me is already in a relationship and either doesn't tell me or tries to manipulate me in some way."

"That's not true either. I like you just fine and I'm single." You immediately shut your mouth realizing what you said but thankfully, Michael took it a different way.

"That's not the same." He took another swig of beer and then crushed the now empty can. "I just want to find someone who isn't going to lie to me."

You watched quietly as he pulled another can free and opened it. You wanted to tell him the truth in that moment. That you liked him as so much more than a friend. That you were in love with him. But you couldn't do it.

"Listen. You'll find that, I promise. Just stay away from the likes of Amanda and Molly. They don't want what's best for you."

"And I suppose you do?" You froze, looking over at Michael who was staring at you with a strange look in his eyes. You licked your lips and chose your words carefully.

"Yeah, I do. You know I do. You're my best friend, Michael, and I just want you to be happy." He just shook his head and took a sip of his beer. You knew he was bordering on piss drunk and that you needed to be very careful about what you said so he didn't remember anything too damning. 

"Mikey… I wish you could see how much you're worth. You're not some object to be manipulated. You're a human being who deserves to be loved and taken care of."

"I'm not so sure." Was all he mumbled before he stumbled over to your couch and sat down on it. He leaned his head back and sighed like the world was on his shoulders. 

"Stay here tonight, Mikey. You're drunk and I'd feel better if you didn't walk home." He mumbled something you didn't quite hear before rolling his head over to look at you.

"Okay, pet." You smiled softly at the nickname before walking over and gently taking the pack of beer from his hand. He kept the open container clutched in his other hand and you let him keep that one. 

"I'm just gonna put these in the fridge and then I'll get you a blanket." Michael nodded and as you were walking away, you heard him once again mumble something you couldn't hear. You put his beer in the fridge and grabbed a blanket before walking back to your living room. You smiled as you realized he was already fast asleep, the open beer can left on the side table. You gently covered him in the blanket then cleaned up the beer before heading to bed yourself. 

You were deep asleep when Michael's gruff voice calling your name startled you awake. 

"Wha-"

"Sorry, pet, but your heat went out. I was gonna let ya know I'm heading home and ask if ya wanna come with me." You looked over to your clock and read that it was nearing three am. Now that Michael had mentioned it, you realized you were chilly but that your blankets had managed to keep you warm. 

"No way, Mikey. It's almost three am. Just come sleep next to me. It's plenty warm in the bed." You told him sleepily. He raised an eyebrow but slowly walked over to the other side of the bed.

"Ya sure, pet?"

"Yeah. We're adults, we can sleep next to each other." Michael nodded and climbed into bed next to you. You could practically feel the chill coming off of him and frowned.

"Jesus, Mikey, how long did you wait? I can feel the chill radiating off of you."

He gave you a sheepish look.

"A little while. I didn't want to wake ya." 

"Well, next time, wake me sooner." Michael nods and the both of you settle down for the night. You're just getting ready to nod off when Michael says something. 

"Hm?"

"I said… did you mean everything you said earlier?"

"About waking me sooner? Yes." He let out a soft chuckle.

"No. When we were talkin before I fell asleep. Did you really mean that I deserve better? And that ya want what's best for me?" You worried your lip between your teeth before nodding slowly.

"Yeah… yeah, Mikey, I did."

"...Are you in love with me, pet?" You closed your eyes and let out a shaky sigh. 

"Yes. I am. I've loved you for so long. And I'm sorry, I don't want to make things awkward so I promise I won't ever say anything about it again-" You're cut off by a pair of soft lips covering your own and you freeze, afraid this is all some dream and that if you move, it'll all be over.

"I don't want ya to do that, love."

"Oh?"

"I want ya to tell me every day how much ya love me so I can tell ya the same." He whispered against your lips. He leans in to kiss you again and you moan against his lips bringing a smile to his face. He rolls the two of you so he's on top of you and presses kiss after kiss to your mouth. It's as he begins to kiss down your neck that your brain fires a flare.

"Mikey, wait… wait…" Michael immediately stops and pulls back, concern on his face.

"What is it?"

"You're drunk… and I don't want to take advantage of that. I don't want this to just be something you do because you're drunk and you've had a rough day and-"

"Love, shhh. This ain't that. I slept off the alcohol, I'm sober I promise. And I swear ta ya this isn't a one time thing for me. I could never regret ya." He cups your face and stares straight into your eyes so you can see the truth in them. 

"You promise?" You whisper.

"I swear. I'll even tell ya all of this in the mornin' if ya want me to." He grins and you giggle, reaching up to cup his face. 

"As long as you're still here in the morning, that's all that matters to me." His grin softens and he kisses you softly.

"I'm not goin' anywhere, love." This time you kiss him and it doesn't take long for things to heat up between the two of you. 

"Do ya want this, pet?"

"Yes, Mikey, please…" Your voice is breathless as Michael starts his path back down your neck. You tilt your head back to give him better access and you feel his smirk against your skin. You feel his hands slip down your sides then slide under your shirt to skate along your hips. 

"I've wanted this for so long, pet." Michael admits as he slowly lifts your shirt up and off of you, flinging it across the room once you're free of it. You shudder against the cold air of the room and Michael pulls the blankets so they're up around the both of you. 

"Can I touch ya, love?" Michael asks, his hands settled just below your breasts. You nod and he brings his hands up to caress your breasts causing you to moan and arch your back. He chuckles above you and then leans down, laving his tongue over one of your nipples. You gasp and your hands shoot up to bury in his hair, pulling a groan from him. He works your chest over skillfully and has you moaning and writhing below him in no time.

"Mikey, please… stop teasing me. Need you." He pulls back far enough to look at you before nodding. The two of you shuffle around as you both work to get your pants down and off followed quickly by hs.

"Do ya need me to stretch you out, pet?" You whine and roll your hips against him causing him to hiss as your cunt rubs against his dick. 

"Just need you, Mikey." 

"Alright, pet. I'll taste ya later." There's a glint in his eyes that sends a shiver down your spine but you don't have long to dwell on it before he's lining up and sinking into you slowly. You both moan at the feeling of him bottoming out and he gives you a moment to get used to his size. Once you squeeze his arms to get him moving though he sets a slow, leisurely pace. He leans down and kisses you, his lips following the pace of his hips. It's slow and oh so sweet. Michael's hands run up your sides to your arms and finally to your hands where he intertwines his fingers with yours. 

"Fuck, love, ya feel so good wrapped around my cock." Michael moans into your mouth. His lips don't seem to want to leave yours, even to talk. He adjusts his hips to better thrust into you and the change has you crying out as he hits the spot within you that you'd only ever heard about. You squeeze his hands and throw your head back, hips rising to meet his as best as possible. 

"That's it, pet. Take what I give ya. Yer so good fer me." Michael grunts and picks the pace up some and you find yourself hurtling towards your orgasm. You can only cry out Michael's name as a warning before the wave rushes over you and you spasm around his cock. Michael growls at the feeling of you milking his cock and fucks you through it.

"Fuck, pet, where- where do ya want me to cum?" His words come out as a pant as he tries to hold off his own orgasm.

"Inside! I'm on birth control, please, Mikey, wanna feel you inside!" You whine and Michael curses before thrusting once, twice and cumming deep within your walls. He collapses on top of you and makes sure to pull the covers in tight so you don't get cold. He's still resting snugly inside of you and the both of you sigh at the feeling.

"Could stay like this forever." Michael murmurs before pressing a soft kiss to your neck. You smile and wriggle your arms until he lets you go so that you can wrap your arms around him and hold him close.

"I can't say we can stay like this forever, but we can at least stay like this for the rest of the night." You tell him and his eyes light up. 

"Really? With me in you? You wouldn't mind?"

"Of course I wouldn't. I'm comfortable like this. Besides… how else are we going to stay warm?" You ask with an innocent lilt to your voice. Michael chuckles and leans down to kiss you deeply.

"We can always go to my place."

"In the morning. I don't wanna move right now." You tell him, solidifying that you wanted him right where he was. He tucked the blankets more firmly around you and settled in. 

"Oh, and pet?"

"Hm?"

"Don't be surprised if I wake you up with my head between your perfect thighs. I didn't get a taste and I'm always starving in the mornings." He told you, a dark glint in his eyes that has you clenching around him. He growls and dips down to kiss you.

"You won't find any complaints here. Now relax. Let me be good for you and keep you warm." Michael bit his lip, contemplating if he wanted to start round two or do as you said. Deciding on the latter, he let himself get comfortable again.

"Goodnight, love."

"Goodnight, Mikey."

And if he made good on his promise to eat you out in the morning? Well… you certainly weren't complaining.

[peterman-spideyparker]

Cheesy Hash (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

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

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

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

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 990

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Michael.”

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

“Mm, I get breakfast, too?”

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

“Ooh, scandalous, Mikey.“

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

“Surprise me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mm, so sexy.

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

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

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

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

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

“I like that idea.”

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

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

“And if I don’t?”

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

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really meant all weekend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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[yarrystyleeza]

Ok actually I didn't have to think long, lol.

What would your ideal first date with Mikey (aka our favorite Irish mob daddy) consist of??? 👀

I am really really REALLY sorry it took me (5) months to finish this piece, a lot of stuff was going on (my life was a complete mess, still tho). But since it's Valentine's day, I HAD to post something, and what's better than a date with Mikey for a Valentine's gift?

Something else I had to say, is that I had no idea how to write HCs—which is the vibe that I got from your ask (hehe), so, I improvised, and made up a whole story of what would your first date with Mikey would be (with a back story as well).

That being said, let's jump right into the act! And thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, for submitting this request and for your patience, please enjoy! 💖💖💖

It's Always Raining In Dublin (M.K)

Requested by @loveroftoomanyfandoms

Pairing and dynamic: Michael Kinsella x female!reader (reader is a bookshop owner), strangers to friends (?) to lovers

Prompt: fluff, first date goes wrong but then perfect, rain, rain, and more rain.

Word Count: 4.3k!

Writer's note: this was supposed to be finished back in September, which was five months ago, but I was struggling for a while with both a terrible writer's block and life and then BOOM I got the inspiration to finish it. Also, this is the very first time I ever write anything for Michael, so I'm a little nervous, I hope it's good enough though.

(I proofread this almost a thousand times WITH my bestie as well, so if there's anything wrong with the grammar and/or the lexical content, we were really exhausted and couldn't see shit—we're sorry T-T).

It was a rainy morning when you truly met him, it rained almost everyday in Dublin but that day was a core memory. You had just unlocked the door of your little bookshop and started to sort things out before your costumers arrive.

Usually, your first client doesn't show up before nine-thirty in the morning, which gives you spare time to dust off the shelves and pick up a big cup of coffee from the nearby coffeeshop down the street—in this never-ending autumn.

That morning was no different. It was pouring heavily but you're used to opening your shop on rainy days, it's always raining in Dublin anyway, and if you had to take each rainy day off—you'd end up with a couple of fingers on your hands as you count the days you worked on per year.

You were organizing the children's books section when you heard the sweet chime of the little bell hanging on your front door. It was barely eight and you happened to just finished your coffee and breakfast, getting ready to start your day. But it began earlier than you expected it to.

Your costumer was a man, you assumed he was in his early forties, maybe for the dark thick beard that covers most of his face. His face was strangely familiar to you, you just couldn't exactly remember when it was when you saw him.

But you're sure that this was the prettiest face of a man you've seen in a while. His greenish hazel brown eyes sparkled like a kaleidoscope with a hint of an exquisite permanent-sadness, and his flushed skin and dampened hair glistened due to the torrent outside.

You felt your breath stuck in your throat for a moment before you could clear it to speak.

"good morning, sir, how may I help ya today?" you faced him fully and your skirt swirled—following your motion with a swoosh in the air, you catch him glance down at it for a second before returning his eyes on you.

"I... The book ye suggested ta me the other day..." he starts gently and the memory comes back rushing immediately. You remember that warm tone, you had indeed met this gentleman before.

A week ago, he came over to your shop and you recall how lost he was in his search for the perfect book to read. And you, being a bookworm, and also the owner of this little corner bookshop— you had to help him. You gave him a suggestion for a book out of his box—out of his comfort readings.

And from the gentle look on his face, you suppose that he liked it.

"I'was grand," the man smiles softly and the corners of his eyes crinkle a little, you find yourself grinning back at him.

"Ye finished it quickly!" you commented in excitement and he looked a bit puzzled, a smile softly drawn on his lips with a little crease of confusion. It was adorable.

"I mean—I'm glad t'was grand that ya finished it quickly." He lipped a silent "oh" before his cheeks burn red as he smiled and his eyes almost disappeared.

"Are ya here for another book?" you asked when the silence fell on the place, raindrops kept knocking on the glass front nonstop, music to your ears with this handsome man smiling and radiating joy to your eyes.

"Ye can say that..." his voice was quiet but you can hear it in this downpour noise, he tilted his head to the side and shrugged, and it was impossible for you to not aw at it.

"How about we go with somethin' even newer for today?" you suggested, he nods to the side with a little smile, you walk and he follows you down the aisle.

"Romance or crime and mystery?" you stop at the novels sections, "pride and prejudice, I guess ya must've heard of it before," you pick the book off the shelf, he gently takes it from your hand and examines the cover thoroughly with his amber eyes, and he looked so interested.

"Or, we can go with Agatha Christie's illustrious murder on the orient express," you take the book and hand it to him, "or... Take a whole new genre and check Mary Shelley's horror Frankenstein? It's one of me favorites," you hand him the third book after strolling down the aisle a little more.

The man looked puzzled now, he seemed interested in each one of these books. But you patiently wait for him to speak.

"Have ya made up yer mind yet, sir?" you ask.

He shrugged with a sigh, raising his brows high, "they all look grand— can't lie t'ye," he answered.

"They are— but I can make ya an offer, I'll give ya the three books with the price of one and a half—and in return, ye're gonna write me a review of each book to add to me list of reviews and suggestions here on me wall," you tilt your head to the side, eyeing his beautiful features and almost forgetting you were waiting for his answer.

"Tha' seems grand ta me," he chuckled.

"I'm glad it is!" you walk him back to the cashier check, you get back behind your computer to scan the books and add in the discount.

"That'll be 18.46 after the discount," you lean against the wooden surface with your arms supporting you up.

He nods and hands you the money. "There ya go--" you're about to hand him the change. He shook his head, "no, keep tha change, miss..." he cuts you off gently, looking down at the little pin with your name on it.

You tell him your name to catch his eyes back up and he nods with a little smile, "Michael." he says, only taking the receipt and the paper bag of books.

He turns and makes his way to the front door, "Michael?" you loved the sound of his name rolling off your tongue. He stops and turns with a puzzled face, "thanks fer the tip," he smiles and you can see the blush on his face a mile away. He leaves and you watch him take a turn to the right before he disappeared under the northern downpour.

The next week, Michael shows up at your shop's door on a Saturday afternoon, a big smile drawn on his face. You were dealing with a little kid trying to choose a book, you turn to see him and he immediately waves at you, a little sweet grin splits the darkness of his thick beard. "Ya can take the book now, pet, momma's gonna send me the money later, 'kay?" The two of you watch the little kid waddle out of the shop.

"Sorry t' interrupt yer work," he says as he crossed the distance between you. You shake your head, "at all, Michael. How was yer read? Which book did ya read first?" you asked, leaning against the shelves.

He smiled wider when you said his name, almost startled to speak. "Um, the-- the mystery one, murder on the orient express," he answered.

"And did ya like it?" you ask him again with enthusiasm and butterflies crowding your lungs. He rubs the back of his neck with a sigh and an apologetic smile. "Ya don't seem like ya liked it, did ya?" you chuckled.

He scrunched his nose and tilts his head to the side, "the ending was unexpected at all ta be honest with ya," he shrugs.

You nodded and hummed to his answer, "Christie is never expected, that's why we love her," he nods back.

You notice the two paper cups of coffee he held in his hand when the smell of freshly baked-and-brewed coffee beans hits your nostrils. You were so confused why you never noticed it before, maybe you were distracted by Michael's presence as a whole, or his always-glistened ambers if you were specific. Michael notices the confused smile on your face. "I— thought I should bring ye coffee, as a thank ya."

Your smile grows with a blush as he hands you a cup, "thank ya, Michael, that's truly sweet of ya," you coo, his face blushes and shyly drops his eyes to the ground.

The sky thunders and you nearly jumped out of your place, both of you stare at the other and you burst out laughing. "Did that scare ya off, pet?" Michael asked with a worried smile, you kept giggling.

"Not really but... It was... Unexpected?" you answer after taking a deep breath.

"Like Christie?" he chuckled, you burst out laughing.

"Like Christie."

The weeks turned into months and Michael began to show up more and more often, and you eagerly waited every morning to see his shiny hazel eyes and his beautiful smile, one that you keep daydreaming about until he steps into your shop with two hot cups of coffee.

He turned from a regular client—to be a resident of this little bookshop. Michael started to stay in with you and help you organizing and monitoring the place—he would even help the little kids in choosing their books, too.

Once, you found him sitting on the oak floor, the little boys and girls gathered and sat around him, while he narrated a children's book. Your heart melted at the sight, and luckily that wouldn't be the last time.

The kids would come into your shop asking you if uncle Michael was there to read for them; Michael was now a part of your place, and you're happy to have someone like him to keep your company.

One evening —after three months of seeing each other daily— when the sky was cloudy and the sunset light was becoming less visible. The weather broadcast had warned about an upcoming rainstorm tonight—so you had to call it a night and leave.

You made sure everything was in the right place and order before you left. You put your autumn coat on and stuff your phone inside your purse. You take the keys out and you make your way towards the exit. Michael was waiting for you by the front door. Both of you get out of the shop and you turn to lock it up.

Michael calls your name gently in a tone barely louder than a whisper before you head on your way home and it makes your stomach churn in the most beautiful way.

You turn to look at him, he's shifting in his place, hands stuffed inside his leather jacket pockets and face all flustered and burning red. "Can I walk ye home tonight? It's a lil' darker than usual, I'd be worried 'bout ye, pet," he asks, voice so desperate. Your heart skips a beat—but it comes back pounding.

Your smile doesn't leave your face and it starts to hurt your cheeks. "Sure thing, Michael, I'd love to," you nodded, he grins and his eyes crinkle and his orbits shine.

The sky darkens but you could still see the perfect smile on Michael's face, little raindrops started sliding against your skins and it was a scene out of a painting, so magical and calm.

You make it to your place and you exchange goodbyes. You watched him walking down the concrete path and disappeared behind the brick wall.

You made your way to your doorstep, almost taking your keychain out when Michael calls out your name, you turn to face him, he's all soaked in water but his beautiful grin never left his face.

"Can I take ya out fer dinner tomorrow night?" your jaw dropped and your head screamed 'yes, yes, yes'.

"Yes! Yes, y'can, Michael!" you could barely make out his silhouette as your grin almost shut your eyes. He's almost jumping in his place, he sighs with a big smile.

"I'll pick ya up tomorrow at seven, is that grand fer ya, pet?" he shouts.

"Of course, Mikey!" you shouted back.

You walked into the warmth of your house soaked and giggly, you ran upstairs straight to your bedroom to plan an outfit, you didn't care about messing up the carpet, you'd deal with that later.

You quickly made up your mind about a floral day dress you had bought recently and you recall thinking of Michael while buying this dress.

You guess he's going to love it, he usually complimented you when you wore dresses and let your hair down and that's what you're going to do.

You took the next Sunday morning off as you started to prepare yourself for the date, pampering yourself with all the skin and hair care products you can find in your house.

You wanted to look perfect for him.

You felt overwhelmed with happiness, making up the scenarios of your evening. Where will he take you out? Is it a fancy restaurant or a local diner? What would he bring you? Flowers definitely, he's a flower-gifting man, as you realized, it was definitely his way of showing affection. He brought flowers every couple days for the shop.

Now it's nearing seven and you happened to just finished your look. You put on your dress and you fix your hair, adding a little floral accessory to the side of your braided bangs. You looked stunning, you hoped that you'd give the same impression to Michael.

The doorbell rings as you slipped into your heels, you look at your mirror for the very last time tonight before opening the door. He looked so fine though he wore his shirt and trousers casually with his leather jacket. You could kiss him already.

His eyes stayed fixed on yours for a brief moment before he exhaled with a stunned smile. "Y—ya look magical, pet," he breathed out and it made you turn completely red.

"I tried me best..." you shyly drive your eyes away and tuck a stray strand back behind your ear.

"Y'don' even have ta try, love, ye're always lookin' good," he shyly says and you could see his cheeks prickling red as he drove his eyes down to his shoes.

"I um... Brought ya these," he revealed a bouquet from behind his back, it was of red roses. It matched your dress perfectly. His head tilted to the side with a smile as he handed it to you.

"They're so wonderful, Mikey, loved them, thank ya," you take the bundle. "Ya look great too, Mikey, loved yer shirt," you had to compliment him, he deserved it.

His face reddened beneath his beard, "thanks, love."

"Ye're ready, aren't ya, love?" he asked with a smile.

"I am, let me get me purse and coat first—"

He shook his head, "take yer time, pet," he countered.

You turn behind the door and take your coat off the hanger. Sliding inside it, you take your purse, grab an umbrella and widen the little crevice of the door to pass outside.

Michael hesitantly held your hand but when he noticed how you instantly wrapped your palm around his—he intertwined his fingers with yours, with no plans on letting go.

You walked down to the main street where Michael tried to stop a taxi for the two of you. "We don't have to take it," you stopped him with a gentle hand on his back, he was a little confused, "I'd prefer walking with ya, Mikey," you explained yourself. A big smile breaks the darkness of his beard and you could swear he beams at you.

As you strolled down the concrete path, the sky thundered vigorously, the voice rumbled and echoed in the air, and it wasn't long before it started dropping tears upon the two of you.

You could see Michael's face turning dark, he cursed under his breath, you rubbed a pat onto his bicep, and pulled the umbrella over your heads, offering him a soft smile. He smiled back but you still felt how uneasy he was.

"It's okay, Mikey, I love walkin' in the rain," you comment, and that kinda eases the tension of his demeanor.

The walk is silent, and you could still feel him timid as you held his forearm, you know he can't control the weather, but you don't really mind if it's sunny or gloomy, as long as you are with Michael, it's all what matters to you.

The two of you made it to the restaurant, and Michael's face turned even darker. A sign on the glass door reads 'electricity outage, sorry for disturbing' was hung on the glass door. You turn to look at Michael, his eyes are glaring with fire.

The receptionist types something on his phone and sticks it to the glass, "it's coming back in a few minutes, we're working on the issue, we truly apologize for such occurrence... See, Mikey? We can wait a few more minutes," you smiled back at him, but Michael wasn't really buying it.

He gulped and closed his eyes, huffing out a stream of hot air. "It's okay, Mikey, we can go somewhere else if ya don' wanna wait..." you suggested.

He shook his head, "no, I booked us a table in there a week ago and I ain't takin' ya anywhere less than that!" he tried to remain calm but his tone was getting angrier, "I can't let this day go wrong like tha'!" he expressed, wiping his mouth and tugging onto his beard, something you noticed he does whenever he feels tensed.

You rubbed his bicep and squeezed it a little, your hand unconsciously walk up to his face and you scratch his thick beard. He smiles a little, but his eyes are glistened with tears like glass balls.

Things weren't going his way, for years and years, and today he wished he could finally do something he wanted. You didn't mind if you got the chance to dine at the restaurant or took your date home, what you only cared for was Michael's presence with you. But to him, it seemed like today too is going wrong and he has no clue how to fix it.

And you truly hated to see Michael angry or sad, he doesn't deserve to feel any of that. He's a sweetheart, he never put you down, so you have to keep him up.

"Have I told ya about the one time I almost died?" you ask him, and he clearly shifts demeanor to your question, you hide a smile waiting for his answer. Your ways might be effective after all.

He shook his head with knitted brows, you nodded and hummed. "Well, that day, I was picking up coffee from the shop I'm a regular for," you start, and you notice him directing all his being to you, "that day, me favorite waiter wasn't there to get me order, and another one got it," you leant onto the glass, after getting closer to him so the umbrella would cover the two of you better.

"But, when me order arrived, it was a wrong one, and I was really mad, I told the waiter to change it, but he couldn't, they can't give the drink to someone else and they're not allowed to throw it away," you got closer, and Michael was so integrated into the story.

"So I had to accept it, but I was still so angry at that, I wasn't seeing things clearly, and I was crossing the street and a car almost hit me!" you tell animatily, Michael was shocked.

"Ya didn't hurt yerself pet, did ya?" he was worried and you loved his face when he was.

You huffed a chuckle and shook your head, "I didn't hurt meself, and didn't spill me coffee either, and when I arrived to the bookshop and took a sip of it, I discovered that it was so much better than me regular order," you shrugged, Michael smiled but he wanted to know more, "and now it's me new regular."

Suddenly, the lights came back, as the night had already fallen. Michael's face lit up a little and you grinned to that. You walk into the place and the receptionist leads you to your table with plenty of apologies. Michael helps you into your seat and settles down his, released a breath he wasn't aware he was holding.

You reach out for his hand across the table, pulling him out of the cloud forming over his head. "It's okay, Mikey... We're inside now," you offer him a smile, he smiles back, you rub his knuckles with your thumb.

A waitress approaches your table with a note in hand, Michael took a deep breath and looked up at her. She asks for your dinner of choice. You look at Michael, informing him that you want him to order for the two of you, that you want what he wants.

"Two Seared Scallops with Pomegranate and Meyer Lemon," Michael answered after taking a glance at the menu then you. You nodded with a smile.

The waitress nods and takes her way back to the kitchen. Michael smiles at you, but his face drains of all blood when he sees the waitress approaching your table with an apologetic smile. "We truly apologize, sir and ma'am, but we're out of scallops and they won't be arriving today. Ye're gonna have ta change yer order," she tries to break the news as gentle as possible.

Michael is frustrated, his thick brows are firmly knitted over his gentle eyes, you caught them lose their shine, and you had to do something about it.

"It's fine, we can have steak, mashed potatoes, and wine, right Michael?" you had to give him a choice too. He looks up at you, you tilt your head to the side with a soft smile. He nods.

"Alright, two steaks... How d'ya like yer steak, ma'am?" the waitress asks. "Medium well," she nods to your answer and turns to look at Michael.

"And how d'ya like yer steak, sir?" you sneak your hand and place it on his, sending a supportive smile his way. He respires, "same as hers." he answers.

The waitress nods and walks back to the kitchen once again. You turn to face Michael, "I wouldn't mind if we never ate here, I just enjoy sitting with ya, Mikey," you hold his hand, he almost sobs, you reach out for his other hand, now fondling both of them. "It's you Michael, I ain't here fer the fancy dinner or the expensive wine, I'm here fer ya Mikey baby."

He finally smiles. "Thank you, pet," he whispers. You shake your head, "t's notin', Mikey."

Another waiter arrives with a tray of wine and globular glasses. The waiter pours your glass first and turns to pour Michael's—when he accidentally smacks your glass and he spills it onto your dress.

You hiss at the sudden cold wetness, trying your best not to curse or cry—because you too feel the world isn't working its best way with you today.

You close your eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to stop the tears from forming.

The waiter keeps apologizing, and you already know how Michael's reaction might be without even opening your eyes and looking at him.

But you can't let this day go bad, you still have a chance to fix it, you can make it 100% better with your reaction, you can stop the chain of bad occurrences.

You open your eyes and look up at the waiter, "it's alright I... I just need a towel..." he rushes back to the kitchen. You grabbed a napkin off the table and tried to absorb the wine spilled on your dress.

"Tha' fuckin' idiot..." Michael curses.

You chuckle, "it's okay, Mikey, me dress is red, it won't change notin', I'll be fine."

Once you made sure most of the dampness was gone, you readjusted yourself in front of Michael, wearing a beaming smile on your pretty face.

His eyes fondly meet yours and you're flustered, looking down at the silverware displayed on the table.

"How are ya like tha'?" Michael asked, resting his cheek in his palm. You looked up at him, and he's got the sweetest smile you've ever seen him doing. His eyes beautifully sparkled to the golden lights of the candles.

"Like what?" you answer with a question. He gestures at you with his chin.

"How're ya such a beam of light?" you turn red at his question, "how are ya, after all tha', still smilin' and tryin' ta make it work?"

"Well," you swallowed with a smile, "bad things won't stop happenin' t'ya, Mikey love, that's somethin' ya should keep in mind, but they can't stop ya from looking at the bright side of it all." Michael furrowed in participation.

"Y'know? I'll never get a chance ta make that day perfect more than it is now," you simply say, "and if I would get a chance ta fix anythin', I wouldn't, because it's already going perfect f'me."

The two of you spend the rest of the evening on nibbling and chattering. Your dress was now cold and sticking to your thighs but you didn't mind, the food turned stale and cold but you didn't care; as long as it was Michael with you, you didn't mind anything else in the world.

Michael pays for the dinner and accompanies you to the exit. The two of you look outside, the rain is heavily pouring over the city, and it's loud enough you could hear it from behind the glass door.

You turn to look at him, he smiles and nods, pushing the door and escorting you with an arm wrapping you to his side.

You step into the street under the rain and you're immediately showered. You snicker, holding Michael's hand and looking at him, your eyes asking him to join you. Michael giggles as he follows you, now holding the two of your hands softly as the skies decanted its whole heart on the two of you.

"Y'know ya can't wait for the rain ta stop. It's always raining in Dublin anyway, Mikey." you whisper, he smiles and cradles your cheeks and he pulls you into a kiss, warming your hearts under the cold downpour.

Likes and reblogs are appreciated, thank you for coming to my sleepover celebration! 💞💞💞

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Fourteen]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 4.6k [Series Masterlist]

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

a/n: This chapter will certainly leave you wanting more, I'll say that much. Feedback is always appreciated!

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

Fingers flying across the keyboard of your laptop, you sat at the kitchen table with a steaming mug of hot coffee beside you. You’d woken up just before Megan had disappeared for her shift at the hospital and settled down to write shortly after. So far your day was wide open and there wasn’t much else for you to do but focus on your work. 

For the past couple of days that’s what you’d been doing–focusing on your writing. You had not managed to see Michael beyond the occasional fortuitous meeting at your bedroom windows. You hadn’t even run into him out in the back garden the few times you’d sat out there to work. Though he had sent you a few text messages on and off over the past two days. He’d repeatedly apologized for being so busy and promised that he still planned to make you dinner sometime this week as an apology for the situation with Amanda. 

You were aware that he was still dealing with the fallout from the shooting the previous week. You also knew he was still dealing with the bounties on his and his families’ heads while they struggled to continue to run their very illegal business. And now the Garda were permanently parked at the end of the street for twenty-four hour safety measures and you didn't need Michael to tell you that they were only further complicating matters for the Kinsellas. 

On top of all of that, you knew he had also mentioned that he had an appointment today for a CT scan to hopefully figure out what was going on with his sudden seizure episodes. Michael had told you that his brother was taking him to the appointment when he’d messaged you this morning. You’d been on edge ever since his text this though, waiting for him to message you back when he’d made it home safe afterwards. You had asked him to let you know because you’d been worried, even if you felt like an absolute idiot asking him to let you know when he’d gotten home safe. But you knew it was dangerous for any of them to be out of the house right now with the bounties on their heads–the memory of leaving the coffee shop with him the other day was still fresh in your mind. If you read between the lines of the few things Michael had told you, you’d easily gathered that they were all dead men walking.

But despite how hard you really did try not to let it bother you that you’d barely seen Michael the past few days, knowing he genuinely had a lot going on, you admittedly still missed him. You wished he’d just stop by, even for a few minutes, or that he’d invite you over for a short bit in the evening. Even just five minutes to see him–just to feel his arms around you–would have been enough for you. You had a feeling he could use the brief break from the stress of everything he had going on, and you certainly could use some comfort with how worried you'd been over the strange silence from Victor.

It didn’t help that you found yourself feeling lonely with your sister constantly off at the hospital for work. And while you tried to remind yourself that you had far more human connection here in Dublin over the past few weeks than you’d had in the couple of years that you’d been on the run, all that did was make things worse. Because you’d found yourself growing accustomed to not being alone since you’d been here. You’d found yourself looking forward to more than just the phone calls from Angela. But you knew that was dangerous because it meant you were growing attached–to this city and the people here–which would make needing to run in the future that much harder.

And all that alone time you'd had lately after Michael had apologized to you had also given you time to feel guilty. Guilty for knowing the personal things about him that you had dug up the other week when Birdy had been threatening you. You still hadn’t known how to bring it up to him, but you felt like you needed to tell him that you knew. Because it wasn’t right that you knew the reason he’d gone to prison or that you knew he had a daughter who you’d thought you’d seen the other day outside his house while Michael still had absolutely no idea. Though you were afraid to tell him considering just how personal the information was. You didn’t think he would take the news well. But the longer you kept it in, the worse you figured it would be.

With a sigh you glanced over at your coffee cup beside your laptop, feeling a headache coming on as your thoughts began to distract you from your writing. Picking up the mug, you drew it to your mouth for a long drink. Desperately you wished it would actually succeed at making you feel awake this morning. While you drank down the comforting liquid, movement out of the kitchen window just beside you caught your eye and you glanced up, spotting Birdy making her way up your sister’s driveway with what looked like the mail in her hand. 

Slowly you set the mug back down on the table, watching as Birdy sent you a friendly wave through the window. Your eyes narrowed as you noticed the strained smile on her face, watching as she neared the door. Frowning, you closed your laptop before rising from the kitchen chair, making your way out of the kitchen and over to the front door. Birdy had knocked mere moments before you unlocked it, swinging it open to reveal that tense expression on her face even more clearly.

“G’mornin’ dear,” Birdy greeted, raising her hand that had been holding the stack of your sister’s mail. “I think we need to have a little chat this mornin’.”

Your frown only deepened on your face at her words. What could she possibly need to chat with you about and why the hell was she snooping through Megan’s mail? Opening the door wider, you moved aside and watched as she stepped into the house. Closing the door behind her, entirely baffled as to what she was up to, you followed behind her as she made her way straight to the kitchen. 

Entering the kitchen yourself, you watched as Birdy tossed the few letters in her hand onto the kitchen island. She stalked around to the other side of it, her piercing blue eyes focused on you as she pulled her purse from her shoulder, setting it onto the countertop beside the stack of mail. Both of her hands came down to rest against the island, her eyes silently raking you over.

“Why are you going through my sister’s mail, Birdy?” you asked her, breaking the silence. “I’m guessing that’s still illegal here in Ireland, isn’t it?”

Birdy’s eyes only further narrowed at you in return. “That’s the least of my worries, dear. And truthfully the least of yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you questioned her.

“Have ya even taken a look at what’s there, dear?” she asked, her head gesturing towards the pile of mail on the countertop.

“What? Why?” you asked. “I don’t get mail here, Birdy. No one even knows where I’m–”

You stopped mid-sentence when your focus shifted down towards the pile, the letter on the top of the stack immediately catching your eye. There was no postage on it. As if someone had slipped it in the letterbox themselves. But what was alarming was what was messily drawn on the envelope. In the corner of it there was a small, upside down crucifix with a serpent wrapped around it. You felt the blood immediately drain from your face, your entire body freezing on the spot as fear struck you like ice in your veins.

“What is that doing in with the mail?” you whispered, eyes glued to the symbol.

“That’s what I was curious ‘bout,” Birdy replied. “Y’see, I saw someone lingerin’ out front of your sister’s house quite early this mornin’. Dressed in a dark sweatshirt with the hood pulled up. Saw them slip what I’m presumin’ is that–” she continued, gesturing at the letter, “–into the letterbox with the post. I was curious.”

Panic shot through you at her words, your eyes going wide as you glanced up at Birdy. “I’m not–not with them, Birdy,” you told her quickly, shaking your head. “I wasn’t lying to you. I’m not helping them with anything.”

Birdy sent you an apologetic smile, her expression softening. “I know that, dear,” she told you gently. “What I’m concerned ‘bout is how they know you’re here and why they’re slippin’ ya letters.”

“I don’t know,” you breathed out, your attention returning to the letter. “I don’t know.”

Silence fell over the pair of you, your heart feeling like it was pounding away in your chest. You could feel a small tremble beginning in your hands. Anxiously you wrapped your arms around yourself, hugging your body tight as if that would help stop the shaking. You didn’t want to have a panic attack, not here in front of Birdy. 

“Aren’t ya goin’ to open it, Grace?” she asked. 

“What if–if it’s him?” you whispered, tears stinging at your eyes. “What if he’s found me already? Is just messing with me?”

“Well ya won’t know if ya don’ open it,” Birdy pointed out.

Nervously chewing the inside of your cheek, you hesitantly reached a hand out towards the kitchen island. Very slowly you slipped the letter off the top of the stack of mail, the shake in your hand entirely visible as you did. You could feel the weight of Birdy’s eyes on you as you brought the letter towards yourself, flipping it over and staring at the sealed back. 

You didn’t want to open this. You didn’t know what was inside, but there was no way it was anything good. On top of that, you didn’t know how someone from the Serpents had found you here at your sister’s place, but you didn’t like it. The knowledge made your skin crawl.

But Birdy was right. You wouldn’t know anything if you didn’t just open the damn letter.

With a sharp exhale, you slipped a finger underneath the seal, tearing it open easily. Holding your breath, you reached inside and pulled a small slip of paper from out of the envelope. As your eyes scanned it over, you weren’t surprised to see there was barely much written on it. You didn’t recognize the handwriting sloppily scrawled along it, either. 

For a minute you read the words over and over, your mind racing as that panicked feeling only further took hold of you. Your hands were shaking a little harder as the weight of the message settled on you, tears welling in your eyes and blurring the writing.

“Well,” Birdy prompted impatiently, “what’s it say?”

"They want me to meet with them," you answered quietly. "Tonight."

A dark look crossed Birdy’s face as she took a step towards you. "Who?" she asked.

You shrugged a shoulder, a tear spilling down your cheek. "I don't know," you replied, voice breaking. "The Serpent’s charter in Cork, I imagine."

Birdy’s shoulders squared, her expression darkening further. "Obviously ya aren't goin'," she stated.

"I don't have a choice," you whispered back.

“O’course ya have a choice,” she said firmly.

You shook your head, holding the paper out towards her. Birdy reached out, quickly grabbing the slip of paper from your hand. You watched quietly as her eyes darted across the page rapidly, and then you watched as she reread the words a few times herself. Once again your arms wrapped around yourself, your entire body slowly beginning to shake.

"They know who I am," you whispered. "If I don't go, they're going to tell Victor that I'm–I'm here. And I can't have that." Your fingers clutched at the sweater you were wearing, clinging desperately to the fabric like it was a lifeline. "My only options are to meet them or to run, Birdy.”

Her eyes looked up from the letter in her hand, that piercing stare of hers landing on you. 

“Ya have more options than that, love,” she pointed out.

“No,” you disagreed, shaking your head. “I can’t ask any of you to help me with this. I won’t ,” you stated. “Besides, it’s not safe for any of you to help. It’s not safe for Michael to help. Eamon wants him dead, right? He can’t be out traveling to Cork dealing with the Serpents or showing up with me to that meeting. He’d be a dead man and you know that.”

“So what? Ya are just goin’ to run?” Birdy questioned.

Your gaze dropped down to the island countertop, your lips pressing firmly together as you thought. Admittedly your first instinct was screaming at you to do exactly that. To get out of here while you were still breathing. Every warning bell was going off in your head right now. That meeting screamed danger. Them knowing who and where you were screamed danger. But that was what made running now an impossible choice, one you couldn’t do.

“If I run,” you began slowly, staring at the countertop as another tear slipped down your cheek, “they'll most likely tell Victor I was here. And he’ll be led straight to this very house. To my–my sister ." You shook your head firmly, eyes flying up and holding Birdy’s stare. "And I can't have that, Birdy."

Across from the kitchen island, you watched as Birdy sighed in resignation. A second later her head tilted to the side, eyeing you for a moment longer in silence.

“So you’ve decided then, have ya?” she asked. “Made up your mind to go?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you replied. “There’s really only one option I have.”

“Well then,” she continued, her attention shifting down to her purse.

You watched in silence as she unsnapped the bag, both of her hands reaching inside. Brows drawing together in confusion, you watched as her hands pulled something wrapped in what looked like a scarf out of her bag. She cradled it gently in her palms as she gingerly lowered it to the countertop. Gradually she pulled the dark material back, and your eyebrows shot up high onto your forehead at the sight of a gun. 

Birdy’s eyes slowly shifted back up towards yours. There was a small, almost dangerous smile on her lips. 

“I told ya I’d get ya a gun, Grace,” she said. “And I figured if there was someone spyin’ on your house like that, ya could use one now rather than later. But if ya are goin’ to meet the bastards head on, ya might want a little protection of your own, dear. Ya said ya know how to use one, yeah?”

Swallowing hard, your eyes still glued to the gun, you nodded. Your heart was thudding even harder in your chest at the sight of it just lying there on the kitchen island. You certainly knew how to use one, but having the ability to use it on someone–to use it with the intention to kill–was another story.

Birdy slowly slid the gun towards you along the counter, your pulse jumping when it was sitting innocently there just in front of you. Fingers digging into your skin through your sweater with how tight you were hugging your arms around yourself, your eyes remained fixed on the weapon.

“Ya should bring it with ya tonight,” Birdy told you. “And ya should let me set it up with Dotser to bring ya to this meetin’. Ya shouldn’ go alone.”

Shaking your head quickly, your attention returned back to her. “No, Birdy. You read the note. It said to come alone,” you replied. “I can’t show up with anyone. They won’t be fucking around, whatever it is they want. And if one of your men are with me, it might just cause more trouble for your family. So no.”

Birdy’s eyes narrowed back at you, her arms slowly crossing themselves over her chest. “Fine,” she conceded after a moment. “He won’t come with ya to the meetin’, but he’ll bring ya and bring ya back home after. Ya need a safe way there and back, anyway. I’ll have him pick ya up a couple o’ blocks from here and drop ya off near the meetin’ place.” She leaned forward towards you, her body language meant to be intimidating. “And ‘no’ isn’t an option here, dear.”

Chewing your bottom lip, you eyed her for a long moment. She ultimately had a point. You weren’t about to walk or take a taxi all the way out to meet whoever it was that had dropped that letter in your sister’s letterbox, and it’s not like you had a car and a driver’s license in Ireland, either. Your options were quite limited.

“Fine,” you relented. 

“Good,” she replied. “And when Dotser drops ya off home after, I want ya to meet with Frank and I back at my house before ya head on home. If there’s trouble on our doorstep, I think we ought to know ‘bout it.”

“Alright,” you agreed slowly.

“And I think it goes without sayin’, love, but ya shouldn’ mention a thing to Mikey ‘bout any o’ this,” Birdy warned you. “‘Bout the gun I gave ya or this meetin’ tonight. No doubt he’d be rushin’ in guns blazin’ and puttin’ himself in a heap o’ danger if he knew. And like ya said, it isn’ safe for him to be out.”

Your stomach knotted uncomfortably at her words. Just more lies and secrets to keep from him. You didn’t like it, but she had a point. With the way he came rushing over to your sister’s house, from her retelling of the night you’d gotten drunk and she’d found you a bloody mess in the bathroom, you knew Michael would refuse to let you go to that meeting. You also had a strong feeling he’d go in your stead, probably making threats that would only end up getting him shot.

“I won’t tell him,” you promised her quietly. “You’re right. He’d only throw himself in harm’s way without a second thought to himself. And it’s not safe for him to go–to the meeting or out in general. So I won’t tell him. Because I won’t have him dying for me.” 

A slow smile gradually drew itself across Birdy’s lips as she stared back at you. The look of something like pride was clear on her face. Her expression only confused you until she’d spoken again.

“I like ya, Grace,” she admitted. “You’re a strong one. Smart, too. You truly make quite the match for my Michael.”

If you weren’t so struck by fear about how your evening was about to play out later, you might’ve felt something more at her words. But as of the moment, you were currently struggling to keep yourself together. Because you were terrified about this meeting tonight, unsure what was to come of it. You didn’t know anyone from the charter in Cork so you didn’t know what to expect, and you certainly didn’t have a clue about why they’d wanted to meet you instead of just telling Victor you were here. What could they possibly want?

Across from the kitchen island, Birdy closed her purse back up before slipping the strap of it over her shoulder. She made her way around the counter, stopping just before you. Both of her hands came out, landing on your shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze as she held your gaze.

“You’ll be alrigh’, dear,” she promised you. “Don’t let them see your fear. And bring the gun. Don’t be afraid to use it if ya have to. We’ll figure it all out after if ya do end up needin’ it.”

Mouth feeling like it had long gone dry, you nodded in response. You didn’t know what to even say to that. With the approving smile still on her face, she squeezed your shoulders firmly before she released them, turning and making her way out of the kitchen to leave.

“I’ll text ya the details for Dotser to drive ya later,” she called back to you. “And make sure ya come and see Frank and I afterwards, dear. I’m sure there’ll be some things for us to discuss.”

You stood there rooted to the kitchen, your eyes following her retreating form until it disappeared down the hallway. A moment later you heard the front door open and close before your focus slid over to the kitchen window, watching as Birdy made her way down the driveway. When she reached the end of it and turned past the stone fence, your eyes slowly dropped down to the gun still lying on the dark blue scarf.

Your hands were stuffed into the pockets of your green parka as you made your way down your sister’s driveway. Her shift at the hospital would be finishing soon so you’d sent her a text a little bit ago, not wanting her to wonder where you’d gone when she arrived back home. Of course you lied and told her you were going to a coffee shop that was open late, suddenly struck with some writing inspiration that needed the ‘right vibe.’ You figured she’d buy the bullshit line well enough not to question it.

In actuality, you were on your way down the street and then over two more blocks to meet Dotser before he took you to meet the Serpent who’d left you that note. According to the brief bit of information Birdy had given you about Dotser, he worked for the Kinsellas’ and was quite personally trusted by Frank himself–who you were incredibly nervous about meeting later tonight after this meeting. 

Assuming you survived it, of course. 

As you reached the end of the driveway, you turned left. Jaw clenching tight, you became very aware of the cool metal of the gun in your parka pocket as your eyes landed on the Garda car at the end of the street. It certainly wouldn’t be good for you if they stopped you and found a gun in your jacket. 

You continued on, trying hard to act casual, but you’d barely made it halfway past Michael’s driveway before you heard him call out to you. Instantly your heart flew up into your throat, surprise washing over you. Head whipping in the direction of his voice, you saw he’d been unlocking his front door before spotting you. He’d turned around and was heading towards you now, a tired smile drawing itself across his mouth. Stopping in your tracks as your heart hammered nervously away in your chest, you smiled back at him.

You’d been missing him over the last few days, desperate for a few minutes in person with him, but right now you’d wished you’d ran into anyone else but him. You were terrified he might see through you or that you might accidentally give something away. Because you were certain if Michael had any inkling about what was going on, he’d be rushing down to that meeting armed himself.

“What’re ya doin’ out so late?” he asked as he neared you.

“I–I was just going on a bit of a walk,” you answered awkwardly, hands curling into fists in your parka pockets. “Just needed a little air, you know?”

Michael’s smile widened a little further. “Would ya like some company? I haven’ seen ya in a bit,” he replied.

“Oh, uh, well I was actually hoping to sort of…think about some plot things? For my book?” you said, grasping at the first lie that came to your mind. Your heart twisted in your chest at the sight of his smile slipping. “I mean, normally I’d love you to come with, especially because it has been a few days since we’ve really seen each other,” you continued in a rush. “But I–I have Angela on my ass about a deadline and I just got hit with writer’s block. I’m desperate to try anything to give me some ideas so I figured a walk might help. And you–you really shouldn’t be out of your house. It’s not safe.”

Michael nodded slowly, his expression still looking a little downcast as he did. “I understand, though I don’t think ya should be walkin’ around by yourself right now, either,” he told you.

“Well I won’t be out walking long,” you replied–which wasn’t exactly a lie.

He nodded, a small smile making its way back onto his face as he focused on you. Gradually the disappointment of your rejection to his company slipped from his expression and he stepped closer, closing the space between the pair of you. His hand reached up to push some hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering along your temple as the rough pads of them affectionately brushed your skin. For a moment you almost forgot about what you were about to do with the way he was staring back at you, your pulse increasing for a reason besides fear for the first time today.

“I missed ya, pet,” he murmured. “Been a shite couple o’ days without ya.”

“I know what you mean,” you whispered back.

He lowered his forehead to yours, his eyes creased at the corners as his warm palm cupped your cheek. You leant into his touch, closing your eyes and wishing you could just stay here with him. Maybe turn around and head back into his house with him. Throw everything that you’d been hiding from him out on the table and hopefully get past it. Maybe spend the evening together.

But you couldn’t do that. Not tonight.

Inhaling a deep breath, you knew you needed to go before you were late to this meeting. You didn’t want to know what would happen if you were. But before you could get a single word out, Michael’s mouth cut you off.

His lips caught yours so softly, his mouth moving tenderly against yours. His hand was still carefully cradling your cheek while the other was resting lightly on your hip. But while he was kissing you so sweetly, your own hands were flying out of your pockets and wrapping around his neck, pulling yourself flush to the front of him. Desperately you wished you could cling to him and the safety he radiated. You hoped some of his strength would somehow transfer to you as you deepened the kiss, your mouth moving in any way but soft against his.

Michael quickly responded in kind, his own mouth moving hungrily before you felt his tongue sliding along your bottom lip. Your fingers were digging into the back of his neck as you kissed him hard, and in return, Michael’s grip on you became a little rougher. But the moment his hand slipped a bit farther down your hip, nearing the gun in your pocket, you instantly pulled away from him.

He was left standing there at the edge of his dimly lit driveway looking confused. You sent him a sheepish smile, running a hand over your forehead.

“Sorry,” you muttered, trying to catch your breath. “I uh, I got a little carried away. I should probably get started on that walk before it gets too late.”

“Right,” he agreed slowly, his dark eyes carefully studying you. 

You cleared your throat, stuffing your hands back into your coat pockets. The fingers of your right hand brushed the cold metal of the gun immediately and your back stiffened. 

“Maybe I’ll see you tomorrow,” you told him, backing up from him.

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes gradually narrowing. “I’ll see ya tomorrow, Grace.”

Shooting him a tense smile, you abruptly turned and ducked your head, walking fast down the street. You just wanted to make it through the rest of this night already. Hopefully tomorrow you could talk to Michael.

[shelikesorchids-archive]

Convalescent: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Summary: You're nervous about an upcoming medical procedure, but Michael is there for you.

Warnings: Hospitals, surgery, anesthesia, and absolute tooth rotting fluff.

Word Count: Just over 1k.

Author's Note: SUPER SELF INDULGENCE HOURS! I have a consultation with a surgeon coming up for a surgical procedure, and I wish I had a Mikey to cuddle me through it, so HERE YA GO.

“What’s on yer mind, love?” Michael asked softly as he sidled up next to you in bed. 

He knew the answer to the question before he even asked, but he wanted to hear it from you. 

“M’just nervous about the operation tomorrow. The surgeon explained everything to me, and I know they’re good, but there’s still a risk involved,” you replied as you set your book down on the nightstand. 

Michael furrowed his brows in concern and inched closer to you on the bed. 

“C’mere, love,” Michael whispered as he opened his arms for you. 

You scooted closer to him so you could rest your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you then dipped his head down to kiss the top of your head. He gently rocked you side to side as you started to softly cry, then he cupped your cheek with his hand so he could wipe away the stray tears with his thumb. His gaze softened as he looked at you with pure adoration, wishing he could somehow take the anxiety from you and shoulder it himself. 

“S’gonna be alright, pet. I’m gonna be there with ya before they wheel ya back, I’ll be there when ya wake up, and I’ll be here to help ya recover. Whatever ya need, I’m at yer beck and call. I’ll even give ya a little bell to ring if ya need me.” 

You laughed as you buried your face further into his chest, and a sweet smile crept across Michael’s face. He hugged you closer, and peppered your face with soft kisses, causing you to squeal, which made him smile even wider. 

“Yer whiskers are ticklin’ me, Mikey!” you laughed. That only made him rub his stubble against your face and kiss you even more, making your peals of laughter echo off the bedroom walls. 

He rolled you over on your back and gently pinned you down to the bed, continuing to attack your face with soft kisses. You laughed and squirmed underneath him, and Michael was just content to see you smiling. Eventually, he stopped and pulled you back into his arms so he could hold you, and you gently kissed him on the lips to show him some appreciation. 

“What did I do to deserve ya, Mikey? Yer so good to me.” 

“Aw, love. Ya deserve the world. I just hope I can give it to ya. Now, how about we try and get some sleep? Birdy’s gonna be here early tomorrow to drive us.” 

“Sounds good, Mikey. Can you hold me for a while longer, though?”

“Anythin’ for ya, pet.” 

—----------------------------------------------------

You hated hospitals, but having Mikey and Birdy by your side eased your anxiety a bit. Since Michael still couldn’t drive, and you were being put under anesthesia, Birdy was kind enough to give you a lift to and from the procedure. Once you and Michael got out at the main entrance, he let Birdy know that he would text her once you were out of surgery, and she would make her way back then. 

“Yer in good hands, love. You’ll be just fine, and I’ll see ya in a few hours, alright?” Birdy said as she gave you a big hug. 

“Thanks again, Birdy. See ya in a bit, yeah?” 

“Of course, love. Look after her Mikey, will ya?” 

“I will Birdy, see ya in a bit,” he said as he hugged her goodbye. 

He held your hand as the two of you walked through the automatic doors and into the lobby. The strong smell of disinfectant stung your nose, and you gripped Michael’s hand for dear life as you both walked towards the admissions desk to get checked in. 

Once you were checked in and given a wristband, it didn’t take long for them to call you back to get prepped for your procedure. Michael wasn’t allowed in the room while you undressed and they got your IV started, but as soon as you were in the gown and back in the bed, you demanded they let him in.  He stayed dutifully by your side until the anesthesiologist gave you a dose of Versed, then they wheeled you back for your procedure. They let him walk with you and hold your hand until you arrived at the operating theater, then he kissed your forehead and told you he’d see you soon. 

—------------------------------------------------

You vaguely remembered them telling you to count backwards from 100, but next thing you knew, you awoke to the sound of beeping machines and excruciating pain. As soon as you opened your mouth to groan from the discomfort, Michael shot up out of the chair next to you and hit the call button on your bed. He knelt down by your bed and took your hand in his as he caressed your hand and softly talked you through it. 

“Hey, s’alright love. You did great. I just called the nurse and they’re gonna give ya somethin’ for the pain, yeah?” 

“Oh, Mikey. What a beautiful sight to wake up to,” you slurred as you cupped his cheek with your other hand. 

“Birdy’s on her way. As soon as they’ll let ya, we’re gonna take ya home.” 

You smiled weakly, then a rather chipper nurse pulled back the curtain to come check on you. 

“Well, hello Sleepin’ Beauty! How’s yer pain, dearie?” 

“Uh, ‘bout an 8. Definitely need somethin’ for it. And some water, I’m parched,” you replied. 

“Comin’ right up, luv. The doctor will be in shortly, and ya should be good ta go after that.” 

The nurse disappeared, and Michael kept a hold of your hand as you slowly re-joined the land of the living. That same look of love he gave you last night was on his face again, and you couldn’t help but admire how handsome he looked. 

“Looks good on ya,” you told him. 

“What looks good on me, pet?” 

“Love. Love looks good on ya, Mikey.” 

“Ah, there’s the drugs talkin’,” he laughed. 

“I mean it! Yer so beautiful, Mikey.” 

“So are you, pet.” 

“Really?! Right now?! I look an absolute mess, Mikey!” 

“Not ta me. Yer the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he whispered before kissing your hand. 

“Hope I’m not interruptin’, but I got some water and a pain pill for ya, dearie!” the nurse chirped as she came behind the curtain again. 

You gladly accepted both, and then the doctor finally came in to go over your discharge instructions and send you on your way home. Michael helped you get dressed, and helped you into the wheelchair so an orderly could wheel you out to Birdy’s car where they both helped you get comfortable in the back seat. As much as you tried to assure him you were fine, Michael insisted he ride with you to keep an eye on you. Birdy thought it was adorable how protective he was over you, and she didn’t even care if she looked like a chauffeur driving you home. 

“We’ll be home soon, love,” Michael told you as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“Hmmmm, sounds good,” you said as you promptly fell asleep on him.

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

It's Always Been You (Reader's Version)

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Summary: What if Michael went to his best friend (Reader) during the events of Season 2 Episode 7 instead of Amanda coming to him?

Warnings/Tags: Friends to Lovers, PWP, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, spoilers for season 2 of Kin, American attempting to write an Irish dialect

Word Count: ~3500

A/N: I've joined everyone in Mikey Brainrot Land! Expect more from me featuring Mikey (including a Mikey PoV of this fic) soon!

Fuckin' hell, what a day, Y/F/N Y/L/N thought as she poured herself a very large glass of wine and sat on her sofa. She had been shouted at by one patient at the hospital where she worked, hit on by another, and accused of trying to exsanguinate a third when she had sent a nurse in for a blood draw.

She had just opened the book she had settled down to read when her doorbell rang. Of course.

She opened the door and couldn't help but smile when she saw who was standing in her doorway -- her best friend of over twenty years, Michael Kinsella. "Mikey, hi."

Michael rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. "Hey, Y/N. Can I come in?"

Y/N stepped out of the doorway. "Yeah, of course."

She shut the door behind Michael. "Can I get ya a drink? Water, tea… juice?"

Michael smiled sadly. "Beer?"

Y/N's eyebrows raised. Michael rarely imbibed after getting out of prison, so Y/N knew there was probably something serious going on. "Sure. Make yerself comfortable."

She went to her kitchen, popping open two beers before heading into her living room, pleased to see that Michael had taken his shoes off. Plannin' on stayin' a while, then. Good.

She handed him one of the beers then set the other one down before picking up her glass of wine and sitting beside him on the sofa. "Talk ta me, Mikey. What's goin' on?"

Michael drained half of the bottle before speaking. "Bren's been sniffin' 'round Anna."

Y/N sucked in a breath. Unfortunately she knew first-hand about Michael's father's predatory ways. "Did ya tell her about him?"

Michael sighed. "I tried, but she just accused me of tryin' ta keep her from tha family and I got angry and shouted at her, then I left."

Y/N took a long sip of wine. She loved her goddaughter, she really did, but she knew Anna was still angry at Michael and wouldn't want to listen to anything her father said. "Want me ta talk ta her? She might actually listen ta her Auntie Y/N."

Michael drained the rest of his beer and picked up the other bottle, then took another drink. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd appreciate tha'. I'm not exactly on the best terms with her right now."

Y/N reached out and gave Michael's hand a squeeze. "I'm sorry yer having such a rough go of it, Mikey."

Michael scoffed and took another long drink of his beer. "Oh, that's not even half of it. I called Molly afterward, then when she didn't answer I went to the chemist's to see her."

Y/N's heart clenched. She had to admit it hurt that after fighting with Anna the first person Michael had wanted to talk to hadn't been Y/N, but Molly. He hadn't been seeing her long but he seemed pretty taken with her already. "Mmm."

Michael sighed. "I didn't see her so I asked after her, and tha chemist told me she was off for tha next month." 

Y/N tilted her head curiously. "She went on holiday and didn't tell ya?"

Michael shook his head. "She's off on her weddin' and honeymoon."

Y/N gasped. That definitely hadn't been what she was expecting Michael to say. "Tha' fuckin' bitch, I'll fuckin' kill her."

Michael gently grabbed her arm as she went to stand. "Nah, no need to be goin' doin' tha'. I'm grand."

Y/N sat back down. "No you're fuckin' not, Michael, otherwise ya wouldn't be sittin' on my sofa puttin' away beer like it's fuckin'  water right now."

Michael shook his head with a chuckle. "No, no yer right, I'm not, but I will be." 

Y/N's heart broke for him. "I'm so sorry, Mikey."

"Ah, don't go worrying yer pretty little head about me." Michael shrugged then moved a stray piece of hair from Y/N's face, his touch lingering on her cheek. "I'll be fine, darlin'. Not the first time I've slept with a married woman -- or in this case, engaged."

Y/N fought to keep her eyes from fluttering closed. She had fought against her feelings for Michael ever since they had met as teenagers. But he hadn't seemed interested in her in that way at the time and then Y/N had been busy with university, and by the time she was done with her schooling Michael had already had an affair with Amanda then married Alison and had Anna, and after that… well. He had spent 8 years away.

Y/N had also recently heard whisperings of Michael and Amanda possibly rekindling their affair, but had dismissed it after Michael had recently mentioned asking the pretty clerk at the chemist's out on a date.

She sat back, draining the last of her glass of wine.

Michael's brow furrowed. "You alrigh'?"

"Oh yeah, I'm grand," Y/N said, giving him a nudge in order to distract him from her flustered state.

She stood. "Another ale?"

Michael shook his head. "Ah, I probably shouldn't. Got ta' walk home."

"You can stay here tonight, ya know." Y/N headed towards the kitchen to pour herself another glass of wine. "You're always welcome."

"Ya sure I won't be a bother?" Michael asked. 

Y/N grabbed another beer for Michael and headed back into her living room. "Nah, of course not. Ya never are a bother, Mikey, you know tha'. The guest room is always open."

She handed Michael his beer and sat back down next to him. "'Sides, you can keep me from going out and doing something stupid, like slashing that little slag's tires or settin' her house on fire."

Michael chuckled. "I really didn't get far enough in ta where I knew where she lives."

"Fuckin' lucky for her then." Y/N took a sip of wine. "Anna will be okay, ya know that, right Mikey?"

Michael shook his head. and took a sip of his beer. "I'm just tryin' ta protect her, Y/N." 

Y/N studied him. "Just from Bren or from the rest of yer family too?"

Michael sighed. "I don't know. Both, I guess? I just… I don't want this for her, I -- after what happened ta Jamie I can't lose her too. I can't lose another child ta this life."

Y/N's heart broke all over again. "Ya won't, Mikey. Ya won't, because ya have me protectin' her. I love her like she was me own and I love you, ya know I'd die before I let anythin' happen to either of ya."

Michael looked down at the floor, silently contemplating something. "Y/N?"

"Yeah?"

Michael opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it, then opened it again, then after another moment of hesitation he cupped Y/N's chin in his hand and pressed his lips to hers, quickly moving his hand from her chin to the side of her neck as he kissed her again.

Y/N sucked in a shaky breath as Michael leaned back. Did that just fuckin' happen?

She opened her mouth, her eyes flitting across Michael's face as he looked at her as if he was waiting for her to slap him.

Before she could second-guess herself, she cupped Michael's face in her hands and pressed her lips back to his, pouring 20+ years of pent-up feelings into the kiss.

Michael responded quickly, shifting to lean Y/N back onto the sofa as he took control. "How long, pet?" he murmured against her lips.

Y/N gasped in a breath as Michael trailed hot kisses across her neck, his beard scratching deliciously against her skin. "Mikey, please…"

Michael growled against her throat. "I said, how fuckin' long, Y/N? How long have ya been wantin' me like I've been wantin' ya?"

Y/N hissed as Michael gave a gentle nip to her throat. "Ever since -- oh, fuck, Michael -- ever since I first clapped eyes on ya."

Michael groaned and leaned back to look at her. "Fuck, why didn't ya ever say anythin'?"

"Because I didn't think you were ever interested in me like tha'." Y/N sighed and sat up. "There was tha' thing with Amanda, and after tha' ya met Alison, then after she -- well, after ya came home, I thought about finally telling ya how I felt but ya were so focused on trying ta reunite with Anna and then Jamie died and there was tha' whole business with Eamon and the Batuks, and after ya came back home from tha' you were dealing with your da getting out of prison, and then it was too late because ya had started talking about Molly. Ya seemed happy fer once, Mikey, I didn't want ta get in the way of tha'." Y/N bit her lip. "Yer happiness means everythin' ta me."

Michael shook his head as he sat back on his knees. "Fuckin' hell, Y/N. You. You make me happy, ya always have." 

He paused as if a thought had struck him. "Is that why ya never got married?"

Y/N looked away so she didn't have to see pity written all over Michael's face. She had had boyfriends over the years that she had known Michael, of course, and more than the occasional one-night-stand or friend-with-benefits, but never anything overly serious.

She shrugged casually, pretending like the current conversation wasn't absolutely humiliating. "It's always been you."

Michael sighed. "Fuck."

Y/N shook her head, still refusing to look at him. "It's not a big deal, Mikey, it's not like I'm some sort of blushin' virgin or anythin'. I get my needs taken care of."

(And if she purposely only chose men with dark hair and haunted eyes to sleep with… well.)

Michael reached out and gently cupped her chin in his hand, turning her face back towards his. "Y/N, look at me, pet, please."

Y/N turned her gaze back towards him, unable to deny Michael such a simple request when he asked so sweetly.

Michael leaned in and pressed his lips to hers once again, his hand sliding from her chin to cup her neck again as he moved in to kiss her deeper.

Y/N melted against him, all of the tension leaving her body as Michael's tongue slid against hers.

Her hands scrabbled for purchase as he leaned her backwards again, finally finding the hem of Michael's sweater and shoving it up his body in order to get to bare skin.

Michael stopped kissing her just long enough to lean back and pull his sweater up and over his head, depositing it on the floor before finding her mouth once again.

Y/N ran her hands up Michael's chest, breathing out a light 'fuck' as Michael's hands slid underneath her tank top in an attempt to also disrobe her.

She sat up just enough to pull her tank top off, sighing in satisfaction as Michael's bare skin finally touched hers.

Michael began kissing his way further down her throat, his hand snaking up into her hair so he could tilt her head for better access.

Y/N whimpered as Michael's hand tightened slightly, her hips grinding up against his burdening erection. "Want ya inside me, Mikey."

Michael groaned. "Fuck, I don't have any johnnys on me."

Y/N shook her head. "It's okay. I'm on birth control and I get tested regularly for STIs."

She paused, realizing what Michael might have been insinuating. "Unless ya think we need one? In that case I have some in tha' ensuite."

Michael shook his head. "I don't -- I didn't go without, with Molly, if that's what yer askin', pet. And there hadn't been anyone else fer years before tha'."

Y//N nodded, her decision made. "Then take me to bed, Michael."

Michael wrapped his hands around her thighs. "Hold on ta me."

Y/N linked her arms around his neck. "I'm never lettin' go of ya again if I don't hafta."

Michael pressed his lips to hers once again as he lifted her to him, then stood and carried her to her bedroom.

He deposited her in her bed, wasting no time before climbing in after her.

"You're so fuckin' gorgeous, pet," Michael breathed, his eyes roaming Y/N's naked torso. "Been wantin' ya fer over twenty fuckin' years."

Y/N sucked in a breath at the revelation that Michael had been wanting her for just as long as she had been wanting him. "Why didn't you ever say anythin'?"

Michael shook his head. "Because I was tryin' ta protect ya. Ya didn't deserve ta get dragged inta all of my family's shite." 

He shrugged. "Besides, ya were much too good fer the likes a' me."

Y/N huffed out a breath. "Don't ya think tha' was my decision ta make?"

Michael scoffed. "Come on, Y/N, wha' good would I have been fer ya? Ya became a fuckin' doctor."

Yeah, because a' you, Michael."

Michael's brow furrowed. "Wha' -- wha' ya mean, ya became a doctor because a' me?" 

Y/N bit her lip. Might as well tell him. "I became a doctor because if anythin' happened on a job and you couldn't go to hospital because it seemed suspicious you could at least come ta me and I'd patch ya up." 

She smiled softly. "...Or because ya had punched a wall or fell and broke a glass door with yer head."

Michael looked flabbergasted. "But I thought --"

Y/N shook her head. "Don't get me wrong, I love savin' lives and I don't mind helpin' out yer family when they need patchin', but the most important life ta me is yers, Mikey. I'd do anythin' I possibly could ta keep ya safe." 

She reached up and caressed his face. "Like I said, I love ya."

"Fuck." Michael closed his eyes briefly, then upon reopening them he leaned down and kissed Y/N, this time leaving her breathless with passion. 

Y/N wrapped her arms around Michael's back, gasping in a breath as he kissed his way down her throat.

"So beautiful," Michael murmured, sliding his hands up Y/N's sides and trailing his thumbs under her breasts. "Fuckin' gorgeous, pet."

Y/N moaned as Michael circled the nipple of her left breast with his tongue, tangling her fingers into his hair and arching towards his mouth. "Mikey…"

"Mmm," Michael murmured. "Love tha' way ya say my name, like fuckin' music comin' out a' ya."

He wrapped his lips around her nipple, taking his time to tease it to a peak before switching to the other one.

Y/N gasped and arched into him again. "Fuck."

Michael hummed and let Y/N's nipple go with a soft 'pop'. "We're gettin' ta that, pet."

Y/N lifted her hips in permission as Michael's hands made their way to the waistband of her lounge pants. "Mikey… Mikey, love, need ya in me."

"Mm-mm." Michael shook his head as he slowly peeled Y/N's pants and underwear off. "Got ta taste ya first, darlin'."

Y/N whimpered, the thought of having Michael's mouth against her bare cunt making her clench around nothing.

Michael smirked as he trailed his hands up Y/N's bare legs, slowly parting them. "Oh, ya like that, do ya, pet? Ya like the thought of havin' my face buried between yer thighs, tastin' yer sweet nectar?"

Y/N moaned. "Fuck, yes, Mikey, please, need your mouth on me, love."

Michael licked his lips, his eyes glittering with desire. "Fuckin' hell, pet, yer fuckin' drippin' fer me."

Y/N let out a loud moan as Michael leisurely slid his tongue up her folds. 

Michael groaned. "Fuck, you taste so fuckin' sweet, darlin'. Wish I could've been eatin' this cunt out fer years."

Y/N hissed as Michael licked another stripe up her folds then circled her clit with his tongue. "Ah, fuck, Mikey…"

Her hands flew into Michael's hair as he pressed his tongue inside her. She had had a few lovers go down on her over the years -- some more-or-less semi enthusiastically -- but Michael ate her out like he was a man starved and she was a full-course meal.

Michael worked two fingers inside her as he removed his mouth from her cunt. "Want ya ta come fer me, pet. Come fer me and I'll give ya my cock like I know ya been needin'."

Y/N whimpered again, the familiar coil inside her tightening. "Please, Mikey."

Michael lowered his mouth to her once again, beginning to fuck her with his fingers as he sucked her sensitive bud in between his lips.

Y/N felt the coil getting tighter and tighter. "Fuck, yes, Mikey, please -- Ah!"

Michael pressed a hand to her stomach as Y/N came against his face, his mouth firmly attached to her clit as he worked her through her orgasm.

He kissed his way back up Y/N's body to her lips as he began undoing his belt and unzipping his jeans.

Y/N moaned at the faint tang of herself on Michael's tongue, reaching down blindly to help Michael shove his pants and boxers down. "Need yer cock, Mikey, want it so bad, love."

Michael finished divesting himself of his pants and positioned himself back over Y/N.

Y/N bit her lip in ecstasy as Michael stroked his cock through her folds a few times, coating himself in her slick before slowly pressing inside.

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath, the feel of Michael's bare cock inside of her unlike anything else she had ever experienced.

"--Ya alrigh', pet?"

Y/N opened her eyes to see Michael watching her worriedly. 

"I'm not hurtin' ya, am I?" he asked.

Y/N shook her head. "No, Mikey, feels so good, love."

Michael slowly withdrew until just the tip of his cock remained inside of her. 

He groaned. "Fuckin' hell, darlin', ya feel fuckin' incredible."

Y/N let out a gasp as Michael snapped his hips forward, burying himself in her as deeply as he could. "So do you, Mikey. Fuck, yer so fuckin' perfect."

Michael pressed his lips to the side of Y/N's neck, then began a slow, but firm pace.

The slick slide of Michael's cock in and out of Y/N quickly had a second orgasm approaching. "Mikey, I'm close, love."

Michael picked up his pace, fucking Y/N more firmly. "Did ya let any of the others inside ya like this, Y/N?" he growled. "Did ya let them feel yer tight cunt around their bare cocks?"

Y/N shook her head, crying out as Michael hit her sweet spot. "No, Mikey, just you, only ever you, love."

Michael groaned. "Can I come inside ya, pet?"

Y/N gasped. "Yes -- yes, Mikey, please. Want ta feel ya, love, need ta feel ya."

Michael reached down and began to circle Y/N's clit with his thumb. "Want ya to come with me, pet, want ta feel ya take me as deep inside ya as ya can."

Y/N began to feel the familiar coil tightening again. "Yes, Mikey, I'm close, love, please. Fill me, mark me, claim me, make me yers."

Michael let out a rumble from deep in his chest. "Yeah, pet? Want me ta ruin ya fer anyone else? Fuck a wee one into this tight cunt of yers, have my babe growin' inside ya?"

Y/N nodded, the coil getting ready to snap. "Yes, fuck, Mikey."

"Gonna fill ya with my cum, pet, keep fuckin' ya till I'm sure yer cunt has taken every last fuckin' drop." Michael hissed in a breath as his hips stuttered. "Fuck, Y/N --"

Y/N arched against him, the coil snapping once again. "Michael--"

Michael continued to thrust into her, finally slowing once he was satisfied.

He eased out of her and collapsed at her side, reaching for her and pulling her on top of him as he caught his breath.

Y/N hummed blissfully, resting her head on his chest and wrapping her arms around his waist.

Michael sighed and slid his hands around Y/N's back. "It's always been you, too, love," he said quietly. "I'm sorry I never told ya sooner. I just wanted ta keep ya safe."

Y/N shook her head, placing a kiss right over Michael's heart. "It's alright. I understand."

She looked up at him. "So wha' happens now?" 

Michael smirked. "We go get a shower then come back for another go?"

Y/N huffed out a laugh. "You know what I mean, Michael."

Michael shook his head. "Can we talk about it in tha' mornin'?"

Y/N nodded, her heart sinking. Of course this is just a one-night thing for him.

She moved to get up. "Okay."

Michael tightened his hold on her, his expression quickly becoming concerned. "Hey, no, love, it's not what yer thinkin'. I want ta give this a go, I -- it's everythin' else I don't want ta have ta think about tonigh'. I just want ta be here with ya, that's all I'm sayin'."

He took a deep breath. "I love ya, Y/N. I'm never lettin' go of ya again if I don't hafta."

A smile spread across Y/N's face as Michael repeated her earlier words back to her. "I love ya too, Mikey."

She leaned up and gave Michael a kiss. "Come on. I've got plans for tha' shower."

[saintmurd0ck]

reverie

masterlist

pairing: michael kinsella x (mentions of) f!reader

summary: michael wakes up hard and frustrated after a lucid dream

warnings: wet dream/cum, male masturbation, michael being a dirty lil freak (affectionate)

a/n: oooooooooh boy i've had this one in the bank for a while and let's just say i am driven by lust after seeing each new ep of kin. honestly i cant keep up send help

It’s not the first time Michael has woken up hard and frustrated, courtesy of a lucid dream, but he can't say this happens very often.

“Shit,” he swears, placing a hand on his lower stomach, wincing as it comes away sticky. He can feel it too, between his thighs, splattered on the sheet underneath, long since pulled away from the corners of his mattress. 

Groaning, Michael sits up in bed, contemplating what to do next. The obvious answer would be to clean himself up, but his blood thrums, head pounding with the kind of hollowness he knows only you could fill. 

He shuffles towards his bedside table for a tissue, suppressing the urge to recall the dream as he cleans himself up. 

But his resolve is weak, and reliving the dream is just as indulgent as he hopes it would be. 

“M-mikey,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist tighter.

“Mikey,” you say again, your voice hoarse, dangerously close to taking him over the edge with you. Using the wall as an anchor, he uses the leverage of this position to drive further into you, as deep as he can go. He sends himself into a frenzy, wild and lost in your warmth and in your wetness, begging for release…

Shuddering, Michael glances at his phone, biting his lip as he feels himself harden again. His self-control is a tidal wave ready to break, because of the overwhelming urge to send you a text, to call—to do anything to get you over here, into his bed and onto his cock. He grits his jaw, swearing at the mental image of you—writhing on top of him, squirming beneath, gripping his headboard as he fucks you from behind.

The devil on his shoulder, one that looks a little too much like you, grins. C’mon, Michael. You know you want to.

Michael shakes his head, his face becoming vacant. Does she even want t’see me?

That thing—you—on his shoulder winks, turning Michael’s cheeks pink. There’s only one way to find out…

Rubbing his jaw, Michael reaches for his phone, swiping through his contacts to find your number. He taps on the little icon next to your name, which displays his favourite picture of you. As his cock twitches against his stomach, he realises that somehow, your smile makes him even more aroused.

Yeah, he thinks, thrusting into his hand. I should call her.

[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.”

[everythingsf1ne23]

𝐒𝐡𝐞’𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐈 𝐖𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐁𝐞 (𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐) | 

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 & 𝘞𝘢𝘺𝘯𝘦 𝘔𝘢𝘥𝘪𝘨𝘢𝘯

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 🎀💕:

@yarrystyleeza If you want to be added check out my pinned post! 

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 💌:

heyyy my lovelies, I hope that you all enjoy this and I’m pretty sure that I’ll write a part 3 for this 🌟🫶~Jess

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 📝:

in which, she finds out all the details about the plan for the Kinsella’s fates 

𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳’𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘷:

I finish applying my makeup for work and I look at myself in the long mirror in mine and Wayne’s bedroom 

“You look amazing as you always do!”

Wayne comments and I turn to face him,

“Aww thank you, you look very handsome”

“I can go drive you to the pharmacy now if you’re ready”

“Yeah I’m ready, let’s go”

As we head down the stairs, Wayne speaks up again 

“Two of the lads are coming over for a little meeting this evening so I was thinking we could have pizza?” 

“Oh yeah that’s grand” I respond.

Wayne’s house is close to the pharmacy so after about 10 minutes, we arrive there.

“Have a great day gorgeous”

I give Wayne a quick kiss on the lips,

“I will, love you”

I reply and Wayne pulls me in for a hug,

“I love you even more”, he tells me and I get out of the car, 

I close the door and I wave bye to Wayne.

As yesterday I ended up doing most of the prescriptions, today it was my turn to serve the customers and Molly is doing all the prescriptions, surprisingly it has been quiet so far today considering it’s Friday,

“So are you doing anything nice for the weekend?” Molly asks and I shake my head,

“No I don’t think so” I respond 

“Well I’m thinking of going shopping tomorrow if you wanna come?”

“Ah yeah I’d like that!”

“Great I’ll text you the time that

 I’ll pick you up at later”

Molly responds with that bright smile of hers, then finally the customers

 start piling in the door.

Thankfully on Fridays, mine and Molly’s shift ends early to allow those wanting work experience to work there, 

Once again, Wayne and Michael arrive at the same time to pick me and Molly up.

I turn away from Michael and Molly as I didn’t need to see them being all loved up, 

“I got these for you my love”

My heart melts as Wayne hands me flowers

“Thank you, they’re absolutely lovely”

“Only the best for you” 

“Well how are you both?” Michael asks us 

“We’re great!” I respond holding hands with Wayne 

“Amanda was saying that there will probably be another meeting next week so you can meet the supplier”

Michael tells Wayne,

“Okay just message the day and I’ll be there” 

When the two of us arrive home, 

I get out of my work clothes and into something more comfortable as Wayne orders us pizza, after a while there’s a knock on the door 

“That’s probably the lads, 

can you go get it?”

Wayne asks from the kitchen 

“Yeah I’ll get it now!”

I open it to see two lads and to my surprise, I knew them - Clayton Finn and Glen Wright stood at the door.

“Long time no see aye?”

Clayton says 

“Yeah it’s certainly been a while”

I reply with a smile, and I lead them into the sitting room

“We assumed you were dead somewhere as after Caolon Moore’s funeral 

you were gone” 

Glen tells me 

“Considering that I’m related to Caolan I had to leave, otherwise I’m sure

 I would’ve been clipped”

“You even fooled Eamon, he thought you were dead too” 

“I didn’t know that you knew 

Clayton and Glen” Wayne comments and Clayton speaks up

“Oh we were real good friends, 

you could say best friends even”

“Yeah best friends for sure!” Glen exclaims 

Wayne looks at the two lads in front of us,

“So what’s your plan for getting rid of the Kinsella’s then?” Wayne asks them,

“My Mam said that we should go get Michael first as the most money is going for him” Glen replies 

“Then after Michael, I say that we should go for Viking as he deserves a bullet in the head…” Clayton says and afterwards he gasps, turning towards me

“You should help us like old times!”

“Yeah think of the money we could get, come on you know you want to”

I think to myself for a few moments and I look over at Wayne for his approval

he nods at me,

“If you wanna help then you should”

I give in, “Right I’ll help you both”

“Is that all you have so far in terms of your plan?”

“Yeah after Michael and Viking, we’ll just get the rest one by one unless some of the others get there first” 

As the night went on, we figured out more of the details on how the three of us were going to try clip Michael, considering the other attempts that have been made I doubt that it’ll work, but who knows we might actually get him this time.