#michael kinsella x f!reader

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

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

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

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

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

Word Count: 8.6k

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

Tick, tick, tick…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So predictable,” you mutter.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then I look better than I feel.”

“Hm. Does Michael know yer here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What if there are guns down there?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Drink?” Jimmy asks from somewhere behind you.

You shake your head. “I’m good.”

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

“You like snakes?”

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

“Why Michael?” Jimmy breaks the silence.

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

“A good man has no place here.”

“Who are you to judge that?”

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

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

“Fuckin’ hell.” 

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

“Then why are you still here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I am well aware of that, thank you.”

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

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

He shrugs. “Doesn’t matter now.”

“It matters to me.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Something along those lines.”

“Then why hasn’t he?”

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

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

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

“Is that why you came here?”

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

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

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

He tilts his head. “What did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s Eamon?” you blurt out. 

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

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

“Fuck!” Jimmy curses under his breath.

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

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

Your eyes soften. “I’m sorry, I—”

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

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

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

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

Grief is an unpredictable monster.

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

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

Across the room, he meets your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

One hand washes the other, right?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod. “I’m fine, I promise. I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Had to what?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You glare at him. “What?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No. You can get fucked!”

“Jesus,” you snap at him. 

“Home,” Michael tells you. “Now.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why Jimmy? Why?”

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

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

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

“There is no other way,” you argue.

“There is always another way.”

“Not in this case, there isn't.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I know,” you reply coolly.

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

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

“No, that’s not—”

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

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

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

“So what?” you retort.

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

“Don’t snap at me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Stop it.”

“I hate it here, Mikey.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, but it certainly feels that way.”

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

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

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

“I’m so sorry,” you gasp out.

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

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

“I know, but—”

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

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

“Don’t touch me.”

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

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

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

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

“Let me go,” you murmur.

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

“Please,” he begs. “Talk t’me.”

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

The arrow hits him straight through the heart. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

The question is just, was it worth it?

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

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #kin rte #kin amc #kin bbc #reader insert #charlie cox #chaos theory

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Twelve]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 6.6k [Series Masterlist]

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

a/n: This is a long one where we finally get their first date! And there's angst at the end of it, too... Also big thanks to @loveroftoomanyfandoms for figuring out what Michael is actually reading in Kin! Feedback is always appreciated!

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

Drawing the warm ceramic mug to your lips, you drank down more of your vanilla latte. The hot liquid was surprisingly not too sweet, the bold taste of the roast actually coming through as it passed over your tongue. You decided you liked this coffee shop, and not just because it was now going to hold the memory of your first date with Michael, but they apparently knew how to make a good cup of coffee. 

Across from you at the table, Michael’s fingers were tapping against the side of his steaming mug of coffee, his chin resting in the palm of his other hand. His eyes were locked on yours, crinkles forming at the corners of them and that dimple visible just beneath his beard on his right cheek. He sat there silently, continuing to simply smile at you. 

He had just been contentedly watching you as if that alone was enough for him for the past couple of minutes. You swore if he kept looking at you like he’d been doing ever since you’d both sat down, you’d end up throwing yourself over the small table separating the pair of you and crushing your mouth to his. Just that look of enraptured interest he had for you so plainly written across his face was alone increasing your arousal–or maybe it had just been vastly too long since either of you had last had sex. Either way, you were getting turned on and you could feel the sexual tension increasing to a palpable level in the air around the pair of you. Didn’t matter that you were both in public in a coffee shop and Michael was wearing a bulletproof vest under his sweater and jacket. Somehow that only added to your increasing desire.

“You just going to stare at me for the duration of this date?” you asked him, lowering the mug back to the table and wrapping both of your hands around it. “Or do you actually want to talk to me?”

Michael chuckled, that intense look of fondness never leaving his face. “Well I have a beautiful woman sittin’ across from me, and it’s quite early in the mornin’. Maybe I’m a bit distracted?” he teased.

That also didn’t help you control the desire to jump him publicly.

“Laying it on thick, I see,” you joked, unable to fight the smile on your own mouth.

“Well I told ya it may be a bit before I can take ya on another proper date again,” he explained. “And it did take me two times to get ya to say yes to me to begin with.” He shrugged. “Maybe I just want to make sure it won’t take ya six times before ya say yes next time?”

You laughed, surprised at how funny he actually was when you got a little bit past the awkward, brooding, mysterious exterior. Shaking your head at him, your eyes dropped down to the mug of coffee before you. On your walk to the coffee shop this morning Michael had been noticeably more comfortable with you than he had been the last time the pair of you had taken a walk together. Although there had unfortunately been no kissing or hand holding, he had somehow still managed to slip in a bit of overt flirting despite the main topic of conversation. 

As you’d both walked to the shop for your date, Michael had been explaining how he really shouldn’t be out of his house because of the feud that had been started between his family and their supplier–this Eamon character that Birdy had initially accused you of getting close to Michael for the Serpents for. Apparently anyone selling for Eamon that had a gun was going to be on the lookout for a Kinsella or anyone working with the family. There had been a very high bounty put on Michael’s head and it wasn’t exactly safe for him to be out–even in public. Which didn’t exactly surprise you, considering how he’d walked into a crowded bar himself a few nights ago and shot the man who’d been responsible for Jamie’s death. But Michael had repeatedly assured you the bounty was still such early news that there wasn’t a high risk of anyone tailing him yet. He’d made sure no one was before he’d come to get you from your sister’s this morning. 

To you, it sounded like this feud was more of a war. Especially with the way he was wearing a bulletproof vest under his clothes and occasionally scanning out the window to make sure no one suspicious was watching the pair of you. He’d even intentionally picked a table near a back exit in case the pair of you needed to bolt, and he’d positioned himself so he could keep an eye on the door and still be between you and it. Which was a detail you hadn’t missed. 

“So you’re a writer, yeah?” he asked. 

His question drew your eyes back up from your mug and to his face. He’d sat up straighter in his chair now, his chin no longer resting in his palm. You watched as he drew his mug to his lips, your eyes momentarily distracted by the movement–and his mouth. It had been too long since you’d last had the opportunity to kiss him, and you really had wanted to pick up where you’d left off the other morning.

“Yeah, I am,” you answered, your eyes finally meeting his again.

“What’s that like?” he asked next.

You shrugged a shoulder, mulling over the question. “It’s nice, I suppose,” you told him. “I get to work from wherever I want–clearly,” you said, shooting him a small smile to which he returned. “Other than making deadlines there’s not too much daily stress during the writing part of things. I mean, besides the pressure I put on myself to actually, you know, write.”

Michael chuckled, leaning his elbows onto the table as he drew himself closer towards you. “And what exactly do you write about?” he questioned.

“I uh, have a series about a family,” you began awkwardly, your eyes dropping down to your coffee mug. “And they do…nefarious things to make money.” 

“Such as…?” he prompted curiously.

“Drug trafficking,” you answered, eyes still averted. “Money laundering. Blackmail. Murder.”

“Well that’s…rather dark,” he mused.

Your eyes slid up towards his, one of your brows arching back at him. The corner of his lip twitched upwards in response.

“I am aware of the irony,” he replied, grinning. “I take it ya took inspiration from your life?”

“Something like that,” you admitted. 

Michael’s dark brows pulled together on his forehead, a crease forming between them. “I’m surprised your ex-fiance allowed that. He knew that’s what ya wrote ‘bout?”

Nodding, you drew your mug back up to your lips for another drink. You swallowed down the coffee before you answered.

“He knew,” you simply said. “My sister had actually gotten in with one of the Serpents back in the day–before I’d ever met Victor. He’d gone by the nickname Lucky. He actually had epilepsy and was the reason why I knew what to do that other night when I…met you.”

“Mmm,” Michael hummed out, his gaze still intently watching you. “Wondered 'bout that.”

Tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, your eyes dropped back down to your nervously fidgeting hands. Your fingers began to drum along the ceramic mug as you spoke; you didn’t particularly like to think about the outlaw MC.

“I’d started writing the series back then,” you told him. “My sister and I, we didn’t exactly have a great childhood. I’d stayed behind and forwent college just to make sure she’d been safe and taken care of until she graduated. I worked two jobs just trying to pay the bills while our mom just…” you slowly trailed off, shaking your head. “But Megan she–she fell for Lucky when he was still a prospect for the Serpents, right before she graduated high school. She was really serious about him. And I started hearing these stories–in the news and from my sister–and I just…I don’t know, I started writing,” you finished lamely with a shrug.

“So ya published them before ya met your ex?” Michael asked.

“The first one, yeah,” you said, your focus returning to his curious face. “The series name The Road to Hell was a quiet nod to the Serpents of Hell MC. Even though it's not actually about a motorcycle club and doesn’t specifically mention any real crimes they committed–because I’m not an idiot and wasn’t trying to get myself killed. But I was apparently good at it. At writing. And I needed the money because a high school education wasn’t getting me shit. So my publisher picked it up. They loved it and contracted me for more and well, that’s what I do, I guess.”  

“I’m assumin’ somethin’ happened to this Lucky considerin’ Megan isn’t with him now?” Michael asked.

“Killed,” you answered with a nod. “He’s the reason why Megan went to school to become a nurse.”

Michael frowned at your response. “’M sorry to hear that.”

You shrugged, bringing your coffee back to your mouth for another drink. Swallowing the warm liquid down, you eyed his handsome face across the table from you. This wasn't exactly what you wanted to talk about. 

“Not a very light topic for a date,” you mused as you lowered the mug. “Why don’t you tell me something about yourself? Something not depressing unlike what I just told you.”

A small smile returned to Michael’s face, one of his hands sliding across the wooden table towards yours. He reached up, gripping onto your right hand and pulling it away from your coffee mug down to the table with his. The gesture instantly stilled your nervous fidgeting, your eyes dropping down to watch as he slowly entwined his fingers with yours. Your heart beat a little harder in your chest.

“What d’ya want to know?” he asked.

Eyes slowly making their way up towards his face, you felt your breath coming in shallower. That look from earlier had returned to his face, and in turn, so had your previous state of arousal.

How fast can I get you home and in my bed?

Bottom lip slipping between your teeth, you tried hard to fight that question from accidentally falling out of your mouth. Michael’s gaze had inevitably dropped down to where you were chewing your lip, his own tongue slowly sliding out to wet his lips as his eyes lingered.

If you didn’t get ahold of yourself soon you’d be dragging him out the back door behind you and seeing how far you could get with him before your mind brought reason back to you. And as tempting as that sounded, that’s not what you were doing here. Blinking hard a few times, your eyes darted out of the window beside you, trying to break whatever trance his eyes had somehow put you into again.

“I don’t know,” you said with a shrug. “Any hobbies?”

Michael huffed out a laugh, the sound catching your attention again. He was shaking his head as he raised his mug to his lips with his other hand. You watched as his throat bobbed while he drank the coffee down, your tongue running along the back of your teeth as you shifted in your seat, all too aware of the heat from his hand wrapped around yours.

“Ya know where I’ve been the past eight years, yeah?” he asked, lowering his mug back to the table. “Didn’ exactly have the opportunity for hobbies.”

“Okay,” you said slowly. “So you go back home after this and then you do what? Sit on your sofa and stare into the void? There’s got to be something you enjoy.”

He chuckled as his hand not holding yours rose up to scratch at his beard. Your left hand curled around your mug, desperately trying to ignore the way your fingers itched to feel the rasp of it beneath them. 

“So I’m goin’ home alone after this?” Michael teased. “That what you’re sayin’?”

Your own brows rose onto your forehead, lips parting in surprise as you gaped back at him. “I–I wasn’t saying that, exactly,” you stammered out.

A slow smile spread along Michael’s mouth, his hand rubbing along his chin as he continued to watch you from across the table. There was definitely some sort of look in his eye, something that had your pulse at a consistent, increased pace again.

“I enjoy readin’,” he said. “‘M not really into watchin’ shows, but I read.”

It took you a moment to realize he was answering your question about his hobbies. But as you sat across from him, your coffee almost finished, you’d found your brain was still stuck on one thing. Shifting again in your seat, you tried hard to focus on the conversation and not how badly you wanted the man you were talking to. The fact that he enjoyed reading was only adding to his attractiveness.

“And uh, what exactly do you like to read?” you asked, the question coming out unintentionally a little breathless.

Michael seemed to catch the change in your tone, his head tilting to the side as he quietly studied you for a moment. You bit the inside of your cheek, fighting to keep yourself from inviting him back to your place right here and now. Though it was beginning to feel like a losing battle. You felt like you might combust if you sat here much longer with him staring at you like that and you pretending like you weren’t dying to do more than just talk.

Clearing your throat, you tried to shove those thoughts away again. 

"Actually, let me guess," you began, trying to focus on the conversation. "You don't seem like you'd be into horror and suspense."

"Get enough o' that in my life already," Michael agreed, nodding.

Your eyes narrowed as you examined him closely. "Not romance, either. Or science fiction," you ruled out, noticing the way his smile grew. "Nonfiction?"

Michael shrugged a shoulder. "Dependin' on the topic, yeah."

Becoming interested in this guessing game, you rested your elbow on the table and leaned forward, your right hand still entwined with his. Michael copied the gesture, that flicker of something still in his eyes, his mouth seemingly permanently drawn up into a grin as he lessened the gap between the pair of you at the table.

"Historical fiction?" you asked.

"On occasion," he replied huskily. 

Pressing your lips together, you wondered how the hell he was making this conversation so hot. The way he’d gripped your hand a bit firmer in his wasn’t helping.

"Mmm, not a mystery reader," you continued, watching as he shook his head. "Classic lit?"

Michael’s grin widened further. "I enjoy some, yeah," he answered. 

Resting your chin in your hand, your index finger absently tapped against your lips as you thought. You only became aware of the gesture when Michael’s eyes dropped down, staring at your mouth yet again. That's when you'd intentionally began running your finger back and forth along your bottom lip slowly, enjoying the way his eyes followed the movement. Apparently you weren't the only one thinking about that right now.

"I'm guessing you're not into bodice rippers," you teased, intentionally directing the conversation towards sex.

Michael’s brows shot up onto his forehead, his eyes returning to yours. "Bodice rippers?" he asked with a laugh. "Is that what I'm thinkin' it is?"

You grinned, nodding. "Yeah, you know, smut. Those books with the overly buff men on the cover and a woman who's heaving bosom looks like it's about to pop out of her top?"

Michael cracked up, his eyes creasing as he tried to contain his laughter. "No Grace," he answered, his shoulders shaking with his barely contained mirth, "I can't say that I read… bodice rippers . But now ya got me wonderin' if you do."

A large smile drew wide across your own face. "Oh I have an entire series of them I wrote," you told him enthusiastically, fighting down your own laughter when his mouth dropped open in shock. "About a pirate and a virgin–well, I guess she's not a virgin anymore. Not with everything they've done with the buried treasure they've found…"

Michael continued to gawk at you from across the table and you swore you saw pink tinge his cheeks. When you saw him struggling to form a coherent thought, you burst into a laugh. 

"I'm kidding," you assured him. "I don't have a smutty series about a pirate–but I bet you I’d make a fortune if I did."

He visibly relaxed in his seat, a laugh falling out of him. "Ya definitely had me there," he said. "Wasn't sure if ya were serious and how I was s'posed to respond to that."

"Yeah, I could tell," you said with a laugh of your own. "Pretty sure I made you blush, Mr. Kinsella."

His hand squeezed yours as he chuckled again, his eyes falling back down to his mug. “I don’ know ‘bout that,” he muttered.

“So what are you reading?” you asked him finally. 

“Currently?” he asked, continuing when you nodded. “ East of Eden.”

Eyebrows raising onto your forehead, you hummed out a curious noise. The corner of his lip twitched.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” you said innocently with a shrug. “You seem like you’d read Steinbeck is all.”

His eyes narrowed playfully at you. "And what's that s'posed to mean?" he asked.

"That you should probably find something lighter to read," you teased. 

You picked up your coffee mug and downed the rest of your latte, enjoying the bemused expression on Michael’s face as he watched you. Setting the empty mug back onto the table, your eyes dropped back down to your enjoined hands. His thumb suddenly brushed a light stroke across your knuckles and you felt that excited, giddy feeling wash over you. Yet again you found yourself wishing you weren't in a public setting.

“D’ya want another coffee?” he asked, head gesturing to your now empty mug.

“Actually,” you began slowly, eyes gradually returning to his face, “Do you…maybe want to head back?”

Something flickered across his face at your question, an expression so fleeting you barely just caught it before you saw him quickly control his reaction. He cleared his throat, picking up his almost empty mug of coffee, his focus on the remaining liquid as he spoke.

“Already wantin’ an end to this date?” he asked.

“I was thinking more like…moving the date back to my place?” you suggested. “Megan isn’t home and well, you wouldn’t have to keep glancing out the window and being on edge.”

“If that’s what ya would like to do,” he said casually, his eyes still almost nervously avoiding yours as he downed the rest of his coffee.

“And is that what you would like to do?” you questioned back.

Michael paused, his gaze very gradually drawing up from his mug to meet yours. That flicker of something was in his eyes again as he stared back at you for a moment. You felt a heat rising up to your cheeks, but not from embarrassment this time. You wanted to see where this was going to go, and you certainly weren’t thinking about stopping things like last time.

“I’d like that, yeah,” he eventually answered.

You tried to fight back the smile on your lips as Michael released your hand finally, grabbing your empty coffee cup along with his and telling you that he’d take care of them. Your eyes lingered on Michael’s back as he stepped away to deposit them on a nearby cart. Rising from your own chair, you slipped your jacket back on and mentally prepared to face the chilly morning air that seemed to be a constant in Dublin. 

When Michael had made his way back to you, your heart skipped in your chest at the sight of his offered hand. Eagerly you slipped yours into it, smiling when you saw his own smile light up his entire face. He led the pair of you out of the coffee shop, his head darting around looking out the shop windows as he walked, clearly keeping an eye out for anyone who looked suspicious. 

He’d held the door of the shop open for you, only releasing the hold he had on your hand to do so until you were outside on the sidewalk. His hand swiftly grasped back onto yours, entwining his fingers through your own when you both fell in step beside each other. Biting your lip, your gaze dropped down to your feet as you walked, your shoulder brushing alongside his with each step. 

For a few minutes the pair of you had walked in comfortable silence, your mind on the things you’d like to do to him back at Megan’s place. Though you found yourself wondering what he was thinking about right now and if it was something along the same lines. 

“I hope–hope ya had a good time,” Michael said nervously, finally breaking the silence.

Your hand squeezed his reassuringly as you glanced at him beside you over your shoulder. His head turned, a small smile on his mouth as he took in the look on your face.

“I did,” you assured him. “Wouldn’t be inviting you back with me if I hadn’t.”

“Quite bold of ya, too,” he mused.

A coy smile spread along your lips in response. “And quite bold of you to assume that’s what I meant,” you countered.

Michael’s expression quickly shifted to something sheepish, his mouth opening and closing for a moment. He looked absolutely adorable as his pace slowed beside you and he grew further flustered.

“Oh, I–I just thought–I mean, you’re right, I shouldn’ have–” he broke off, clearly trying to find the right words.

You laughed, shaking your head and watching his expression slightly relax at the sound. “I did mean that, actually,” you told him. “But you’re cute when you get flustered.”

Michael breathed out a laugh, his head ducking down as his other hand came to rub at the back of his neck. “Don’ think anyone’s called me cute before,” he muttered.

“Well I just did. And I think you are,” you pointed out, eyes still lingering on his handsome face. “Among other things,” you added, the words spilling out of you before you could stop them.

Michael looked up at you from underneath his lashes; there was something undeniably hungry in his eyes as he held you in his stare. That desire you’d been feeling all morning was only steadily growing within you as you saw his eyes scanning your face in the silence that followed, searching for something that you sincerely hoped he found there. But something caught his eye just past your shoulder, his focus shifting as his lips thinned. His expression quickly became serious and your eyes narrowed curiously back at him. 

Michael straightened beside you, his posture going rigid as his head spun forward. His hand tightened around yours as he quickened his pace. You were forced to increase your stride to keep up as he pulled you along beside him. 

“What–”

“Can’ tell if we’re bein’ followed,” he responded in a hushed tone. “Just keep your head down, pet. Act normal. Don' want somethin' happenin' to ya."

Your heart sped up in your chest for a different reason now, adrenaline flooding you at his words. Someone was following you? Someone looking for that bounty on Michael’s head he’d told you about this morning? The familiar cold prickle of fear rose the hairs along the back of your neck, your jaw tensing as you grit your teeth together.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted someone on the other side of the street. There was a  black hood pulled up over their head, making it impossible to make out their face. Their hands were stuffed in the pockets of their sweatshirt, but with them so far across the street, you couldn’t tell if there was a gun in one of their pockets or not. It looked as if they had turned their head towards the pair of you across the street before focusing back on the sidewalk before them. 

Were they following Michael then? Here to shoot him and claim the bounty Eamon had put out?

Michael abruptly tugged you sideways, startling you as he pulled you down a small side street. You willingly followed after him, still practically being dragged behind him until he suddenly stopped and turned, grabbing both of your shoulders in his hands. He pushed your back up into the brick wall of the nearby building without warning, a surprised gasp falling out of you at the impact. Michael's arms were soon caging you in between them, the front of him coming to press against the front of you. His face was just inches from yours now, panic and fear written plainly in his eyes as yours met his. 

"Just stay right there, pet. I got ya," he murmured, his left hand moving from off the wall to gently cradle the back of your head, easing it down to rest against his chest. "'M so sorry. Didn' think anyone was followin' us when we left."

You didn't respond, too busy trying to control your own increasing panic. Your hands fisted the material of his sweater as your heart thundered loudly in your own ears. Eyes snapping shut, you tried to focus on the smokey cinnamon scent of him, letting it fill your nose as you buried it further into his chest. Michael pressed himself more firmly to the front of you when you'd exhaled an audible, shuddering breath. 

"'S'alrigh', I got ya," he whispered, his cheek resting along the top of your head, his other hand still firmly cradling the back of your head to him. "Won' let anythin' happen to ya."

Seconds later you felt Michael tense against you, his entire body going rigid as he covered you with himself. Your fingers curled tighter around his sweater, the solid bulletproof vest underneath it reassuring you in this moment that he would be alright–he had to be. You heard his breath catch in his throat with how closely you were burrowed against him as you waited for what felt like the inevitable, tears pricking at your eyes. 

But nothing happened.

The moment felt like it dragged on for minutes, time slowing down, but no gunshot ever rang out. Very slowly Michael raised his head from the top of yours, but he didn't release his hold on you so you remained latched to the front of him. Whoever had been across the street must’ve passed by already now, but Michael was clearly trying to wait them out to make sure they really weren’t about to double back and shoot him. It was a few minutes before he finally broke the silence, your body feeling like it was stuck in a state of panic while you waited. 

"I–I think they're gone," Michael whispered. "Musta been nothin' after all."

His hand on the back of your head gently smoothed down your hair a few times, the comforting feel of it drawing a shudder out of you. Gradually you pulled away from his chest, finally releasing the breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. Michael was looking down at you, an apologetic smile on his face.

“Ya alrigh’, Grace?” he asked softly. 

Nodding, your hands continued to keep a firm hold to his sweater underneath his open jacket. Michael’s hand on the back of your head slid forward, gently cupping your cheek and tilting your face up towards his. That sorrowful, regretful look was back in his eyes again as they held yours. Your heart continued to beat wildly in your chest from a mixture of the residual fear and adrenaline, along with the admiration at how easily Michael chose to shield you with himself in the heat of the moment. 

“‘M so sorry, Grace,” he repeated. “Fuck, I shouldn’ have taken ya out this mornin’. I didn’ think it’d be a worry today because–”

You lunged forward, closing the brief space between the pair of you and cutting him off when you pressed your mouth to his. Hands releasing the death grip you’d had on his sweater, they came up to grab either side of his face, holding him firmly to you. It took Michael a second to recover from the shock of your action before he was kissing you back, one hand wrapping around the back of your neck and the other gripping your hip. You gasped into his mouth when he pushed you back into the brick wall, his tongue slipping inside when you did. 

You moaned next–a loud, throaty sound that only spurred him on. Michael’s tongue was feverishly lapping at yours, the feeling leaving you breathless as your hands made their way back into his hair, gripping the dark strands firmly in your fists. You didn’t know if it was due to the fear of being shot, the flirty, lustful thoughts you’d been having for the duration of the date, or a combination of the two, but you found yourself needing him. 

Without thinking, completely forgetting that you were still in public, your hips pressed forward into Michael. His tongue slid back out of your mouth, his teeth biting down on your lip and tugging in response. He rumbled out a noise from deep within his chest as he nipped at your lip. You whined at the sound, pulling at his hair and trying to urge him to continue. Releasing your lip from between his teeth, Michael shook his head briefly. The pair of you stood there on the side street, clinging to each other and breathing heavily. 

“Not here,” Michael panted out. 

Eyelids falling shut, your head rolled back against the brick building behind you. He was right, now wasn’t the time. Reluctantly you released the grip you had on his hair, your hands instead coming to land against Michael’s chest. You took a moment, trying to catch your breath and calm your body down–from the kiss and the panic–as you felt both of his hands coming to rest along your hips. You could hear the way he was breathing heavily before you, just as out of breath as you were.  

After a minute you finally opened your eyes, focusing back on him in front of you. Michael’s shoulders were heaving a little less visibly now, one corner of his mouth curling upwards at you. Licking your lips, you tried hard to push those thoughts aside for the duration of the walk back to your place with him. 

“Why don’t we just–just continue this when we get back?” you suggested.

“Probably a better idea,” he agreed. 

Michael extended his hand towards you and you easily slipped your hand back into his. The pair of you made your way down the side street and towards the sidewalk, but Michael had come to a stop just before it, making you wait behind him while he surveyed the area. When he seemed satisfied you were safe, he gave your hand a little tug and the two of you continued on your walk. 

The entire walk back felt like it had taken forever with every flirtatious look the pair of you kept sending each other. You’d both tried to make conversation, but it seemed only one thing was on either of your minds, making it difficult to keep a topic going for long. By the time you’d reached your street, Michael had already convinced you to come back to his place instead because it was always empty, unlike your place where Megan could theoretically show up unexpectedly. 

That was how the pair of you found yourselves once again wrapped around each other. Michael had been reaching for his house key in his pocket to unlock his front door. Unable to wait, you’d grabbed onto the edge of his jacket and pulled him towards you. He didn’t hesitate to respond to you this time, his mouth diving straight down towards yours. 

He was kissing you feverishly again, clearly still as worked up from earlier as you were. His hands flew back to your hips, gripping them tight as he walked you the handful of steps backwards until you’d hit the stone fence behind you. Your own hands slid up his chest, wishing you could rip the vest off of him now that you were back because you wanted to feel him beneath your hands instead. 

His mouth soon broke from yours, his lips making their way down to your jaw. His beard lightly tickled against your skin as he trailed a few open mouthed kisses along the length of it, a moan vibrating in your throat. The moment he sucked a patch of your skin into his mouth, your eyes rolled back and your head landed against the brick wall behind you. Your arms wound around his neck, fingers digging into the thick material of his jacket as you sighed out a noise of pleasure. His mouth felt so goddamn good. 

As he continued to focus on your neck, one of his hands slid down from your hip, making its way around to palm your ass over your jeans. His large hand squeezed and the sound that it drew from your throat would’ve been mortifying if it hadn’t caused him to suck another patch of skin along your neck into his mouth. 

“ Fuck, Michael,” you breathed out.

You could feel the wet heat building between your thighs when he drew back from your neck, his plush lips damp with his saliva. His face was slightly flushed, that hungry look in his eyes again. God, you needed him badly.

Throwing all thought out, you pulled him towards you with the arms you had wrapped around his neck. Your lips crashed onto his, kissing him with every bit of that urgent hunger you felt burning inside of you. The pair of you were panting for air against each others' mouths, the kiss a mix of teeth and tongue as you gave yourself over to your desire. When you’d sucked his bottom lip into your mouth, your tongue dancing along the length of it, Michael had let out a groan that had your cunt clenching around nothing.

Releasing his lip from your mouth, your heated gaze locked onto Michael’s. The pair of you were still wrapped around each other, lips swollen from all of the kissing. Michael’s hand was still slowly kneading at your ass over your jeans as your lips parted, the words ‘I want you’ about to fall from them, but then an irritated voice rang out from just behind Michael and the pair of you froze.

“Ya got to be kiddin’ me, Michael!”

He immediately broke away from you, taking a few steps back as your hands inevitably fell to your sides with him now out of reach. Breath still coming in shallow pants, you felt a sharp pang hit you in the chest at how quickly he’d broken apart from you at the appearance of Amanda. 

“I've been callin' ya all mornin', Michael," she continued bitterly. "I came over here to talk to ya ‘bout somethin’ important and I find ya over here pawin' at her? Ya shouldn' even be draggin’ an outsider into our shite with everythin' goin' on!” Amanda snapped. 

"Amanda," Michael began, his tone placating.

“What if somethin' had happened and I couldn' get ahold o' ya, huh?" she barreled on. "Somethin' like what happened to Jaime? Because ya were too busy lookin’ for a quick fuck with the neighbor?”

Michael ran a hand through his hair in frustration as he eyed her. “Now’s not really the time for this, Amanda,” Michael shot back.

For some reason the fact that he hadn’t immediately clarified that you weren’t just a quick fuck had your chest tightening uncomfortably. Surely you meant more to him than that, even if you two didn’t know each other quite that well yet, right? It had seemed like you’d had a good date, and Birdy had said he seemed interested in you. Yet still, it hurt all the more that he’d not corrected her because you knew that Amanda had certainly meant something to him in the past, considering he’d had an affair with her despite her being married to his brother. 

Did she still mean something to him?

“It’s important, Michael,” Amanda said, her eyes taking a moment to rake you over with a look of disdain. “Certainly more important than whatever is goin' on here.”

“Can’t it wait?” he pressed.

Amanda’s eyes narrowed back at Michael. “ No, Michael, it can’t. Your family needs ya. More than your neighbor needs ya for a fuck,” she growled, gesturing a hand at you. “ She’s not important. Family is.”

Your jaw dropped in disbelief at her words and the blatant disrespect in them. Gaze flying towards Michael, you expected him to say something–anything at all–but all he did was sigh, his shoulders sagging as he did. Slowly his head turned over his shoulder back towards you, a sad, apologetic look in his eyes. 

“Grace,” he began, “I’m gonna have to deal with this right now.”

Your mouth dropped open in shock. Was he serious? He was going to let her talk about you like that and then just ask you to leave? As if that’s all you really were was a quick fuck at what was now becoming an inconvenient time? 

Eyes hardening back at him, you felt anger and jealousy beginning to burn inside of you. How had you misread this situation so badly? You thought there was more going on between the pair of you, but apparently that was one-sided. Of course he’d just want a fuck fresh out of prison, and you were easy pussy next door, weren’t you? Seemingly desperate yourself. 

Michael’s brows drew together at the change in your expression, confusion slowly drawing across his face as he turned towards you more fully. His mouth opened as if he was going to say more, but you cut him off. 

“Don’t worry about it, Michael,” you retorted coldly, beginning to make your way past him. 

“Grace–”

“And don’t call me, either,” you added. 

“Grace,” he tried again.

You saw Michael reach out to grab your arm as you passed by, but you pulled it out of his reach. At the end of the driveway, you saw a faint smirk spread on Amanda’s lips as she watched the scene unfolding before her, crossing her arms over her chest as you neared. When you walked past her, it took every bit of your strength to resist smacking that pleased look right from her face. 

You rounded the stone fence and made your way back to Megan’s house, ignoring the sound of Michael’s voice behind you. He only stopped calling your name when you heard Amanda tell him to–as if she apparently still had some pull over him.

Drawing the house key out of your coat pocket, you bit the tip of your tongue as you unlocked the front door. You didn’t want either of them to hear you crying; you were waiting to do that after you’d locked the door behind you and buried yourself in your sister’s couch cushions where no one could witness the tears.

Because of course he must still want her, even after eight years in prison. What an idiot you were to think you were more than easy sex to him. You were just a distraction from her.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella #kin amc #kin fanficiton

[cellophaine]

Dark Paradise

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Word Count: 1841

Warnings: Hurt and comfort. Fluff.

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

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

GIF Credit: @pajamasecrets

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you hurt?"

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

"Are you?"

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

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

"Do you want anything to drink?"

You shook your head at his offer.

"I’m fine."

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

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

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

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

"You’re hurt."

"No, I’m not. Please–"

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

"Let me see."

"No."

"Let me help you–"

"I don’t need your help."

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

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

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

"Was it Eric?"

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

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

A soft chuckle and a brief pause later.

"Jimmy?"

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

"Amanda?"

You nodded.

"I know. Surprised me too."

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

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

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

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

At his silence, you advanced.

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

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

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

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

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

You were on borrowed time, and you knew it.

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

#michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x y/n #kin amc #amc kin

[she-likesorchids]

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.” 

#mandy's sweater weather challenge #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella fanfic #kin amc #rte kin #kin rte

[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.”

#lotmf writes #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella fanfic #michael kinsella fanfiction #kin rte #kin amc #kin bbc #Mind the Gap Masterlist

[saintmurd0ck]

in flagrante delicto

frank masterlist | michael masterlist | part two (ish)

pairing: frank castle x f!reader x michael kinsella

summary: maybe it was the wrong idea to sneak away during a kinsella party, especially when michael's there to catch you in the act.

warnings: minor drug use, mentions of alcohol, threesome, dp, unprotected sex, m and f receiving oral, ass eating/ass play, amanda kinsella slander, cum... the list goes on

a/n: now let me tell you. this is an unholy abomination. enjoy the culmination of 4 months of writers block pretty much 💗

song recommendation: bad drugs (king kavalier)

The party is a distant blur in the courtyard below, fogged with your heavy breaths against the cool glass. “We shouldn’t be doing this here, Frank.”

His laugh mimics a deep, rolling purr as he presses you harder against the window, digging his fingers into your waist. The glow of the fairy lights dance across his face, faintly illuminating the handprints now marking the glass. You try not to wince at the evidence you’ve left, but Frank’s teeth on your neck clears every single worry running through your mind.

Some marker of relief glitters in your veins as you hear shouting, then as a crowd gathers around a shit-faced Eric, knocking back shot after shot with no care for the world. Frank’s clearly been distracting you far too long — to the point where you’ve forgotten where you are. At a Kinsella party. 

You can guarantee what you’re doing isn’t the worst thing happening in this house. 

Frank’s eyelashes flutter against your cheek as his lips ghost your skin, mouth finding yours as he pivots you around. He murmurs your name as you palm him through his jeans, savouring every thick inch of him with your lazy strokes. His fingers latch onto the button of your jeans, moving deftly to undo them, and then to wedge his hand between your legs. He feels for the soft lace edges of your underwear, tracking the wetness pooling between your legs. The outside world fades away as his finger slips over your aching clit, his low chuckle ringing in your ears as you arch into his touch. 

Your sharp intake of breath echoes throughout the hallway at the quiet drawl that sounds.

“So tha’s where you’ve been all night.”

Fuck. You’re screwed.

You cast a subtle glance past Frank’s shoulder, surveying the man leaning against the adjacent doorway, clumsily fixing the mess that’s become of your clothes. Michael looks the two of you up and down, tongue clicking as he strides towards you. He opens his mouth to say something, but he stills instead, eyebrows arching as he folds his arms across his chest. 

He’s the perfect portrait of a prom chaperone… waiting to catch someone in the act.

Heat blooms in your face as Michael inclines his head, mouth upturning into a knowing smile. “Well? D’ya have anythin’ to say?”

Words have long since failed you, so you try something else. A gentle nudge to Frank’s ribs has him clawing your elbow away, but your idea pays off.

He clears his throat. “Party was too loud.”

Michael nods, tapping his foot impatiently on the hardwood floor. “I see.” He pauses, jerking his chin towards Frank. “Jimmy’s lookin’ for ‘ya.”

You study his face for a moment, eyes narrowing at his tone, at his clipped words. There’s an edge to him tonight, and if the past has taught you anything at all, now’s the time to be careful.

Frank bristles at Michael’s attempt to separate the two of you. “If you’re jealous, you could’ve said so.”

There it is.

Michael runs his tongue over his teeth, a clear marker of his irritation. And the fact that Frank is well and truly right. “‘M not jealous, Frank.”

“Then what are you doin’, spying on us, huh?” There’s a challenge in his voice, and it thrums in your blood. “Think I didn’t notice ‘ya creepin’ behind, thinking you’re all stealthy and shit? You’ve been out of the game too long.”

“Besides,” Frank continues, clocking in the way Michael’s eyes dart upwards, “I never said I wouldn’t share.”

Michael scoffs. “You must be jokin’.”

Frank clamps his hands on your shoulders, pulling them backwards so you stand up straighter. He grunts as your top rides up, as Michael stares at the now-exposed sliver of your midriff. You barely have time to register as Frank’s lips brush past your ear, mumbling a quick ‘this okay, sweetheart?’, and then as he waits for your approval. To put on a show, most likely.

“Yes, Frankie,” you murmur, tipping your head back to feel his stubble scratching against your cheek. To bare your neck, so Michael can see exactly where you want his mouth. To begin with.

“You think I’m joking, Mikey?” Frank says, voice dipping low, hands running up your sides to cup your breasts. It seems as if Michael’s frozen in place as Frank squeezes them, fingers dipping beneath the cup of your bra to thumb your nipples. You open your mouth to moan at the friction of the fabric rubbing against your breasts. 

As usual, Michael’s a man of few words, either stony-faced or completely neutral. Not tonight, though. Tonight, all his tells lay open across his face.

“C’mere,” you breathe, watching his chest rise unevenly, noticing the breaths that start to catch in his throat.

You feel yourself falling apart as Frank nips your pulse, dragging his tongue up the column of your throat. He slides his hands under your shirt, hissing at the sensation of your silken skin on his calluses, at your raging warmth underneath his palms. 

It’s becoming increasingly difficult, but your focus remains on Michael. Any second now. 

He presses his lips together, throwing a glance behind his shoulder, checking to make sure no-one’s about to interrupt. 

“Fuck,” he says, and walks right over to you. 

. . .

As every semblance of self-control melts away, you feel yourself sinking into the feeling of two pairs of lips on your body, of the undiluted want radiating from the three of you.

It surprises you — how gentle Michael’s kisses are. How he asks for permission before slipping his tongue into your mouth, by running it across your bottom lip. You let him in with a groan, though you know part of that noise comes from the man kneeling at your back, tugging your jeans down your legs. Frank kisses your hip as he shimmies the fabric down your thighs, stopping for a second only to capture the waistband of your panties in his teeth. He pulls it away before letting it go, satisfied only when he hears the snap of the elastic against your skin. 

Your breathing goes shaky as Michael becomes more insistent, moving to cup your face while Frank drags his fingertips up your inner thighs. It’s as if they can’t drink you up fast enough, as if this is a fever dream about to vanish. A whimper tumbles from your mouth as Michael brushes his thumb over your cheek, stepping closer to slot himself between your legs. He shifts into you, grinding exactly where you need him, grunting at the newfound contact. 

Where Frank is rough, Michael’s soft instead. Yielding. Not what you expect at all, coming from a man with his… reputation, but you can guarantee one thing: none of this makes him any less fearsome. Not as he beholds you, desire deepening in his eyes, settling over his features. Lips hovering over your neck, just above the spot he marked earlier, Michael slips your top off, exhaling at the goosebumps now prickling your skin. Frank trails his kisses down your ass, kneading the flesh in his hands, spreading you apart. It’s scandalous, doing this by the window, knowing full well about the party raging on just below.

And with Amanda in such close proximity. You almost huff at the thought of her walking up the stairs and discovering this.

Frank’s low grumble of approval breaks your concentration. “Let’s get her naked.”

Michael hums in agreement, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra, letting it fall to the floor as the straps come off your shoulders. “Beautiful,” he murmurs, shaking his head in almost disbelief. “Struck gold, didn’t ‘ya, Frank?”

“Sure did,” Frank chuckles, knuckles grazing your clit, making you yelp in the process. He moves out of the way as Michael grips your waist, guiding you backwards until the cold glass bites your skin. It’s nothing to you; not with the pounding in your heart and the heat in your blood with the thought of what’s to come. As he slots his forearm between your waist and the glass, Michael’s tongue snakes out of his mouth to wet his lips. 

You loosen a breath, not being aware of how long you’ve held it, and look him in the eyes. He swallows, dipping his hand between your legs, dragging his finger up your centre before it stops on your clit. 

“Oh,” you groan, bucking your hips, desperate for more. You have half a mind to reach for his hand, to guide him until you find your release, but it seems he has something else on his mind.

“Stay right there, pet. Can you do that f’me?”

You nod, eyes glassy, watching him stalk to the bedroom across the hall. He jerks his head at Frank, who flashes Michael a cheeky grin before turning to you. “Here’s what’s gonna happen, darlin’. M’gonna make you cum, alright? But you gotta stay quiet. Deal?”

You’re a panting, wet mess, but you manage a small ‘yes’. You gaze down at Frank, watching him take his place between your legs, then as his mouth makes its way up your thighs. The throbbing in your core is insistent now, begging, pleading, to be taken care of. 

His eyes widen as you spread your legs for him. “Good girl,” he breathes, tongue darting out to flick your clit.

It’s an effort not to scream his name out loud, not when his tongue feels like that. You clamp a hand over your mouth, the other scrambling for purchase in his hair. He licks your clit in tight, little circles, paying close attention to the spot that makes you tremble the hardest, that threatens to make your voice break if you deign to open your mouth. He switches his rhythm, going back and forth, experimenting with touch and pressure until you– 

Your voice is hoarse as you say his name. “Frank. Frank, I’m gonna–”

He pulls away from your clit, slipping into the deepest parts of you, letting your taste coat his tongue. He groans in delight, mumbling something that sounds like ‘youtastesofuckinggood’ but you’re too in your own head to decipher the tangle of noise – no, you’re thrashing against the window, eyes squeezed shut, fingers curling in the hair close to his nape.

“Please, please, please,” you start to beg, muscles going tight, savouring the feeling of his mouth on your pussy. You start to ride his tongue, and he lets you. He lets you take control, to position him where you want him. The cord tethering you to reality snaps, taking your body with it. Your orgasm is almost blinding as it hits, cresting over your body until your shoulders slump against the window.

“Fuckin’ hell, pet,” Michael hisses, palming himself through his jeans, standing just in front of you. You don’t know when he got back—in fact, nothing is comprehensible at the moment—but you reach out to him, nevermind the thin layer of sweat now coating your skin.

Frank gets up off his knees to wipe his mouth as Michael fishes something out of his back pocket. It’s a little baggie, filled to the brim with what you and Frank affectionately label, ‘The Kinsella Special’. 

“Wan’ some?” Michael asks the both of you, tipping a little onto the back of his hand. Frank shakes his head, going to help you upright instead. You politely decline, considering how much you’d had earlier in the kitchen with Eric and Jimmy. The white powder coats Michael’s nostril as he snorts it, doubling back as it hits his system. 

“Too much of that shit’ll kill ‘ya,” Frank comments, cracking a smile.

Michael scoffs as he puts the baggie away, placing his hand on the small of your back. “Let’s go,” he says, head inclining towards the bedroom. You lick your lips, eyes glittering with delight as you let him guide you.

Frank merely follows suit, smacking your ass on the way there.

. . .

The door slams shut, a little too loud for your liking, but the feeling of Michael’s lips crashing on yours overrides any semblance of apprehension lurking in your brain. He sweeps a hand into your hair, coiling the strands around his fingers. Your breathing is shallow as his mouth grazes the skin of your jaw, while his other hand cups your face.

Frank’s pullover is nowhere to be seen as he tugs you away from Michael, sweeping you towards him until your bodies are touching, the delicious warmth of his skin spreading to yours. You flatten a palm against his chest, feeling the hardened muscle underneath as he grazes his mouth against yours, hungry for all you could possibly give. You’re utterly breathless— mesmerised by him, by the both of them, and their sole priority: you. 

You let out a low moan as Michael’s hands reach around to grab your breasts, rolling your nipples in his fingers. He leaves wet, open-mouthed kisses along your shoulder, moving upwards to gently nip the shell of your ear. Your face grows taut as Frank moans your name, eyes fluttering shut at the sound of it coming from his mouth.

The word catches in your throat even as you don a purr. “Sensitive?”

Frank growls his agreement as his abs contract underneath your fingertips. He inches further forwards until there’s no space between the two of you at all, and then he takes your hand, not breaking contact once, guiding it down, down, down. 

He grunts as you stroke him through his jeans, moving your hand over the swell of his cock. You reach behind you to palm Michael at the same time, running the juncture of your thumb over his length, and for a moment, there’s no other sound except for your shared breaths, and the low grunts that slip from both men. The wetness pooling in your core – and the urge to do something about it – sends heat up your spine, wending its way into every last nerve ending.

Your mouth goes dry as Michael steps away to pull his shirt off, revealing a torso rippling with muscle, and several adorning tattoos. 

“Hey,” Frank chastises, sensing the shift in your attention, “eyes up here.”

“Fuck off,” you laugh, swallowing deeply as you rake your eyes over their bodies. “You’ll forgive me if I’m being vain.”

Michael averts his gaze, but he makes little effort to hide his grin. “Lighten up, Frank.”

The atmosphere instantly goes tense, silence weaving its way into every dark corner of the bedroom. Michael stiffens as Frank glares at him, boring past his softened exterior and into the Kinsella core inside. To the man you’d be scared to cross paths with, being the Punisher or not.  

But Frank sputters instead, shaking his head as he cracks a mischievous smile. There’s a lightness to his face, in his now-relaxed shoulders, and it makes you soar. 

“Now,” Frank drawls, “where were we?”

You only have a moment to nudge Frank in the ribs before Michael latches himself to you, his mouth like heaven on your tits. The three of you are a wildfire, desperate to get each other’s clothes off, barely pausing to breathe. Michael sits on the edge of the bed, fingers shaking as he fumbles for his belt. You knock his hands aside, groaning as he drags his tongue down your sternum, eyes dipping to the trail of hair leading below his waistband. 

“Want you to do the same,” you say, motioning to Frank as you unbuckle Michael’s belt. 

Frank nods silently, and your ears prick at the clinking of his buckle, then at the shuffle of fabric as he kicks his jeans away. You look towards him for a second, sizing up the bulge in his underwear. Your heartbeat thunders in your ears as you turn around to find Michael sitting before you, legs spread and his cock in hand. He pumps it with a loose fist, biting his lip as he runs his thumb over the head. The corners of his mouth upturn as he meets your gaze. 

‘Blow me?’ it says. 

Lucky you’re more than happy to oblige. 

You sink down to your knees, hinging forwards to brace his thighs. You kiss along the hard plane of his stomach, tracing the ridges of his abs with the tip of your tongue. His cock twitches as your mouth nears. 

“Fuck,” he grits, carding his fingers through your hair. Your eyes flicker with delight as you swirl your tongue over his sensitive head, as he bucks his hips into your mouth. 

Frank’s lips brush past your ear as you take Michael fully, the tip of his cock almost touching your throat. “Bend over for me, sweet girl?”

Frank takes his place behind you as he listens to your hum of approval, chuckling as Michael groans your name. You’re throbbing hard now, core pounding as Frank spreads you apart, lapping up your glistening arousal. You moan with your lips still wrapped around Michael’s cock, digging your fingernails into his thighs as Frank pushes his tongue inside you. 

“Remember what I said about being quiet?” Frank asks, swapping his tongue for two of his fingers. 

“Yes, Frank,” you exhale, contracting around his fingers as he strokes that spot inside you.

“Gonna let you off the hook for a bit. I think you’d agree with me, wouldn’t you Mikey?”

Colour stains Michael’s cheeks as he opens his mouth to reply, utterly blissed out from the way you’re working him with your hand and mouth. “Mmh— yeah—“

Your eyes roll back into your head as Frank replaces his fingers with his cock, nudging it against your entrance. You bite your lip, hand freezing around Michael, stunned in place at the burn of Frank stretching you out. He hisses a frantic ‘good girl’ as you envelop him, little by little. 

“Did I say you could stop?” Frank grunts, burying himself to the hilt in one sharp thrust. Shuddering, you shake your head and try to put your mouth back on Michael, but no coherent thoughts run through your head. Frank feels too good. 

“Suck him off or I’ll stop, princess.”

“Fuck,” you grit, wiping away the blooming tears in your eyes. “Fu—“

Michael guides himself into your open mouth, parting your lips with his head, gripping your chin as he looks down at you. “Look how pretty y’are, pet. Takin’ it so good.”

You nod furiously, a breathy moan loosening from your lips at the praise, and then as Frank slows his pace. Michael doesn’t seem to mind as you pull away from him, watching intently instead at the string of spit still connecting himself to you. His darkening gaze snaps to Frank’s at the sudden wet slap of his body against yours, nostrils flaring as you grip Michael’s thighs hard enough to bruise.

Your legs tremble as Frank withdraws himself to the tip, chuckling at your efforts to press up against him for more. You could groan at the emptiness inside you, at the feeling of your core going tight with impatience.

“Greedy, aren’t you?” he grunts, knotting your hair in his fist. He thrusts back into you, rolling his hips at a pace that almost has you screaming for more. He bends forwards, lips roving down the column of your spine, whispering his dirty sweet nothings until your thoughts are nothing more than a thunderous roar in your ears.

Michael lifts your chin with a sweep of his finger, running his tongue over the seam of your lips. You moan into his mouth, letting him in without hesitation. He laughs dryly at the guttural sound of Frank hitting that spot inside you, leaving you breathless as his tongue brushes against yours.

Your skin prickles with heat at the thought of having more, of being selfishly theirs. Only theirs. 

And with that thought, Frank pulls you over the edge, relishing in the way you tip your head back, eyes fluttering closed at the pleasure coursing through your blood.

Not letting you get even one moment of reprieve, Michael sits back on the edge of the bed, patting his thigh for you to sit. 

On him.

Your lips twitch into a sly smile. “You want me to…?”

His mouth curves upwards. “Tha’ too much to ask?”

You bite your lip as you get on your feet, hips swaying as you let him rake his gaze up and down. A flicker of amusement flashes across his face as he grips his cock at the base, spreading his legs to show you exactly what you’re missing with every passing second.

You lunge for him, pressing your back against his chest to straddle his thighs. You lower yourself on him, loosening a breath at the sudden fullness, at the way his cock fills you but still feels wholly different from Frank’s. 

“There ‘ya go,” he moans, hands finding your waist. He guides you up and down his length, cursing at how tight your pussy is, at how wet you are for him. Frank’s wicked smile only grows as he traces his fingers over the outline of your lips. You open up for him, nearly choking as he shoves them into your mouth. With one hand anchored to the bed, you lift the other to his cock, squeezing him as you jerk him off, just the way he likes.

“Hey Mikey,” Frank grunts, hips bucking into your hand, “you wanna know what I see right now?”

Michael lifts an eyebrow, thrusts starting to match the rhythm of your hips. “Yeah?”

“She gets that look in her eyes when she wants to be used.”

You whimper at the words, and Michael stills for a moment. “Oh?”

Frank smiles sweetly at you, nevermind that his fingers are almost touching the back of your throat. “That what you want, darlin’?”

“Mmmm.” That’s all you can muster, when you’re riding Michael like your life depends on it, with Frank throbbing in your hand.

“Say it.”

“Please,” you beg. “Please. I want you two to use—“

“Dirty girl,” Michael drawls, teeth closing in on the side of your neck, his tongue flicking out once to soothe the sting of his bite. He stutters into you, slamming your body down into his cock. His hands knead your breasts as he groans your name, frenzied at the feeling of your cum dripping down his balls.

Tilting your chin upwards, Frank sweeps in to kiss you, taking over your efforts in jerking him off. His breath fans over the skin of your jaw, tickling the shell of your ear. “If I knew you’d fuck her this good…” he says to Michael, dark eyes ravaging you to the bone.

“Yeah, and?” Michael pants.

“Woulda asked you to do this a long, long time ago.”

Your head lolls to the side as you cum around Michael’s cock, squeezing him so hard he curses.

“Fuckin’ hell, Frank,” he whispers, voice hoarse, “you’d better not be bullshittin’ me, yeah?”

Frank’s smirk glints in the dim light of the room. “Now why would I ever do that?”

Michael drums his fingers along your ass, prompting you to get up, to use every bit of strength left in your flailing limbs to stand. 

“We’re far from done, princess,” Frank drawls, helping you onto the bed. You’re half-tempted to tell him to heave you on it instead, when your legs feel like jelly and your skin sears with the imprints of their touch. 

With your back cushioned by the soft sheets, you stretch your body, arcing your spine off the bed. You’re more than aware of the way you’re being watched in this moment, of the way you’re ensnared like prey to two apex predators. 

“Attagirl,” Frank grunts, licking his lips at the writhing, squirmy display beneath him. His eyes snap to Michael’s. “Ain’t that right?”

“Spread ‘er apart, will ‘ya, Frank?” 

Frank’s lips press into a line at the quiet command in Michael’s voice, inclining his head in acknowledgement. He does as he’s told, knocking your thighs apart with his knee, leaning forwards to lick circles on your clit.

Wedging his hands under your shoulder blades, Michael pulls you to the edge of the bed, making sure your head tips over the side. He brushes a thumb over your lips and you part your mouth instinctively, lurching forwards for a taste, any taste of him.

Michael’s voice drops an octave, and you swear his Irish lilt becomes more pronounced. “Eager, aren’t ‘ya?”

No retort comes out of your mouth, not when Frank buries himself inside you. Not when Michael stuffs his cock in your mouth at the same time.

But the excitement is short-lived, because the sound of slamming doors and shouting from downstairs drags their attention away from you. The party—

“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’, Mikey?” Frank says, raising his eyebrows.

Michael looks to the ceiling as he runs his tongue over his teeth, lost in a moment of contemplation. “Yeah,” he starts, nodding, “yeah. Who cares? We’re busy.”

“If they hear somethin’ they don’t like, it’s their problem,” Frank agrees, looking to you. “You okay with that, angel?”

You raise your hips to fuck yourself against Frank’s cock, breathing your ‘yes’ into Michael’s thighs. He guides himself back into your mouth, hissing as he watches his length disappear past your lips, the angle deeper now with the position of your head. His hand flutters over the bulge in your throat, pace faltering as he listens to the sloppy, obscene noises you can’t help but make. They spur you on, almost as much as the sound of Frank’s low groans, and he lets you use him, grind on him, until you find your release yet again. 

“More,” you gasp, breaking away from Michael’s cock, lifting your ass to go deeper. “Please.”

“Take what you need, sweetheart,” Frank exhales, abs contracting at the sight of your need, your desperation. There’s no more challenge, no more taunting in his words. It’s just Frank, laid completely bare, wanting you to take.

Unable to hold himself back, Michael spills down your throat with a roar, the syllables of your name ripping from his throat. You unravel with him, your cry muffled around his cock, knowing it almost takes Frank with you.

The aftershock ebbs away slowly with Michael slumping over you, palms flattening at your sides as he withdraws himself from your mouth.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “sorry, pet. Didn’t mean to do tha’.”

Your eyes glisten with hunger as you lick your lips, throat bobbing as you swallow every last drop. “Anything for you, Michael.”

He grits his jaw at the promise in your tone. “On your front.”

He starts to harden at the wink you flash, at the sly ‘yes, sir’ you decide in a split-second to say. The sound of moving fabric rustles in your ears as you flip over, propping yourself up with your forearms. In a tiny moment of defiance, you arch your back, wiggling your ass in the air as if to say, ‘I haven’t got all night, boys.’ Frank counters with a smug smile, settling down near the headboard, resting his hands behind his head. He widens his legs, cock twitching with anticipation as he flexes his hips upwards. I haven’t got all night, either.

He makes a show out of touching himself, amused at the effect it has on you. You let out a long moan as Michael’s tongue laps at your pussy, but it’s cut short as his tongue travels further up, higher, until his mouth hovers…

“Mikey,” you breathe, hands fisting the sheets.

“Is this okay?” he asks, and the words melt against your skin, fringed with a gentleness you rarely get to hear.

“Of course,” you exhale, shivering at the warmth of him, so close to that part of you— “Fuck!” Your toes curl as he dives into you, feasting as though he’s been starved his whole life. He has you clawing at the sheets as he worships you, an infinite well of pleasure crackling through your body.

A muscle feathers in Frank’s jaw as he hands Michael a bottle of lube, one hand still gripping his cock, content with just watching for now. The cap pops open with a small click that reverberates in your skull, filling your mind with nothing more than embers about to spark.

Michael’s husky voice pulls you from the daydream, his finger starting to circle the outline of your asshole. “I’ll start slow, okay? You let me know if you need a break.” 

Your nose scrunches as the lube stings with the cold, but it warms quickly with Michael’s gentle touches. He eases a finger in, pausing at your sudden sharp inhale, but you nod for him to keep going. 

It doesn’t take long for him to slip the second finger in, then his third. He takes his time warming you up, always watching for signs of discomfort, but discovering instead that your moans are getting louder, that they’re turning into little pleas for his cock. 

“You gotta speak up, sweetheart,” Frank chuckles, gliding his fingers along your pulse. 

You angle your head around to Michael, who slaps his cock against your ass cheek, making a point of how quickly you managed to get him hard again. Your body tenses as he nudges the tip in, stretching you out inch-by-inch. It takes a second for you to adjust to his length, but then… then he begins to move. 

“You look so good gettin’ fucked out, sweetheart. You know that?” Frank groans, pumping himself harder. You dart forwards to lick his broad head, to lap up the precum beading there.

Your eyes squeeze shut as Michael puts his body weight on you with long, languid thrusts filling you as much as you can take. You shove your hand between your legs, fingers rubbing your swollen clit, desperate for friction. Every breath comes out shaky as he anchors himself — one hand on your shoulder, the other on the bed — and begins to snap his hips. He fucks you the way you deserve, and he knows it.  The knot building in the bottom of your stomach threatens to unravel with every movement, your impending release singing through every nerve. 

As if sensing it, Michael pulls out, leaving you empty. Unfulfilled. 

“Hey,” you grumble, shooting daggers at him. “I was so close.”

“Jus’ savin’ the best for last, darlin’,” Michael winks, Frank echoing the sentiment seconds later.

Coaxing you off your stomach, Frank hauls you over him, dragging a finger through your slick folds before lining himself up with your pussy. You fight the urge to scream as you sink onto him, toeing the line between pain and pleasure with the thickness of his cock. 

“God fucking damn,” you grit, flattening your palms against his chest, rolling your hips in large, smooth circles. He beckons Michael forward, grabbing your ass to spread you apart. Keeping his momentum going, Frank plants his hands on your hips to lock you in place, drilling into you at a pace that has you seeing stars. 

“That’s it baby, cum on my cock,” he groans, letting out a half-cry, slanting his lips over yours as he feels you squeeze around him. 

Your body barely reacts as Michael assumes a position behind you, waiting for your breathing to calm before guiding himself into you. 

“Oh God,” you whimper, “ohgodohgodohgod.”

Something catches fire inside of you as they start to move in tandem, and you’re full; you’re so full you can’t think. You can’t help the panting, your dragged out moans… it’s more than intense— a feeling you can’t link to anything else you’ve ever experienced. 

White fringes your vision as they sync their rhythms together, moving faster than before, leaning into each other— into you. Your fingernails dig into Frank’s shoulders as their voices start to blur together; their grunted praise and hushed degradation almost indistinguishable from the sound of your whimpers. 

Your head tips back as you clench on their cocks, and Frank surges upwards to capture your nipple in his mouth, nibbling on the pebbled flesh, if only to make you squeeze once again. His low groans and Michael’s soft curses distill in the room, suspended in the air around your bodies, as this becomes all you know. 

Words don’t exist— thoughts don’t exist in this moment in time; it’s just you, and Frank, and Michael. Just the three of you, caught in a whirlwind with no beginning or end. 

There is no end, even as they destroy you, even as they shatter within you, rendering every last drop they have to give. 

. . .

You crack an eye open at the covers lifting off your body, then as Michael pads across the room towards the door. He shuts it softly, but he stands close enough that it’s easy to hear the conversation.

Amanda’s hushed voice comes through. “What’d you get up to last night? Didn’t see ‘ya very much.”

Michael pauses. Too long. “Yeah– uh, Frank and I had somethin’ to do.” 

You choke.

Their words drown out as a sleepy Frank wraps his thick arm around your body, pulling you in tight, nuzzling against the crook of your neck. “Eavesdropping, sweetheart?”

You swat him away, to no avail, craning your head to hear the last of the conversation. “Shh.”

He growls, nipping at your shoulder, nudging your legs apart to slot in between. His voice, still gravelly from the effects of sleep, prickles your skin. “How about I get you all nice and warmed up for him by the time he gets back here, huh? Figured he’d need the distraction, after talking to her.”

There’s no masking the wetness pooling between your legs, or the heat licking up your spine. “Alright, Castle,” you smirk. “Do your worst.”

tags {x} @marvelswh0re @murdock-and-the-sea @pedrito-friskito @itwasthereaminuteago @mattmurdocksscars @e-dubbc11 @mindidjarin @phoebe-danvers @munsonownsmyass @briefcasejuice @simple-lovebot @stress--relief @castlesnchurches

#frank castle #the punisher #frank castle smut #the punisher smut #michael kinsella #michael kinsella smut #frank castle x reader smut #kin amc #frank castle x reader #michael kinsella x reader #frank castle fanfiction #the punisher fanfiction #rhi writes 💻 #x reader

[reblog-reblog666]

Reblog Masterlist 3

Matt Murdock

Chrysalis - Hurt Comfort, Little Fluff, Trans Matt

Good distractions - Smut

Muted dawn - Angst, Hurt Comfort

Blank space - Angst, Hurt Little/No Comfort, DarkFic

Apartment hunting HC’S - Fluff

Flare up - Fluff, Comfort, Sickfic (Asthma + Cold)

Injury hc’s - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Ask game - Fluff

Dancing with the devil - Smut

S/O w/chronic fatigue / always napping hcs - Fluff

Distracted - Fluff

Day 10: mutual masturbation - Smut Blurb

Day 11: temperature play - Smut

Day 12: bondage - Smut

Day 13: roleplay - Smut

Day 14: pain kink - Smut

Day 15: mask kink - Smut

Day 16: blood play - Smut

Two round apples - Fluff, Smut

Sub Matt hc’s - Smut

The lakes - Hurt Comfort, Fluff, Hearing Loss Reader

…late night devil (put your hands on me) - Angst, Smut Themes

Wake up - Chapter 1: spend a little Chapter 2: live a little Chapter 3: dead for a moment Chapter 4: back at my place Chapter 5: come smell the roses Chapter 6: make a mistake Chapter 7: set heaven on fire Chapter 8: the sun will rise Chapter 9: I think it’s time Chapter 10: see if it fits

Perhaps love - Fluff

Headcanons - Fluff, Smut

Sub!Matt blurb - Smut

Transfem!Sub!Matt blurb - Smut

Forget - College!Matt, Smut

Angel of small death - Kinda Angst, More So Heavy Topics

Dreaming of a grave prologue - Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Moon song - Angst, Hurt/No Comfort, Male!Reader

Kinktober day 27 - Smut

Pages toward your future - Little bit of comfort in the beginning, Fluff

Bf Hcs - Fluff, Smut

Just one wish - Fluff, Angst, Hurt Comfort

Pregnant reader hcs- Hurt Comfort

Milk - Smut, Fluffy

Horses and Zebras - (1) (2)

A little teasing never hurt anybody - Fluff

Fight club [Franks version] - Smut

New Year’s Day - Fluff

Just the tip, princess - Fluff, Smut

Taste - Smut

Premature ejaculation ask - Smut, Hcs

Give it to me - Smut

Ginger and lemon (autistic reader series) - (1)

I’ll take care of you - Period Comfort, Smut

Felled by you, held by you - Period Smut

Transubstantiation - Period Smut

A calm night - Fluff, x Foggy

Interrupting Matt’s patrol - Smut Blurb

Roommate Matt - Smut Blurb

Matt’s chest - Fluff Blurb

Tired after patrol - Fluff Blurb

Professor Matt - Kinda Dark Smut Blurb

Showering - Fluff Blurb

“Where did your clothes go?” - Fluff Blurb (Hinted Smut)

Prince Matt - Blurb

Kidnapper Matt - Dark Blurb

Matt + edging - Smut Blurb

Enemies to lovers - Blurb

Stalker Matt - Dark Blurb

Stalker Matt 2 - Dark Smut Blurb

Harmful habits - Comfort (Kinda) Blurb

Cuddling during period - Fluff Blurb

Mafia Matt - Kinda Dark Blurb

Braiding hair - Fluff Blurb

Patching him up - Kinda Angsty Blurb

Second impressions - Fluff Blurb, Implied Smut

Service dog - Fluff Blurb

Frank Castle

Injury hc’s - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Ask game - Fluff

S/O w/chronic fatigue / always napping hcs - Fluff

Couples therapy - Angst, little bit of Hurt Comfort at the end?

Headcanons - Fluff, Smut

Fight club [Franks version] - Smut

Give it to me - Smut

Foggy Nelson

A calm night - Fluff, x Matt

Michael Kinsella

Injury hc’s - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

Ask game - Fluff

S/O w/chronic fatigue / always napping hcs - Fluff

Luke Skywalker

Dom!Luke hcs - Smut Themes

Short thoughts on Luke w/autistic girlfriend - Fluff

F/O Stuff / People I don’t know 😜

Take your time - Hurt/Comfort, Smut

Neurospicy has never been so cute - Fluff, Hurt Comfort

William Afton

Colder. - Not exactly fluff but close enough, kinda darkfic

Corruption. - Part 2 to Colder, Smut, kinda darkfic

#reblog #masterlist

[shiorimakibawrites]

Welcome Home (Kinktober Day 2 - Shower Sex)

Personal Masterlist of Kinktober 2023

Flightless Angel Wing's Prompt list can be found here.

Day 2 - Bath / Shower Sex

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x AFAB! Fem! Reader

Word Count: 398

Warning(s): unprotected p in v sex (don't do this irl), dirty talk, clitoral stimulation, and implied oral sex (f receiving)

Tagging: @flightlessangelwings, @bellaxgiornata

Please let me know if you want to tagged for these little fics.

Welcome Home

You gasped as he bottomed out. No matter how many times you and Michael had sex, it was like some part of your brain refused to remember just how big he was. Not until he was inside you, not until you felt the stretch, not until your cunt was twitching and fluttering around him trying to adjust to his girth.

Or maybe it was just because you hadn’t had sex in a week. For reasons you preferred not to think about right now. Right now, you just wanted enjoy that Michael was back. That you both naked in his shower. That your breasts were pressed against the back of the stall, the coolness of the tile was the most delicious contrast to the warmth of the water. That your legs were spread as wide as you could without losing your balance. That his cock was filling your aching cunt.

“Fuck pet, I almost forgot how tight yer pussy grips me,” he groaned into your ear as he started to thrust. It didn’t take him to find a rhythm that had you panting. Had you pushing your hips back to meet his thrusts. Pants that turned into moans when he snaked his hand down to your clit. Soon you were clenching around him, teetering on that edge.

“That’s it, pet,” he purred in your ear. “Come for me.”

Screaming his name, you did. His hand didn’t stopped working your clit until you were squirming and whimpering from oversensitivity. Then and only then did his hand return to gripping your hip. Then and only then he did start pumping rapidly into you. The air was filled with the steady drum of the shower, your high pitched whines, and his low grunts.

Then with a loud moan, he thrust deeply inside you and came.

You didn’t know how long you both stood there breathing hard, his cock still buried inside you, but it was long enough that shower was running out of hot water. You whined when he pulled out, filling empty without his cock inside you and his release running down your leg.

“Don’t worry pet,” he said, turning off the shower. He picked you up and carried you out of the stall. He stand you down on the corner, then sank down to his knees. He gripped your legs and spread them wide.

“I wasn’t done with ya yet.”

#fawktober2023 #kinktober 2023 #kin amc #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella smut #day 2

[theradioactivespidergwen]

WIP poll tag game

rules: make a 24-hour poll with the names of your wips, let it run, then write one sentence for every vote the winner got

Tysm for the tag @pedrito-friskito !!!!

I have never done a poll before, so this should be fun!

No pressure tags: @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @souliebird @munsonownsmyass @chvoswxtch @mattmurdocksscars @itwasthereaminuteago

[your-not-invisible-to-me]

AARON’S MASTERLIST

Hey everybody! My name’s Aaron, and I’m looking forward to getting back into the world of fanfiction. Requests are OPEN. Rules for requests can be found here. 

I write for characters like Matt Murdock, Billy Russo, Bucky Barnes, Loki, Michael Kinsella, and fandoms like Marvel, DC, Shadow and Bone Kin, The Witcher, and more. Send me Requests! Let's see what we can come up with together. 

Please enjoy this master list I’ve put together! Things will be added and updated as time goes on. 

SHADOW AND BONE FICS

My Manhattan

Ship: Aleksander Kirigan x Alina Starkov 

Summary: Recently aged out of an orphanage, Alina Starkov gets her way to school paid for by a mysterious benefactor, under the deal that she must write him a letter once a month to keep him updated. With nothing to call him, she refers to him as Daddy Long Legs after the shadow she sees of him on the wall. 

As school goes on, Alina is whisked away to Manhattan for a day trip with her roommate Genya and Genya’s young uncle, Aleksander. While she finds herself falling for this mysterious man, she’s unaware he’s her mysterious benefactor that is paying for her way to school in the first place. 

AKA, the Daddy Long Legs Darklina AU that no one asked for.

DAREDEVIL FICS 

You Drew Stars Around My Scars

Ship: Matt Murdock x Jennifer Walters

Summary: Matt and Jen get to spend some more time together in the morning after defeating Leap Frog

Warnings: talk of body scars, a brief scene of oral sex, making out

We'll Hold Hands Until the Sun Comes Out

Ship: Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: After a horrible week of bad luck breaking you down, Matt is ready to be there and pick up the pieces.

That Beautiful Sound 

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Nelson Reader 

Summary: You and Foggy go to see Beetlejuice: The Musical on Broadway, but neglect to tell Matt. 

Wax Strips

Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader 

Summary: Matt prides himself on his memory until he forgets to take the trash out, causing you to learn a new secret. 

Warnings: mentions of toxic ex, insecurities, mentions of body hair/waxing 

SUPERNATURAL FICS

The Imaginary Friend

Ship: Chuck Shurley x Original Female Character 

Summary: Ranger Winchester has spent her whole life immersed in the world of monsters, so the last thing she questions is being able to talk to a voice in her head. What happens when Ranger, Sam, and Dean are on a case, and she meets the owner of the voice she’s heard all her life?

As of 2022, this fic is discontinued. That being said, never say never!

Attack Mode

Ship: Chuck Shurley x F!Reader 

Summary: The double date your friend set you up on with her seemed like a bust until the adorably shy writer walked through the door. While you normally didn’t like nervous guys, you couldn’t help but turn on attack mode.

Awkward Flutters

Ship: Castiel x F!Reader 

Summary: Castiel accidentally flutters into your bathroom as you’re trying to deal with... lady issues. 

REAL PERSON FANFIC

Includes Rob Benedict, Billy Moran, Richard Speight, Jr. 

Strung Out Photographs 

Ship: Billy Moran x Deaf Original Female Character 

Summary: Carver Benedict has been estranged from her brother Rob for a long time. After taking a job with the convention company he does appearances for, the last thing she expects is to fall for his best friend.  Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | 

As of 2022, this fic is discontinued. That being said, never say never! 

Guitar Pics

Ship: Rob Benedict x Richard Speight, Jr. 

Summary: Richard helps his boyfriend through a panic attack Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | 

Warnings: Talks of Depression, Panic Attacks 

They’re Better Than You Are 

Ship: Rob Benedict x F!Reader 

Summary: You met your husband Rob after you were cast as Megatron on Supernatural. After years together, the two of you had hit a rough spot, and you’re afraid divorce is coming. It isn’t until the two of you start filming “Don’t Call Me Shurley” that you are able to get your real feelings out.  Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | 

Warnings: Accusations of cheating 

Moments 

Ship: Rob Benedict x Reader 

Summary: An actress on Supernatural, you and Rob are in a relationship, and recently you had revealed to him that you had been sexually assaulted in the past, and it was why you were so adraid to be intimate. But as a songwriter, another secret gets let out.  Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | 

Warnings: Talk to sexual assualt, depression 

Piece By Piece

Ship: Rob Benedict x Teenage F!Reader 

Summary: After being kicked out of your house by your parents, your co-star shows you what a true parent really looks like.  Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | 

Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse, depression 

The Past 

Ship: Rob Benedict F!Reader 

Summary: After seeing your abusive ex-boyfriend in public, you have Rob take you back home. You finally tell him the truth. 

Warnings: Mentions of abuse 

Shoving into Closets 

Ship: Rob Benedict x F!Reader 

Summary: You’re an actor on SPN, and Matt Cohen is tired of you and Rob not acting on your feelings. He shoves you both in a closet until you figure your stuff out. 

When it’s Time 

Ship: Rob Benedict x F!Reader 

Summary: When words fail you, you use song to get your true feelings out to Rob. 

The Morning After 

Ship: Rob Benedict x F!Reader 

Summary: You lose your virginity to Rob, and he wants to make sure you know how much you mean to him. 

A Well Needed Surprise 

Ship: Rob Benedict x F!Reader 

Summary: You and Rob had been apart for more than two weeks, so you decide to surprise him at a convention. 

Better Than Willow 

Ship: Rob Benedict x F!Reader 

Summary: It takes an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer for you and Rob to realize what you’d been holding back. 

Know that I Love You 

Ship: Teenage!Rob Benedict x Teenage!Richard Speight, Jr. 

Summary: Rob gets insecure after a game of Truth or Dare. Rich is there to make sure he knows he’s loved. 

Warnings: Depression

Not Anymore 

Ship: Teenage!Rob Benedict x Teenage!Richard Speight, Jr. 

Summary: Rich is there for his boyfriend after coming out to his dad doesn’t go as planned. 

Warnings: Mentions of parental abuse, depression, self-harm 

THE WALKING DEAD FICS

Handle the Baseball Player

Ship: Negan x Becca

Summary: The last place Becca expected to see her husband was as the leader of her group's likely death. 

#fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction masterlist #supernatural #marvel #daredevil #requests #request #fanfiction writer #fanfic writer #matt murdock #daredevil fanfiction #shadow and bone #shadow and bone fanfiction #shedevil #she hulk #matt murdock x jennifer walters

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 27: A Greater Woman Wouldn't Beg

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: You fight for your life as the paramedics take you to the hospital. The first time, you wake up without Michael but in the presence of your best friend. The second time, Sarah has accepted defeat.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of injury, blood, mentions of violence, medical setting, flashback, descriptions of child abuse & abuse in general, fight or flight response, trauma triggers

Word Count: 5.5k

A/n: I was hoping to get this done sooner, but then I got sick and swamped by uni work, so I only now got it done. The next chapter will be Michael's POV of this. I wanted to make that a separate part, so I focused on Reader's POV for this one, and then you guys will figure out what Michael was really up when he didn't pick up.

Your hands are wet. Slippery. They smell like citrus and rosemary, a mixture of scents you have never quite enjoyed. Why would your blood smell like chicken seasoning, anyway? And why would it foam clearly in your hands, almost as though it was mostly water?

You look up with your eyebrows furrowed. The walls are anything but dark. Ivory wallpaper without accents; you swore you would never paint the walls of your home the same color. It is utterly tryst and boring for a house that has harbored many horrors in your lifetime. 

You’re standing before the sink, the dishes running through your hands like quicksand. And they’re so much smaller. Bruises litter your skin like a mosaic masterpiece. Purple and blue blend into green, which doesn’t make any sense; blue and green should not make purple, but the skin is somehow wired that way. 

All you remember is the creaking of your floorboards, Dublin eerily quiet outside as your heart beat up to your throat, and then the light went out and someone—a stranger who had not anticipated your arrival—attacked you. The shards from your favorite vase were a weapon of opportunity. It felt like someone was draining the air from your lungs with a rough cut. He sliced you open without a care. You tried calling Michael and screaming for him, but it was all a gurgle. And then, you remember, the world went dark.

The streets of London’s suburbs are quiet. You’re not supposed to be here. 

“This is wrong,” you murmur. “This is all wrong.”

Maybe you died and went to hell? Looking down at yourself, you don’t find any evidence of blood. Your skin remains undisturbed. The radio is playing an early 2000s ballad. You don’t remember hearing it in a while. A chill runs down your spine. 

The volume is just loud enough to tune out the screaming from the room across the hall. The snapping of leather that cuts through the air like a lightning bolt and does not care about the sound barrier has always been so deafening. Your bruises sting when you listen closely, and the music moves into the background as it had too many times back then. You could still hear everything. Every cry for help, every one of his disgusting words against her because she never did the dishes right. 

You should be washing the, going over it a million times until you can see your reflection in the porcelain, or you will be next. It’s then that the screaming stops. Your pulse spikes. The air in your lungs gets trapped by a thin rubber band. It’s straining, and your heart feels like it’s bleeding out. You can’t breathe. 

He calls your name. Your hands are still wet. Slippery. You can’t turn to the sink fast enough. 

Ever since you can remember, you have been looking for someone to blame other than yourself for the way he treated you. Your mother never even tried to protect you when he laid his hands on you, but you would hear her cries every night when he let whatever frustrations he had left out on her. Maya and Ellie were never planned, and it makes you sick to your stomach to think about it. There is a certain amount of guilt that comes with blaming someone who can’t be blamed because she, too, is only a victim. But she has never felt like a mother to you, to begin with; she has always resented you because, in a way, you will always remind her of him. She’s so deep in it, you could never pull her out. And maybe that is why, in your mind, you blame her for all the times he hurt you and she wasn’t there. But it wasn’t her fault.

Part of you wonders if she would be able to get better once he’s gone, but she has always refused to believe in him as the devil. Stockholm syndrome. He looks so innocent, but he holds a power your mother’s fragile mind has never been able to withstand, and unless she wants to leave him, you won’t be able to help her. 

But oh, it is so easy to blame someone other than your father—to blame everyone around you who only stood by and watched and continues to trust him blindly even now. 

You were never good enough because you dared to disagree, never living up to expectations. Maya hit the spot better than you ever could, and Ellie was just collateral damage. God, your heart burns. Everything about you is on fire. It has always been a game to him. If he can’t control and manipulate someone else, he will fall apart. And in trying to break the cycle, you inevitably put a target on everyone else’s back. 

The echo of the belt whipping through the air is forever tattooed on your brain. He calls your name from the hallway, and the floorboards creak like they did in your apartment. His steps are heavy, always landing with the back first to make the most noise. And he’s wearing those steel boots again he was issued for work. They hurt the most when they fracture your ribs. 

You grab the plate just as his face appears in the doorway. He’s distorted. Your mind refuses to let him in, knowing it will break you. The pictures caught him so clearly, but nothing does your memory justice. The way he used to look at you, as though he was dead inside. 

Your hands are so slippery though. The porcelain falls, and before you can catch it, it shatters. The pain tears through your side. Your lungs are sucking in air, but it isn’t to sustain them; they are falling apart. 

The soap turns crimson. Black holes start to dance in your vision. The air gets trapped in your skin, and soon enough, you’re falling again, through the wood and into the atmosphere. 

“She’s comin’ back,” a strange voice sounds through the endless void. 

You blink your eyes open against the harsh light trying to blind you. Blue and yellow and white. Hell looks a lot different than you expected. It doesn’t hurt though, it’s just heavy. A cloud settles over you, and this constant obnoxious beeping next to your ear pulls you out of the thick syrup you landed in. 

The smell of antiseptic fills your nose next, harsh and unforgiving. It’s not citrus and rosemary. You can’t hear his voice anymore, but you didn’t dry your hands. They’re still wet, not slippery but sticky now. And they’re so heavy, you can’t move them. The world around you morphs into a pit of oil instead. 

You try to move again, but your limbs feel like they’re encased in cement. Something is covering your face. Plastic. So much oxygen in your lungs, and they keep burning. Why is no one helping you? You’re breathing, and the air is so clear you might go into shock because no human is supposed to breathe air this clean, right? You don’t understand, and you don’t remember... 

“Easy, easy,” the same voice says softly. You can’t make out her face. “You gave us quite a scare. Your lung collapsed, but you’re gonna be okay.”

You try to lift the mask from your face, but a gentle hand stops you. “You’ve gotta keep that on, dear,” she tells you. And then the light gets brighter as she shines it directly into your eyes. “It’s best if you don’t try to talk. We’re almost at the hospital. Can you give me a nod yes if you remember what happened to ya?”

It’s your responsibility, you think. You try to nod your head, but it’s so heavy. 

“Alright, good girl. Do you remember your name?”

Again, you nod. 

“That’s good. Perfect. Pupils equal and reactive. Breath sounds equal. And the patient is responsive,” she says toward you, but you know it’s not directed at you. Right now, she’s just a blotch of light in a world full of darkness.

You still lift the mask from your mouth because if you’re responsive, you have to respond. “Mi—” you cut yourself off. Your tongue hurts. He didn’t pick up when you called. Why do you want to say his name when he seems to be done with you? 

Your lung collapsed and the first person you think of is him, but you don’t seem to be on his mind. And you can’t count on him. Not right now. Maybe not ever again, but that isn’t his fault. You walked out. If you die, at least he can’t blame himself. Or is it more of a question of when?

“Sarah,” you slur instead. Whatever pain medication they gave you, it’s working wonderfully; you’re as high as a kite. 

The strange voice asks, “Sarah?” 

She must think you’re not as lucid as she suspected. You shake your head, or maybe you’re nodding. “Call… Sarah,” you finally manage to say. And two words are better than none. 

“Sarah,” the paramedic repeats, nodding as if to assure you she understands. You can see the halo moving. “Okay. We’ll call Sarah for ya. Just try to relax.”

You let the mask fall back into place, too exhausted to protest further. They’re calling Sarah. Because you don’t have anyone else. A pain spreads through your chest, but it is nowhere physical. It spreads through your soul like wildfire, and even through the fog, you can feel the tear slipping from your eye and down your cheek. The salt burns in the cut on your lip. 

The angel is right there with you. As your vision becomes clearer, your body seems to thaw. You grunt. “Looks like you’re in pain,” she says. “I’ll give two more milligrams of morphine.”

Morphine. That’s what it is. Before the pain in your side can come back with a vengeance, it is stopped by the delicious liquid she administers to your infusion. The world grows instantly fuzzier again. 

The ambulance rocks gently as it speeds towards the hospital, at least that is where you are starting to suspect you are, and the world outside the windows blurs into streaks of light. Hypnotizing streaks of light. Your eyes roll back into your skull. 

The darkness engulfs you. You’re floating in a black sea full of nothing. The tide carries you for miles and miles and then some. You flail around helplessly until you eventually decide to give up. It’s of no use anyway. You float for a while, carried for an eternity more until the rushing of the ocean turns into the unmistakable sound of your own heart. 

The first real thing you feel is a dull ache in your skull. Your nerve endings are desperately tearing at each other. The beeping gets louder, accompanied by a throbbing in your ribcage. It’s not your heart; the pain tears through your skin and the muscles below, and every time you try to take a conscious breath, you’re inhaling toxic smoke. 

You open your eyes. The light is less bright here. It’s blurry, at first, but the world slowly comes to life again. You’re sore all over, but as far as you can tell, you’re alive and no longer high on opioids. How long have you been out? It must have been hours.

And then it hits you again—what happened. The intruder, the missing file, the broken vase, and his hands all over you. Your neck still aches. You can feel his fingers trying to squeeze the life out of you, but you wouldn’t budge. You remember contemplating how to take your life when you were just a child, but tonight, you chose to fight back. And it landed you here. 

You have been in worse pain. The feeling of waking up alone has therefore become more than familiar over the years. Just you and the beeping monitors. You wonder if they can show a broken heart. 

Lifting your tired arm, you reach for the cannulas in your nose. You can breathe fine; you don’t need them. You don’t even need to be here. 

“Hey, don’t…” The blur turns into a person. You can’t quite believe your eyes.

Sarah crosses the room and stops your eager fingers in their tracks, and upon looking at her worry-stricken face you realize that you did not just wake up alone; they called her, after all. Like you asked them to. And you’re not alone. 

The monitor picks up speed. “Sarah,” you whisper. 

“It’s me,” she says. “You’re okay. You’re at the hospital, but you’re okay.” From the sound of her voice, you can tell she’s been crying. Sarah never cries.

You smack your lips. “Uh, what… what happened?”

You know what happened, but you can’t see it. You can’t close your eyes and pull up a visual of the events because every time you do, you see nothing but darkness. Your memory isn’t working the way it should—nothing is. 

She wipes her cheeks. Vulnerability seeps out of her pores like body odor. The pity in her eyes turns into knives to your chest. “Someone broke into your flat and… they attacked you,” she says. Her voice still has a certain edge to it. “Your lung collapsed, but they managed to put a needle in there and now you’re all better. You didn’t even need surgery, just a blood transfusion. I actually donated while I was waiting ‘cause it was killin’ me that it took them so long to fix you up.”

The needle would explain the pain in your lungs. You reach for her hand.

“When they called, I thought… God, I thought you were dead. I was so worried about you.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

“What were you thinking?” There it is, the anger. “You should’ve called the police.”

“I know, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t thinking.”

Sarah raises her voice, “I almost lost you tonight!” 

The echo drills into your ears. You flinch. The guilt hadn’t already been eating you alive, it certainly would start now. The burning behind your eyes returns, and this time, you don’t stand a chance. You try to blink them away, but it’s futile. 

“I know, and I’m… I didn’t mean to do this to you.” You swallow. 

“Does this have anything to do with Michael? Did he get you into this? ‘Cause if he did, I’m gonna kill that bastard.”

“No!” You try to sit up, but the sudden movement tears at the stitches in your side. Every nerve under your skin protests. You stretch, and it burns. With a grunt, you fall back against the mattress. “No,” you repeat. “He didn’t…” 

This is what you were worried about. It crossed your mind before it happened that the person in your apartment might have been hired by the Kinsellas to steal the valuable information you collected; it was the only thing you had to fuel your agenda, and someone took it. You didn’t tell anyone but Michael, so it would make sense that his family had something to do with it, but after talking to Jimmy, you seriously doubt it. You almost died. If they wanted you dead, you would be dead. It’s a terrifyingly sober thought, but it’s the truth. 

But if the Kinsellas aren’t behind it, someone else must have found out. Someone from your past, perhaps. And how do you tell the police that someone broke into your apartment not to steal money but to steal a mere paper file?

Sarah sighs, sitting on the edge of the bed. “The police are going to want to talk to you,” she says, expertly changing the subject. “They said nothing seems to have been stolen, but they need your confirmation, and they’re hoping you can identify the man who did this to you.”

Again, you shake your head. “I didn’t see his face,” you admit.

“I figured, but I think they need to know who you’ve been associating yourself with.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who I’ve been–” you grunt again when you move against the clear protest of your wound. “Who’s side are you on?” you ask her. 

She looks so guilty, afraid to even meet your eyes. 

“Michael’s family has nothing to do with this. Don’t ask me how I know, I just… I just know.”

“Then where is he, huh?” Her voice takes on a slightly accusatory tone. You’re not sure if it’s directed at you or Michael, but you’re not in the mood to have this conversation. 

You shake your head. The lump in your throat is stuck. You can’t speak. 

Sarah utters your name, but it only sets fire to the gasoline. “You almost died and Michael isn’t here,” she says. “Who knows, maybe it was him? You can’t know if you didn’t see his face! I mean, why are you protecting him and his family when he couldn’t even be bothered to be here?”

It hurts to hear her say that. It hurts to even imagine that scenario to be true. You know it isn’t, but she believes it, and that breaks your already shattered heart beyond repair.

“I’m not,” you choke out. “He has nothing to do with this. I…” You find yourself unable to speak, too caught up in the pain that spreads through your body and your soul. 

You can see his face when you close your eyes, and God, you miss him. 

“Then where is he?” she asks again. It’s almost as though she believes she has the whole thing figured out just because she was so worried about you. But she doesn’t. 

You grit your teeth. A tear makes its salty path south. “We broke up!” you snap, your voice echoing across the room like a sharp arrow penetrating the sound barrier. “We had a fight and then I left, and that’s probably why he didn’t pick up because he was just as hurt as me, but–” You have to cut yourself off to catch a strangled breath. Your lungs barely have the same capacity they had before. 

Sarah’s jaw slacks at the revelation. The words take a second to sink in, but when they do, it dawns on her like a gigantic shadow. Instead of an ‘I told you so’, she exhales shakily, “Oh.” Nothing else seems to come to her mind at that moment. 

Your heart drums against your ribcage. You inhale, sitting further up to ease the pressure on your wound and calm your racing pulse that is starting to upset the monitor beside your bed. 

Another pained groan passes your lips. “My gut is telling me his family isn’t behind this because whoever broke into my apartment was an idiot, and the Kinsellas are not,” you tell her. “You want to blame Michael for not being here? Fine! But he would never hurt me. Don’t… don’t say that.”

You begin to see it again; the blood on the dark floorboards transferring to your phone as you tried to dial his number with the last of your strength, but he didn’t pick up. He was the only person you could think of when you thought you were going to die, and he wasn’t there. He didn’t even come.

Finally, the lump lodges free in a devastating sob, landing like a burning meteor from the depth of your chest. 

Sarah wraps her arm around your shaking shoulders. “I’m sorry,” she whispers. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it.”

You don’t fight it; you bury your face in her chest, clinging to her instead of letting go. Pieces of drywall start coming off the borders around your heart. The sobs wreck your body with an intensity that could match the force of a landmine. 

When you woke up, you were hoping, even if just for a second, Michael would be there to hold your hand. You would have given up your belief that the two of you were meant to be dysfunctional for a taste of the comfort you know only he can provide you. But it’s all just a fever dream, and he isn’t here.

You beg yourself to breathe through the inferno spreading from your wound to the remaining space of your chest cavity. This pain can’t easily be fixed by morphine or a high flow of oxygen. It’s a deep-rooted and emotional pain; everything around you becomes secondary. 

The sobs wrack your body, but you can’t stop. You can't fight back against the avalanche heading for your town. You’ve lost everything. Trying to keep your head above water only pulled you further under. You can still feel the stranger's hands on your body, the sound of porcelain crashing to the floor. You were trying to steer off the inevitable like a fool, and in the process, you have made things a million times worse. Admitting defeat would lead to the demise of what you love, but what else can you do when the danger is no longer trying to hide, lying in wait?

The door swings open. A nurse steps in, and her eyes widen at the sight. “Heart rate and pulse ox are climbing,” you faintly hear her say. “She’s having a panic attack.”

You want to protest. You’re okay; you’re just crying, and they should take care of the ticking bomb next to your ear first. It beeps and beeps and beeps even louder. It takes you forever to notice that the bomb you’re hearing is actually your heart about to explode. 

“Well, do something!” Sarah shrieks, her chest shaking under you. “She’s going to hurt herself.”

Someone calls your name, and they tell you something about a sedative, but your ears are under a thick stream of water. The sterile walls start to close in around you. You can feel your heart racing in your throat like you’re going to throw it up on a silver platter and everyone will see how damaged you truly are.

You thrash weakly, your lips moving without your mind’s approval. “No,” you sob. You don't want them to sedate you. “Please…” Your pleas meet an empty void. 

The nurse swiftly prepares a syringe that, out of the corner of your eye looks almost like a loaded gun. You don't want to sleep. You can’t. You deserve this. “This will help you relax,” she says. “Just breathe, okay? We don't want your lung collapsing again.”

The needle doesn’t pierce your skin, but it might as well have. A sudden cool rush spreads through your veins. The world blurs at the edges, colors bleeding into each other until they turn black. Your sobs slow down. You try to scream, but every muscle in your body slacks against your will. The clock stops ticking. The wave catches up to you as you’re swimming away, and with jaws made of glass, the depths of the ocean finally take you under, eating you alive. 

Someone whispers, “You’re going to be okay,” into the darkness, but the angel doesn’t have a face. You’re not sure if you’re supposed to hold on or keep floating. There is no beginning or end where you are. The ground is gone. It’s never going to end, you fear, drowning in your tears until you’re sucked into another black hole for the rest of your life. 

You succumb to it. You let the current drag you down, and then, you drown. 

You drown for the longest time, closing your eyes and accepting your fate. Until a hand dives into the water, searching for you. You blink, and you reach for it, not knowing who it belongs to but someone is trying to save you, so why not allow them to? An eerily familiar feeling fills you with warmth. 

The closer you inch to the surface, the louder the real world around you gets. You hear the beeping again, steadier this time. Someone must have defused the bomb. And there is a soft touch against your forehead, fingertips grazing your burning skin. Your eyes flutter.

A soft baritone calls for you. It’s familiar, but the sensations around you are dulled to an extent you can barely feel your legs. You adjust to the light in the room, and the heaviness of your eyelids that seems to want to drag you back down. His silhouette is a blur, at first, but once you find those comforting brown eyes staring down at you with a river of tears inside, you recognize him, and you’re suddenly wide awake. 

“Michael?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. Your heart contracts. Instead of conflict, all you feel is the sheer pleasure of relief when you see his face. His tired, beautiful face. And he’s real. He’s not a dream. You may not feel your body, but your mind is coming back to you, and you see him so clearly next to you, a sight for sore eyes and a balm for your broken heart. 

He came.

A tear slides down his cheek, but he wipes it before you can comment on it. Your throat is dry. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bopping with the silence that engulfs you. The air crackles. You’re not sure how to react. Your entire body vibrates with a need you have never felt before, but how can you get over what happened? It’s right there between you; you can feel the tension that has spun a net between you, and it’s almost like your lungs are collapsing all over again. 

But then Michael reaches out, his calloused fingers brushing your tear-stained cheek. “Yeah. I’m here,” he says. “I’m here, my love.”

Instinctively, you wrap your arms around his neck with a broken exhale. He has never engulfed you faster, building a secure cocoon around you where nothing and no one can touch you. Your breaths are strangled. He wasn’t there before, but now he is, and it’s like you were never apart in the first place. Because you needed him like air, and he is the only one who knows how to make the pain go away because he knows you. 

“You didn’t pick up,” you mutter against his sweater. I thought we were over, you want to say.

He nods, squeezing you tighter. Your stitches protest, but you ignore them. He can tear them open one by one if he pleases, as long as he just holds you. “I know,” he says, barely keeping it together. “I’m so sorry. I was… I was meetin’ with Jimmy, and… I turned it off. I turned it off.” His voice cracks. So much guilt can’t possibly fit into one person.

Your nails dig into his back. “It’s okay,” now you’re the one comforting him. 

“No. If I’d known… Fuck! I thought… I thought I lost ya.”

“I’m sorry.”

Michael pulls away, eyes boring into yours. He cups your face. “Don’t do tha’,” he growls. “Don’t do this to yerself. It wasn’t your fault, I swear.”

You close your eyes. His gaze is so intense. He nudges you back to look at him. “Who did this to ya, hm?”

“I don’t know,” you confess. “I didn’t… I didn’t see his face. But he, uh… he stole the… the file. On my sister. And when I tried to stop him, he… he…”

“Wha’?” The look on his face is nothing short of terrifying, even as it blurs through your tears. “Did he touch you?” When he gets angry, his eyes tend to black out. It usually sends a chill down your spine, but tonight, you need him to look at you like that. You need him to be angry because anger is the strongest motivator, and you are too weak to display the true intensity of your feelings.

You motion to your throat with shaky fingers. “He ch–” The word refuses to come out. “Mhh–” You try to regulate your breathing. “He ch–choked me.” 

You have not yet looked into a mirror, but the soreness suggests quite a bit of bruising. Sarah didn’t say anything. You went through hell and the most obvious injury, the wound on your side, seems bad enough to think about. They probably swabbed under your fingernails already to get what little DNA evidence you tried to gather by fighting back, but you have little hope that the assailant is to be found in any database. And he wore gloves, that much you know. You can still taste the leather. Talking about it makes you eerily sick to your stomach. 

Another sob bubbles up in your chest; you choke on it. “And then he stabbed me,” you cry. “He stabbed me, and my lung collapsed, and… I thought I was going to die.”

Michael growls, physically forcing your face back into the crook of his neck. 

“Don’t leave me.”

You were the first to leave, and it was a mistake. You regret it with your entire bruised being to have ever let him go. You’re not entitled to his love, but if he left you now, you know you wouldn’t survive—because losing him is worse than dying. 

He presses your face further into the crook of his neck. “I’m not leavin’,” he says. “You’re safe now. No one’s gonna lay a hand on ya again.”

The words break the dam. “Please,” you beg, not knowing what for. 

“Shhh,” he shushes you. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“Stop.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” you ramble. “I was just sad and angry, and… we were both going through something. Hell, you told me about Anna and all I thought of doing was leave. I’m so fucking sorry, Michael. I don’t know how to make this up to you. I don’t…”

Michael tugs you back, seeing it as the only way you will listen to him. “Hey!” His fingers dig into your scalp. “It doesn’t matter, alright? I’m not angry. I… I thought I lost ya, and it almost killed me. I don’t care ‘bout one stupid fight. I don’t.” He chuckles softly, his eyes stained with tears again. “I care about you. I’m gonna fix this, you hear? Even if I have to kill the fuckin’ bastard who did this. God knows I want to. And I’m gonna get Anna back, too,” he says. “‘cause I’m still her father and I won’t let them take her from me. What I’m not gonna do is let you leave again without reason, so we’re gonna talk and we’re gonna find a way through this, alright? I promise you, so you have to promise me. Let me love you better. Please.”

Please. He breaks in your hand like wet sand struck by lightning. Though this time, you can’t pick up his broken pieces and glue him back together for it is his turn now to fix you. To love you better, as he said. 

You wipe your cheek on the palm of his hand, and his thumb instantly darts out to take over. It’s so rough yet so gentle against your sensitive skin. “I promise,” you whisper then, only honesty on your cracked lips.

He lets go of your scalp to pull you back in. “That’s my girl,” Michael murmurs. 

There is nothing quite as toxic as guilt, but you are each other’s antidote. You cling to him like a lifeline, and he clings to you. Where Sarah has gone, you’re not sure, but you also don’t care. She called him. She said horrible things about him, then saw your reaction, the sincere belief in his innocence and the love that is still very much there, and then she called him because there is no other way he could have found out. She called him because you didn’t need her; you needed Michael, and no drugs in the world could have changed that. 

“C’mon, lie back.” You comply almost instantly with his demand, scooting aside to make space for him. The frame of the bed creaks in protest, but he seems to neither care about the hospital’s property nor his comfort as he urges you to rest against his chest. “The police are gonna ask questions,” he tells you, tugging the blanket further around your body. You only now realize that you’re freezing. “I told them you had to rest, so they’re gonna come by in the mornin’, but I assure ya, I’m gonna be there. And then Jimmy’s gonna take us home.”

You blink up at him. “Jimmy?” you ask. It’s the only thing that strikes you as odd. You suspected the police would come by, Sarah already told you the same thing, but Michael conspiring with his brother to get you out of here is a new development. 

“Yeah. No one takes a shot at a Kinsella and gets away with it.”

“But I’m not–”

He cuts you off, “You are now.”

Your heart stops a beat in your chest before it starts racing a million miles per hour, so fast you can barely catch up. 

It’s odd, all of it. His family expressed their disdain for you at great lengths just to retaliate back when your blood is shed, but instead of dread and overwhelming suspicion, you only feel terrifyingly content. 

You’re a Kinsella now, Michael said, and what else can you do but embrace it?

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight @ebathory997

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x f!reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #kin rte #kin amc #x reader #charlie cox #chaos theory #tw: abuse

[bellaxgiornata]

Chapter List for She Lit a Fire

Summary: It's been nearing six months since your mother passed and nothing about your fast-paced life feels right anymore. Not knowing what else to do with the inheritance left to you, you quit your job on a whim and book a few weeks stay at a seaside cottage in a small town in Ireland. Unsurprisingly, you're quickly drawn to the handsome bartender at the local pub who curiously doesn't drink–and who also happens to live just down the beach from your cottage. The pair of you end up in a whirlwind romance, but when it comes time for you to leave, Michael is crushed when you refuse to continue things. Though you're certainly surprised to find yourself Stateside two months later pregnant with his child.

Warnings/tags: 18+; series contains smut, mostly fluff but some angst, and pregnancy

Chapter List

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three {Coming Soon}

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella x f!reader #kin amc #michael kinsella fanfic

[dollwritesarchive]

𝓂𝓎 𝑒𝓂𝓅𝒾𝓇𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒹𝒾𝓇𝓉 ⎹ 𝓜.𝓚.

fandom kin / charlie cox masterlist

featuring michael kinsella x ex!reader ( f! )

rating none of my work is meant to be viewed by minors (anyone under the age of eighteen), and i will happily block any that interact with my posts or my blog.

content warning michael is really drunk, angst (poorly written angst, to be exact), very small amount of violence, reader is late 20s, Michael is slightly toxic, accusatory language, very briefly gets physical

summary Michael finds out why you stopped visiting him in prison.

word count 3.2k / one shot

attention do not repost or translate, even with ‘credit’. just don’t do it. reblog instead of like. leave feedback if you enjoyed.

“And that was it?”

“Yeah, that was it.”

“She didn’t say anything else? Nothing?”

Jimmy sighs, drumming his thick digits on the steering wheel. “She told me to go fuck myself, does that count?” casting a sympathetic look to his brother, he leans back. “She was pretty clear, Mikey. She didn’t want to be around the Kinsellas anymore.”

Michael grimaces, shaking his head. “That just— it doesn’t make sense, does it?” his words were slurred, but luckily Jimmy was used to translating drunken Mike’s babble. he looks back to the quaint home across the street where they were parked. “That wasn’t… she wasn’t like that.”

his brother nods, looking towards the house, too. “Remember when she nearly threw fists with Birdy for telling her she wasn’t one of us?” he chuckles, albeit bitterly, “Little firecracker wanted to go on every job with you, too. Thought she could actually keep you safe.”

Michael smiles sadly, remembering how adamant you were. “She hated that Frank wouldn’t let her help.” he offers.

“Amanda always said she couldn’t stand when you went on jobs, your girl would be up all night pacing the floor. Drove her up the wall.”

“Exactly.” Michael recalls, before shaking his head, “So, why…?”

frowning, Jimmy grips Michael’s shoulder with a vice mitt, “Maybe she wasn’t cut out for the wait, brother. Not everyone is. When you go away, most folks aren’t there when you get out. You know that.”

Michael wants to protest, he wants to curse his brother for even assuming that you didn’t love him enough to wait for him, but he couldn’t. he couldn’t find any words true enough to suffice. it had been nearly a decade since he’d seen your face. recalling how you looked during the last visit, he wanted to be sick to his stomach. crying, your eyes were puffy, and your hands shook. he couldn’t hold them, the guards too keen to punish him for any physical contact, so he had to simply stare at them, and hate himself for being the cause. no matter what he’d said that day, how many times he promised you that everything would be okay, it clearly hadn’t made a difference. you didn’t come back after that. you stopped answering his calls, and eventually changed your number. twice. you visited him twice in the first month of his incarceration, but after that? you disappeared. no goodbyes, no reason. of course, he always asked about you. Birdy had a way of finding out about people, keeping tabs, but you knew that as well as he did. apparently, you’d pulled a gun on Birdy when she approached you in the parking lot of a grocery store, told her to stay away from you.

hazel eyes catch a glimpse of you walking by the window, a bundle of fabric in your arms, and Michael frowns, reaching for the car door.

“Mikey,” Jimmy warns, gripping his shoulder tighter, “We’ve had a few too many, haven’t we? This is a bad idea.”

“I have to see her,” Michael’s face screws up in determination, “I have to know why.”

“I told you why.” Jimmy insists, wanting desperately to simply drive off with his lovesick brother in the passenger seat, but he was already halfway out. “She didn’t want this life anymore.”

“Yeah, I’d like to hear it from her. I won’t be long.”

another heavy sigh when Michael shakes free of his brother’s grip, and Jimmy gets out, too, but hangs back. “Do you want me to come with ya?” he asks, half joking, “I don’t think she likes me very much anymore, but—“

Michael scoffs, halfway up the drive, he shoves his hands in his pockets and calls over his shoulder. “She never liked you.” he hears a faint fair enough from behind him before he stumbles up on to the porch. his vision was doubled; drinking had been a mistake, he knew that, but when you didn’t show up to his welcome home party, he’d hit the bottle and hadn’t stopped for two whole days. it was now mid afternoon, and he was still wasted.

if he had been sober, he might’ve hesitated at the door. his brain might’ve swirled with the anxiety and excitement of seeing you again after so long, but copious amounts of alcoholic saturation has flooded all concern from his mind, and he hits the door three times with a flat palm. after a second and a half with no answer, he wavers on unsteady legs, wobbling over to the window to peek inside.

there’s a small figure seated on the floor with a plate in front of it; a child watching cartoons with his lunch, Michael assumed. his brows furrow as he tries to force himself to focus, to see the child more clearly, but just as he does, the door opens.

when he turns back to look at you, his breath catches in his throat, eyes wide. he smiles, stepping back towards you, “Hey—“ but the happiness is all but wiped from his countenance when you take a step back at his advance, half hiding behind the door. were you… were you scared of him? “You look…” he didn’t really have the words he was looking for. beautiful wouldn’t cut it. it was the first time he’d seen you in nearly ten years, and it was like every day since then you had only become more and more stunning. he wanted to grab you, right then and there, and kiss you so hard that it would make both of your heads spin.

“What are you doing here?”

his eyes fall to the bundle in your arms, cradled close to your heart, and he realizes it’s a baby. a newborn with big eyes the same tint as yours. his heart hurts; gaze scraping over the wedding band on your finger. “I…” he was caught off guard, and suddenly, he didn’t know what to say. should he turn around and walk away right now? no, no he couldn’t. “I just got out a couple of days ago.” he offers, as if you don’t already know.

but you nod, and say nothing, eyes avoiding his own desperate ones, and it’s painfully clear you were aware.

“Family threw me a party.” he offers yet another crumb, unsure of why he was sharing. you would already know this, too. you knew the Kinsellas, more intimately than anyone else.

“Michael—“

“You didn’t show up.”

you sigh, gently patting the newborn in your arms, and you look him up and down. what could you say to him? “I’ve kind of got my own shit going on now.” you reply, gesturing to the bundle in your arms, chewing on your bottom lip. “You shouldn’t be here.” you hold your son carefully with one hand, using the other to press against the door.

his foot jams itself against the door as he presses himself against it, and now that he’s closer, you can smell the booze on him. he reeks of it, as if alcohol oozes from his pores. “Wait,” he murmurs, closer now but keeping his voice down, eyes flickering to the baby, “please. I just wanted to see you again.” you’re drunk. it’s what you should’ve said. and then, you should’ve closed the door in his face. but you can’t bring yourself to do that. you made the mistake of looking into his eyes, feeling yourself drawn in by those hazel oceans, and suddenly, you felt like you were nineteen again. when Michael Kinsella was the only thing that mattered. “Can we talk?”

say no. your mind begged it of you. few ideas had been more terrible than letting him into your home, but he looked so pitiful, standing there with wet eyes and a permafrown. and the truth was, it worried you, seeing him drunk like this. teeth sinking into your lower lip, you ponder the question for a moment, before calling over your shoulder. “Kieran, honey, take your lunch to your room, okay?”

the little boy in front of the television perks up at the call of his name, grabbing the plate with a nod. “Okay, ma!” he replies, oblivious, already skipping down the hall to his bedroom.

once he’s clear of the living room, you sigh, and pull the door open a little more, nodding inside for him to come in. “Just for a few minutes.”

Michael nods, quickly ducking inside, and you feel a knot of pure anxiety in your gut. you never expected Michael Kinsella to be standing in your living room. he looks around it, examining each scattered toy on the floor as he steps around it and, eventually, sat on the edge of the sofa. you follow behind him, picking up the toys and tossing them into the box by the tv, before turning the cartoons off. you could feel Carter stirring in your arms, somewhere between sleeping and awake, and you cradle him closer to your chest.

“Little ones, huh?” you could tell he was forcing a smile; you could always tell with Michael. “How many do ya have?”

you hesitate, but figure there was no sense in lying. “Three boys.”

Michael nods, somewhat awkward, and his eyes keep lingering on you holding Carter. you almost want to hide with the baby, disappear, you could feel his thoughts before he even spoke them, they hang in the air like a dense chill.

“Husband?”

you pause, feeling a pang of guilt. why? why did you feel so guilty when you did nothing wrong. it was him. Michael chose to break the law, he chose to go to prison, to drive an iron wedge into your relationship for a decade. why did you feel guilty for carrying on with your life, while his sat still? you nod after a moment, eyes dropping to your baby.

“And you couldn’t even tell me.” Michael scoffs, averting his gaze with an incredulous shake of his head, and you were humiliated. his lips work into a grimace, glaring at the wall. “Why? Why didn’t you tell me? Or were you fucking him the whole time just waiting on me to go away—“

your eyes widen, countenance snapping up, indignant. “What?” you demand. surely, you must have heard him wrong.

Michael drops his forearms on to his knees, closing his eyes as his head hangs forward, the way he did when you and him used to argue. it infuriated you to see him like that now. “What?” you ask again, this time louder. Carter whines in your arms and you give him a gentle rock.

“Were you fucking some guy behind my back?” he asks, louder too, and you purse your lips together to shush him before he disturbs your baby even more. he hesitates, lowering his voice as he looks up at you. “Was it just perfect timing when I got locked up?”

“No,” you snarl, staring daggers into him from where you stood. if you hadn’t been holding Carter, there was a chance you would’ve leapt over and smacked that grimace look off his stupid face. “And fuck you, by the way, for even thinking that.” you added, eyes darting up and down the length of him. you lull your baby in your arms, chewing on the delicate skin of your lower lip. “I’ve never cheated on you. Not ever.”

“So then, why?” Michael barks in a husky whisper. maybe it was fragile from the way he held back tears, or maybe it was raw with anger, you couldn’t be sure. “Why didn’t you visit? Tell me anything at all? You just fuckin’ vanished, like a ghost. Don’t you fuckin’ understand that?”

“Yes.” affronted, you look down at your baby, sullen. you just want him to stop before it turns into a fight, and as soon as he paused to take a breath, you’d tell him to get the fuck out of your house.

“Do you? I mourned you. Like you were dead. Because you fuckin’ were to me.”

it stings, deep down in the depths of your soul where you buried all of the love you held for Michael Kinsella. “I get it,” you speak up, swallowing hard around a painful lump in your throat. “I get it and I’m sorry. But you don’t know what it’s like—“

“Then tell me.” Michael throws his hands up, sitting up straighter. they fall, palms flat, and smack against his thighs. “Tell me what it’s like.” his baritone is a little more strained as his voice gets louder. you frown, and take a step back from him, your brows knitting together. “Tell me just how hard it was for you that I was in prison, getting the shit kicked out of me, fighting for my life every single fuckin’ say and I didn’t even have the woman I loved to give me a reason to open my eyes every morning?”

you open your mouth to speak, but the sound of little feet coming down the hall spurs you to step into the doorway, block it from Michael’s view just as your eldest rounds the corner, bumping into you as he does so. “Ma?” his voice sounds small… afraid. a tone you swore you’d never hear from him.

Rowan. you just didn’t want Michael to see him. “It’s okay, baby,” you mutter, but Michael’s gaze falls to your hip, where his spitting image peeks out from behind you. dammit. “Go back to your room and close the door.”

“But ma—“

“Now. Please.” you beg of him, petting his mop of messy dark hair.

Michael stares, shocked, into the familiar hazel gems the boy has, jumping to his feet as he disappears down the hall. “How old is that kid?” he asks, taking a step closer.

you bite your lip, refusing to budge from blocking the hallway. “Michael, don’t.”

“How old is he?”

but you didn’t have to answer, because Michael could see the resemblance, even when you’d tried to obstruct the glance. hell, anyone could. the kid couldn’t be younger than seven, no older than eight.

“Is he…?”

“No.”

but Michael could see on your face that it was a lie. he walks towards the hall where his young clone disappeared on uncertain legs, feeling as though he’s being thrown about in a chaotic sea, but you hold a hand out to press against his chest, to stop him. he looks down at it, frowning. “You knew before I went inside.” he mutters, realization hitting him harder than a tidal wave. “And you didn’t tell me.”

your fingers twitch and quiver against the expanse of his chest, the urge to caress it returning to your muscles with a fierce vengeance, but you resist. you lower your voice to a faint whisper. “Three days before.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve—“

“What?” blinking tears back, your brow arches, almost as a challenge. “What could you have done, Michael? Raised a baby from prison? You grew up like that, and look at yourself.” shaking your head, you look at him, resolved. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want a Kinsella. I didn’t want him to be raised like a Kinsella. I owed him that much, at least.”

could he really blame you? no, but he wanted to. Michael’s wet eyes, glassy from booze and on the brink of crying, look up to your face, and you want to break down, too. “That’s my kid,” he whispers, “call him out here. Let me meet him, at least.”

you shake your head, “No, he doesn’t know— Michael, it would only confuse him.”

“He doesn’t know?” Michael’s perplexed, maybe suspicious.

“He knows he has a different da than Carter and Kieran, but he… thinks his is dead.”

“Dead?” he asks, angrily, and you take another step back, bumping into the wall, nodding. “My own son thinks I’m fuckin’ dead? You chose to tell him that over the truth?” he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. it was like you were a completely different person. the old you would’ve never hurt him like this.

you’re ashamed, feeling guilt gutting you, but you nod. “You made your choice, so I made mine.”

hazel eyes narrow, “Your choice? That’s my fuckin’ son in there, too.” his voice was louder now, reverberating in the small hallway, and you flinch. “Let me see my son.”

“I can’t—“ your voice was still barely audible, hugging Carter close to your chest and away from Michael, but tears glistened on your cheeks as they fell.

“Why? Why the fuck not?”

“Michael, keep your fucking voice down.” you hide out a warning. Carter was beginning to get fussy in your arms.

“He’s mine, I deserve to see him—“ the back of his hand pushes at your shoulder, trying to urge you out of the way, but you swat it away, stepping directly in front of him.

“You need to go.”

but something inside Michael snapped. was it the alcohol boiling his blood, or your betrayal, or the fact that some other man was living the life he wanted to build with you? perhaps all three, because he grips both of your shoulders with cruel fists and pushes your back into the wall. “You can’t keep him from me.” he growls, glaring into your now frightened gaze. you let out a little whimper, and the baby in your arms wails. it’s only then did he realize what he’d done, and he jerks his hands back. “Wait, wait…” he hadn’t meant to hurt you, and maybe he hadn’t. maybe the push wasn’t hard enough to do any physical damage, but you were terrified; he knew that look. he loathed that look. “I’m sorry, I didn’t… I wasn’t…”

all you can do is stare at the man you used to love. still loved? “This is why you’ll never see him!” you holler finally, shielding Carter from him. you felt your whole world fall apart as soon as he grabbed you, and you were stumbling over the pieces. “Because you— you’re a monster, Michael Kinsella. You destroy everything you touch, you nearly destroyed me. I won’t let you destroy Rowan.”

“I’m sorry!” as if that could be the fix all, he stumbles back, refusing to look at his own hands. how could he? he feels sick to his stomach, again. that same, ill feeling that he had sinking in his gut during your last visit.

“Just get out of here. Please leave.”

he does. you’re grateful, but feel as though you’re losing him all over again. that wasn’t true, though, you lost him eight years ago, and had never gotten him back. so why? why did it hurt so much to see him crying as he sprinted out the door, to hear the car doors slam and the tires squeal as they sped off?

“Ma!” it was both Rowan and Kieran from the other side of the bedroom door. Kieran was sobbing, hitting his little fist on it. you felt dizzy from overstimulation, and your free hand reaches out to steady yourself on the wall, sliding down it to collapse in a sobbing heap on the floor. Carter was screaming in your arms, so you shush him through your own, garbled crying, pressing your lips to his soft forehead.

#michael kinsella #michael Kinsella x reader #michael Kinsella x you #michael Kinsella angst #kin #kin amc #charlie cox x you #charlie cox x reader #Charlie cox angst #charlie cox imagine #charlie cox

[she-likesorchids]

Sweater Weather 2023 Masterlist

A big THANK YOU to everyone that participated in my little event! This would not have worked without YOU! If I missed your fic, please let me know and I will add it!

PLEASE HEED THE INDIVIDUAL WARNINGS ON ALL FICS! You are responsible for what you see if you choose to continue reading. Enjoy!

My submission: Cold Hands, Warm Hearts (Michael Kinsella x F! Reader)

@shiorimakibawrites

Warm (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Stormy Weather (Matt Murdock x Reader)

Baking With Love (Matt Murdock x Reader)

@k-marzolf

sunshine. (Billy Russo x F!Reader)

@janaispunk

Making Forts Under Covers (Joel Miller x F!Reader)

@kayhi808

You Were Never Mine (Billy Russo x F!Reader)

Krewe of Boo (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Rainy Days (Billy Russo x Reader)

Neighbors-Next Door (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

@bellaxgiornata

Under the Weather (Matt Murdock x F!Reader)

Keep Me Warm (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Next to You (Frank Castle x F!Reader)

@itwasthereaminuteago

"You're an asshole, but I love you" (Frank Castle x GN!Reader)

#mandy's sweater weather challenge #matt murdock x reader #michael kinsella x reader #bucky barnes x reader #frank castle x reader #joel miller x reader #billy russo x reader

[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."

#lotmf writes #michael kinsella x female reader #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella fanfic #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella fluff #kin amc #IABY Masterlist

[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

#michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella smut #michael kinsella fanfic #kin amc #x reader #rhi writes 💻