#michael kinsella x reader angst

[peterman-spideyparker]

Nightmares (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

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

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

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

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 2,097

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

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

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

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

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

"Choose!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey, I love—.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whine.

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

“Fuck, Mikey, yes, please!”

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

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

“Ready, pet?” he pants.

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

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

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

“Michael,” you whine.

“Say my name.”

“Michael!”

“Again.”

“Michael!”

“Who d’you belong to?”

“Michael!”

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

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

“Oh,” he blushes. “Sorry, pet.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Mikey . . .”

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

“You’d be away from Anna.”

“We’d take her with us.”

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

“I just need t’keep ya safe.”

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

“Why d’ya have so much faith in me?”

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

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

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

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

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[bellaxgiornata]

Bella's Masterlist of Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, & Daryl Dixon Series & One Shots

I am currently working on multiple series and fics for Matt Murdock, Frank Castle, Michael Kinsella, and Daryl Dixon. I've updated my Masterlist so that each link will bring you to a separate, organized Masterlist for each specific character because there are just so many now! There's also some "bonus" characters I write for listed at the bottom of this Masterlist (Henry from Eat Locals, Owen Sleater in the future maybe). Always feel free to chat with me about any of the fics or characters I'm writing for. Y'all know I'm chatty!

I post new fics/updates multiple times a week and all of my stories are available fully on tumblr and my AO3. If you'd like information on my tag lists you can find that here.

**I do not currently accept story requests because I have too many ongoing projects at the moment!**

Masterlist of Matt Murdock Fics and Series

Masterlist of Frank Castle Fics and Series

Masterlist of Michael Kinsella Fics and Series

Masterlist of Daryl Dixon Fics

Additional Characters:

Henry x Fem!Werewolf!Reader Mini Series

Forbidden Love [Installment List]

Pairing: Vampire Henry x Fem!Werewolf!Reader

Warnings/tags: Smut, blood, biting (I mean...that's a given), bit of enemies to lovers, maybe some angst and fluff

After awhile you'd grown used to the vampire who often lurked around the woods you hunted in. Though that didn't mean his irritating presence didn't bother you, or that you didn't wonder why he often seemed to be waiting for you–especially since your kinds weren't meant to intermingle.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fem!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil x female reader #daredevil x reader #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock fic #matt murdock series #matt murdock x ofc #matt murdock x oc #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock fanfiction #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #frank castle #frank castle x you #frank castle x reader #frank castle x f!reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x you #daryl dixon #the walking dead #henry eat locals

[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 3

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse, mentions of SA

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed, greatly advised and strongly appreciate.

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@shouldbestudying41, @beezusvreeland

Dividers by @cafekitsune

Yawning widely, you stumbled into your kitchen. You had stayed over at Michael’s, well into the night. You spoke of many things and of nothing. You caught yourself too late when you had mentioned your father. Michael had returned the courtesy, briefly mentioning his daughter Anna. But the conservations brought you back to Jamie. Which never failed to bring tears to Michael’s eyes. He tried several times to conceal them, to not let you see. In spite of your telling him that he didn’t need to. Not in front of you.

Standing in your kitchen, you waited for your coffee to brew as you texted your coworker; Bessie; to let her know that you would not come into work today. Thankfully, your company was quite lenient on sick days and did not require a sick note for one to two days of sick leave. Then, you sent a quick email to your manager to let him know, you won’t be in at least for one day.

The shrill sound of your phone ringing snapped you out of your thoughts. You jumped onto the counter and answered the phone. “Hello?” No answer. “Hello?” You said again. Still no answer. You could hear someone breathing on the other end, before the call disconnected. Pulling the phone away from your ear, you felt this knot in your stomach. Checking the number, you noted that it was an international call but not a number you recognized. Judging by the area code, it was from your hometown. The knot in your stomach tightened, your heart started beating wildly. Could this be your mother?

You knew your mother had your address but could she also have your phone number? Knowing your brother, it could be in the realm of possibilities. However, you really hoped you were wrong.

Pulling the strap of your bag on your shoulder, you saw Michael coming back to his house, as you were locking your door.

“Good morning.” You greeted him with a smile.

“Good mornin’.” He smiled back as he stepped closer to you. “Yer goin’ to work?”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head quickly. “I’m just going to the shops. I need to grab some things.”

He nodded at your words and then, silence fell upon you. You started to feel awkward, standing there, facing him. He scratched the back of his neck; you adjusted the strap of your bag on your shoulder, growing nervous.

“So, I’m sure this is a stupid question but—how are you?” You asked him.

Michael let out a long breath, the kind that one may let out when they were feeling drained and burdened by life. He shoved his hands in his pockets. “Been dealin’ with a lot.”

“Yeah, I can only imagine.” You nodded, in understanding. You knew how crazy the next few days would be for him and his family.

He took a step closer. “Thank ya for stayin’ last night.”

“It was nothing, really.” You shrugged before looking down at your shoes.

“It was everythin'.” Michael replied, you looked back up at his face.

You held his gaze, his hazel eyes drawing you in. You didn’t seem to be able to pull your gaze away from him. The intensity in his gaze made you breathless. You swallowed your saliva, your tongue darted out to wet your lips. His eyes fell on them.

“If you—I mean—uh, if you need anyone to talk to, I’m—right next door.” You stammered out, offering once more.

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Michael’s lips twitched up at the corner.

You took a slight step back. You needed to break away from whatever spell he had cast on you. “I’ll see you around, I guess.”

He nodded with a small smirk, “Yeah.”

You walked away after waving at him. Michael snorted as he watched you walk away as you shook your head in embarrassment, mumbling to yourself.

Seeing you had made his day better, even if it was brief. Michael had met up with Jimmy earlier for drinks. It was clear that his brother wanted revenge for Jamie. And he understood, he did. But he couldn’t do that. Not if he wanted access to Anna. She was all that mattered to him. The most important person in his life. Although he was angry about Jamie’s death. He, too, wanted revenge for the boy’s death, he just couldn’t get involved. If he did, he would lose Anna too. Jimmy had been angry at his refusal, insisting that it would all be in the name of family.

He understood, he did. But Anna was family too.

Things had not gone better after their meeting with Frank, at Birdy’s house. Frank had wanted Jimmy to sit still and not to do anything. He had made it clear that they couldn’t go against Eamon Cunnigham. Jamie’s death had been an unfortunate mistake, they were going after Eric, he said. Even then, Frank refused to take actions against Eamon and his men. And to add insult to injury, Frank had given his brother a bag of cash to compensate for Jamie’s death. From Eamon. As though money would solve his son's death. Jimmy pissed on the cash and rightfully so. Money wasn’t what Jimmy wanted. Jimmy wanted blood. A life for a life.

A knock sounded on his door, Michael opened the door only to find Frank.

“Listen, Michael,” Frank shut the door behind him. “I know this is absolutely fucking shit for Jimmy and Amanda.”

“It’s wrong, Frank.” Michael agreed.

“But we are gonna get Moore,” Frank continued. “In time. Yeah? It’s like Birdy said, we just need to be patient.”

“And what if it had been Eric killed instead of Jamie?” Michael questioned.

“I’d be sayin’ the exact same thing. But it wasn’t Eric. And Jamie is not your kid, either.” Michael felt anger rose within him. He cast his eyes down on the kitchen counter before leaning on it. “Anna is, though. No court is gonna let you anywhere near her if this family is in a feud.”

“Look, I’m stayin’ out of it.” Michael assured him.

“Yeah,” Frank stepped closer. “And see if you can make sure Jimmy doesn’t do anything—fucking stupid—in the meantime. Can do that?” Michael only hummed in response, nodding his head. “Good.”

Of course, it was on him to keep Jimmy out of trouble. Of course, it was on him to make sure Jimmy didn’t start a war with Eamon Cunnigham. It was a shitty thing for Frank to use his desire to get Anna back against him. Just to make sure he wouldn’t agree with anything that Jimmy would ask of him. He was pissed off that Frank had to remind him, insisting that Jamie wasn’t his. He already knew that. Jimmy was his da, not Michael.

But Jamie was his too.

You sat on your kitchen counter waiting for your dinner to cook. This impromptu rest day had been beneficial to you. You had spent the day in town, enjoying yourself. A day away from work and taking people complaints on the phone. It could be draining at times, so this day was much needed. Even your brief encounter with Michael had somehow been welcomed, although it had been sort of awkward and embarrassing.

“What was that wave for?” You facepalmed yourself, still mortified by it. “That was so dumb.”

Your phone rang next to you. Same number than this morning. You picked up the call, there was breathing on the other side but no words were uttered. “Who are you?” You asked shakily. Still no answer. And before you could ask another question, the call was ended.

You had a terrible feeling about this.

“So, did he?” You were with your sister on the phone.

“Yeah, he did.”  Your sister sighed. “But that’s not Mom’s number.”

“Then whose is it?” You asked her, panic rising in your chest.

“I don’t know.” Mary replied.

“I don’t like this, Mary.” You rubbed your face. “They had been calling all day. And every time I pick up, no one’s fucking talking.”

“Come on, babe, don’t go into a panic.”  Mary tried to soothe you from across the pond. “Why don’t you block the number? It’s just probably someone prank calling you.”

“I doubt that.” You leaned on the wall behind you. “But yeah, I’ll block the number.” You let out a deep breath. “Do you think it might be him?”

“Who?”

“Her husband.” You said shakily. Your sister remained silent on the other side of the line. Her silence alone was enough to confirm it. You were terrified of the man, you always had been.

“I’m going to kill Dave.” Your sister almost growled on the phone. You snorted. “Or I’ll sent Matt after him.”

“There’s no need but thank you.” You moved to your couch. “But you can tell him that—that—he’s no longer my brother. That he can forget about me.”

“Are you sure about that?” Mary asked you softly. “I mean he’s family and—the kids love you. Especially little Sammy.”

“He doesn’t act like family. And as much as I love the kids, I can’t—” You pushed out a tired sigh. “He knew what he was doing and I can’t forgive him for that.”

“I know. Just—it’s just the four of us now. We are supposed to—I don’t know—be close like we used to. Be a family.”

“Yeah, but we grew up and maybe some of us forgot what that meant.”

“Are you gonna be okay?”

“Yeah, gotta be.”

Growing up, your father had made sure that you all valued each other; that you would put each other first. Which had made you all very close to one another. You were a knit tight group. But as you had mentioned to your sister, you had all grown up. And unfortunately, some of you had grown apart. You always had this fantasy that all four of you would spend countless dinners together with your children and spouses. And that was all it was, a fantasy.

Priorities changed with adulthood, you had your jobs, your own family. You couldn’t prioritize each other anymore. And you understood that, you did. However, it didn’t mean that your brother could just go behind your back and betray your wishes in the way he did.

You were still family though. Was it really worth it to cut all ties with him? Even if it meant you would no longer have access to his children, including your goddaughter.

You blocked the number as you said you would. And just in case, your sister had given you your mother’s number so, you could block it too. Before the phone calls, you were sure that your mother and her husband would not show up at your doorstep. But now, you weren’t so sure anymore.  

You woke in the middle of the night. And there it was standing at the foot of your bed, a faceless and shadowy figure. You tried to scream but no sound came out. You tried to move but you were paralyzed. The shadowy figure walked up to your bed, tears pressed against your eyes, your heart was racing underneath your ribcage, breathing was becoming hard. As though something was pressing down on it. The shadowy figure was no longer faceless. You recognized him. You knew him. You tried to scoot away from him as he stood over you with a smile on his face. Again, your body refused to obey to you. He moved his arm to pet your hair—

You gasped for air as your eyes snapped open. You sat up quickly, cradling your chest, feeling it rose as you took deep breaths. You switched on the lamp on your beside table. There was no one in your room with you. You were alone. Still, this knowledge wasn’t enough to reassure you. Your heart did not slow down. You got out of bed quickly. Rushed down the stairs, checking that your front door was still locked. And it was. You pushed down the doorknob four times, making sure it was in fact, locked. You even went as far as looking around your house, switching all the lights on, you looked in every room. Looking into closets and under the beds.

No one.

Eventually, your heart went back to a normal rate. You switched off the lights but you left the television on. Low volume. You laid down on your couch, you couldn’t go back to sleep in your bed. Not after this horrible nightmare. It looked too real. It had felt too real and it was fucking with your head. Although, you knew there was no one, you still looked around in fear.

You stared at the ceiling, praying for sleep to come. You were going back to work in the morning. And you didn’t want to deal with the lack of sleep on top of it all.

The television cast a blue soft glow over the room, the sounds acting as white noise. Your eyes drifted to the wall behind your couch. What was Michael doing at this hour? Probably sleeping, unlike you. You took a deep breath and turned on your side. Your back to the television, your face buried in the cushions, it was stupid, you thought to yourself. To seek comfort in someone that was on the other side of this very wall.

Was it wrong of you to want comfort and reassurance from Michael Kinsella? Maybe, it didn’t matter who was really offering it. Maybe, you just wanted someone to be there. Someone to put their arms around you, to make you feel safe.

And yet, it was Michael’s arms you pictured around you as you fell asleep. It was his voice you imagined, whispering words of reassurance.

As dangerous as Michael may be, it would never be worse than your stepfather.

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[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

[everythingsf1ne23]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫? |

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 (𝘒𝘪𝘯)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 💌:

well my last Michael piece flopped and I wish that it hadn’t ‘cause I really loved it, but please give me feedback in the comments of this one, I’m actually begging you all so I can make my writing better ~Jess

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 📝:

in which, Michael assumes that the girl who once loved him, won’t love him again (inspired by ‘How Much Longer?’ - Alexander 23)

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭’𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘷:

I couldn’t help but stare at her across the table at Amanda’s dinner, she broke up with me ages ago and she’s only at our dinners now ‘cause she does work with Amanda. 

ɪ ᴛʀʏ sᴏ ʜᴀʀᴅ

ᴅɪᴅ ɪ sᴄᴀʀᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀᴡᴀʏ?

I love her and I think that I will forever love her, I watch her as she laughs along with Jimmy at a joke, I assume, I wonder will she ever love me again. 

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴘɪɴᴋʏ ᴘʀᴏᴍɪsᴇ

ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ʙᴇ ᴡʜᴏ ʏᴏᴜ ғᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ

From what Amanda has been saying, apparently she has found someone new but apart of me hopes that’s not true.

ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪs ɴᴏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪ ᴡᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴅᴏ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ

ᴛᴏ ɢᴇᴛ ʙᴀᴄᴋ ᴛᴏ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴇ ʜᴀᴅ

I notice her and Viking clinking their glasses and cheering, 

I can’t be bothered to look at her being happy so I get up out of my seat.

ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴡᴀɪᴛ ᴜɴᴛɪʟ ғᴏʀᴇᴠᴇʀ

ɪғ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴏᴜʟᴅ ᴛᴀᴋᴇ ᴍᴇ, ʜᴇᴀʀᴛ ɪɴ ʜᴀɴᴅ

ᴀɴᴅ ʜᴏᴡ ᴍᴜᴄʜ ʟᴏɴɢᴇʀ ᴄᴀɴ ɪ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ʏᴏᴜ

ᴡʜᴇɴ, ʙᴀʙʏ, ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ʟᴏᴠᴇ ᴍᴇ ʙᴀᴄᴋ?

“Are you not eating anymore dinner Mikey?” Amanda asks me and everyone turns in my direction.

“No I’ve lost my appetite so I’ll just go home” I down my water and I put on my jacket, then I look in her direction once more although this time she was actually looking at me with a bright smile on her face.

#kin rte #kin bbc #charlie cox #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst

[mattmurdocksscars]

Bad Day

Hello, loves! This is a little (and I do mean little, just under 600 words) piece I wrote probably two months or so ago. Just decided I’d finally share it since there’s so little Mikey content out there! It’s completely self-indulgent! So, have some Mikey comforting you after a bad day!

Warnings: Depressive episode

Word Count: 597

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader

You wearily tracked Michael's movements from your spot on the bed, buried under a mountain of blankets. It had been one of those days for you and you were a little worried about how Michael would react. Previously when you'd had these days, the two of you hadn't been living together so you were able to hide just how bad it was. But now that the two of you cohabitated, there was no hiding. Not from him.

Michael's footsteps sounded up the stairs and he walked quietly into your shared bedroom. You watched as he looked you over before quietly walking over and sitting next to you. With one gentle hand, he cupped your cheek and swept his thumb back and forth.

"Bad day, love?" He asked, already knowing the answer. Yet you still nodded for him. He hummed softly and leaned forward, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

"Lemme get changed and I'll lay with ya, alright?" He waited until you nodded again to get up and begin undressing. There was nothing sexual about it, both of you knowing this wasn't going anywhere, and when he climbed into bed behind you, he was only wearing his underwear. It allowed for the warm expanse of his skin to press against your body and you hummed in muted delight. He wrapped one arm around you and let the other trail up and down your arm.

"Do ya wanna talk about it?" He whispered and when you shook your head in denial, he nodded behind you.

"Alright, pet. I've got ya now." His words had the same effect a bomb would, your emotions barreling past the wall you'd tried to build up. Tears ran unchecked down your cheeks as you sobbed and Michael just held you closer. 

"I'm sorry, I don't know-"

"Hush, love. Ye've got nothin to apologize fer." Michael gently scolded, his hand pausing to squeeze before continuing its back and forth motion on your arm. Michael let you cry everything out, holding you close and whispering sweet nothings to you. He told you how strong you were, how much he loved you, how he was so proud of you. Every sweet word was a balm on your broken soul and you hoped he would always feel this way.

When you'd finally calmed down, Michael gently turned you over and wiped away your tears. You felt a little embarrassed, you had broken down over seemingly nothing after all, but Michael must have noticed because he immediately corrected you.

"Ya have nothin to be embarrassed about, love." He hesitated for a second before asking quietly, "Is it always this bad? Have ya been hidin this from me?"

And you instantly feel bad at his words and the look on his face. You duck your head and nod.

"I… yes. Sometimes it's not so bad but most of the time, it's like this. Like… a heavy weight on me that I can't shake off and I just feel useless. I didn't tell you because I didn't want you to worry…" You admitted quietly. Michael slipped a hand under your chin and coaxed you to look up at him. There was a look of determination on his face that you'd never seen before and you sucked in a sharp breath. 

"Ya never have to hide somethin like this from me, pet. I'm here fer ya. Okay?" You blinked up at Michael, in awe of his acceptance. You swallowed hard.

"I'll try, Mikey. I promise I'll try."

And that was all he'd ever ask of you.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella comfort #michael kinsella angst

[lene-loki]

Hello guys!!

I'm planning on finishing my newest Matt Imagine by saturday maybe even tomorrow and I can't wait for y'all to read it 🥺 I hope you love it as much as I love writing it ❤️

#marvel #mcu #marvel mcu #angst #imagine #charlie cox #daredevil #matt murdock #kin #mcu fanfiction #foggy nelson #karen page #matthew murdock #matthew michael murdock #michael kinsella #kin amc #matt murdock x reader #michael kinsella x reader

[shiorimakibawrites]

Fan Fiction Recommendations

Not an exhaustive list, mostly just what I could think of off the top of my head. Likely to be edited later with further additions.

All of these are currently x Reader.

Key

🔥Smut

❤️‍🩹Hurt/Comfort

🧸Fluff

🌶️Spicy

💦Angst

🐌Slow-Burn

🗡️Danger

@bellaxgiornata

Falling for the Devil (Matt Murdock 🧸❤️‍🩹🔥)

Seeking Forgiveness (Matt Murdock❤️‍🩹💦🧸)

The Devil at Your Window (Matt Murdock🧸❤️‍🩹)

Break the Tension (Matt Murdock🌶️)

You've Been Gone So Long, Baby (Matt Murdock💦❤️‍🩹)

Keep Coming Back To You (Matt Murdock💦🐌🗡️)

Acquaintances (Matt Murdock💦❤️‍🩹)

Right Here, Right Now (Matt Murdock🔥)

Distracted (Matt Murdock🧸❤️‍🩹)

Under the Weather (Matt Murdock❤️‍🩹🧸)

You're Safe With Me (Frank Castle 💦🗡️🐌)

Safe Haven (Michael Kinsella🐌🗡️🧸❤️‍🩹💦🌶️)

She Lit A Fire (Michael Kinsella🧸💦❤️‍🩹🌶️)

I Can’t Lose You (Michael Kinsella💦❤️‍🩹🔥)

First Thing in the Morning (Michael Kinsella🔥)

New Jeans (Michael Kinsella🌶️)

Keep Me Warm (Michael Kinsella🔥)

The Christmas Morning Surprise (Michael Kinsella🔥🧸)

Forbidden Love (Henry the Vampire🔥🗡️💦🧸)

@loveroftoomanyfandoms

Cooking Up Love (Matt Murdock AU 🐌❤️‍🩹🧸)

Sweet on You (Matt Murdock AU🐌🧸❤️‍🩹 )

It’s Always Been You - Reader’s Version (Michael Kinsella❤️‍🩹🔥)

It’s Always Been You - Michael’s Version (Michael Kinsella ❤️‍🩹🔥)

It’s Always Been Us (❤️‍🩹🔥🧸)

@chvoswxtch

Generous (Matt Murdock🧸🌶️)

The Bodyguard (Frank Castle🐌🗡️💦❤️‍🩹🌶️)

@mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment

A Work of Art (Matt Murdock 🧸)

Twelve Days of Christmas (Michael Kinsella 🧸) AO3 link

Luminarium (Henry the Vampire🐌🧸❤️‍🩹) AO3 link

Other

And Then I Met You by @souliebird (Matt Murdock 🐌🧸❤️‍🩹🌶️) - top of masterlist, pinned to top

Butterfly Effect by @farfromstrange (Michael Kinsella 💦🔥❤️‍🩹🧸)

#fan fiction recommendations #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #the punisher #frank castle x reader #kin rte #kin bbc #michael kinsella x reader #eat locals #henry the vampire x reader

[saintmurd0ck]

step aboard the saintmurd0ck express with a one-way ticket (multiple stops included) to see your favourites, across the world and across the galaxy! it may be a belated celebration, but it's a better time than never to unveil the newest subway station... connecting you to your dreams.

grab a ticket, sit tight and enjoy!

this will run from 12 AM AEST (10 AM EST) on September 24 for 1 week (closing on October 1) 💗

this is an 18+ event only, and anonymous asks/requests must abide by my request guidelines

To buy a ticket, please select your destination, choose a prompt, and decide who will meet you on the other side.

*Multiple stops and poly pairings are very welcome!

🚇 34th St-Hudson Yards: romantic confession

🚇 86th St: enemies to lovers

🚂 Atlantic City: domestic intimacy

🚈 Heuston Station, Dublin: i want you, so badly

✈️ Jedi Temple Hangar: folklore-inspired angst

characters include: matt murdock, frank castle, michael kinsella, charlie luciano, owen sleater, anakin skywalker

completed submissions | masterlist below

la douleur exquise - owen sleater x reader - 34th St-Hudson Yards and 86th St

all fired up - michael kinsella x reader - 86th St

glass ceiling - matt murdock x vigilante!reader - 86th St

#matt murdock #frank castle #michael kinsella #charlie luciano #owen sleater #anakin skywalker #daredevil #the punisher #star wars #boardwalk empire #matt murdock x reader #frank castle x reader #kin amc #michael kinsella x reader #charlie luciano x reader #owen sleater x reader #anakin skywalker x reader #x reader #events with saintmurd0ck #saintmurd0ck milestone celebration #all aboard the saintmurd0ck express

[yarrystyleeza]

𝐘𝐮𝐧𝐚'𝐬 𝟐𝟐𝐧𝐝 𝐁𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐡𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐒𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫!

Well, as the title suggests, I am turning 22 on January 30th (yes I can't believe it either), and it's a very very special number to me, I was obsessed with it since I was a kid—because of Taylor Swift's 22 of course (you have no idea how happy my inner child is now!).

However, I thought I should celebrate this very important event with you by hosting my second sleepover! (honestly I was planning to make this a double sleepover if I hit 300 followers before my birthday, but since I didn't, I really had to host a sleepover)

As usual, my sleepover will host games, questions, asks, and definitely, requests!!! <3

The sleepover will be a week long, from January 30th till February 6th, where you can submit asks and requests!

Note on prohibited things that I won't be doing or answering:

No nsfw/dirty asks, writing requests or questions, it's uncomfortable for me sometimes, and this is an all-ages-friendly celebration. No further elaboration, please respect this. <3

𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬:

Here's a list of the games we can play:

Kiss/Marry/Kill: you give me three characters and I will sort each one in one of these categories! (make it hard for me)

Would you rather: you give me two things/characters and I get to choose one that suits me better! (for example: night owl or early bird?)

Make an assumption: you literally make an assumption about me and I either prove it or deny it!

Never have I ever: you ask me about things I did or didn't do!

Exchanged Ships: basically, you give me a character that you find as my significant other, and I will give you a character in exchange and why I think it's the perfect character for you!

Random Q&A: you can ask me about anything, whether it's my favorite food or even what fabrics do I prefer to wear, ask whatever you want!

Girly Talks: just talk to me about any girly topic you want and we'll establish a good conversation! Let's talk about books or authors, favorite poetry pieces, maybe movies we loved in our childhood, or even your favorite outfits back when you were a 10 year old! Literally anything!

Rate My Music Taste: give me a song/artist and I will rate it from 1 (absolute flop) to 10 (total banger)! — (this is absolutely done just for fun).

I Wanna Write You A Song: start with a phrase and we will make a totally original song together in the reblogs!

Doodles: give me something simple to draw!

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬:

As for writing requests, I will be taking fluff/angst/violence (blood and gore—due to the nature of the characters I write for) x female!reader requests only. But of course you can request the prompt you desire. <3

As for the characters, here's a list of the fictional men that I would be writing for:

Matt Murdock/Daredevil

Foggy Nelson

Tristan Thorn

Michael Kinsella

Henry (from Eat Locals)

Daryl Dixon

(might consider writing for other Charlie Cox/Norman Reedus characters. example: Ian Hamilton, Owen Sleater, Scud, Murphy MacManus, etc.)

You can ask for prompt included in this list or ones you come up with yourself:

intimate moments / gestures that make me feel love / romantic rainy day prompts / gentle things that make me fall harder in love / fluffy comforting/sick dialogue prompts / lighthearted first kiss prompts / sparring prompts / forced proximity prompts / date prompts masterpost /

Note that I will be tagging the fic requests with #yuna's 22 birthday sleepover so they're easy to find, but they will be sorted in my main masterlist as regular requests! <3

tagging my moots to spread the word sorry for being a little too annoying hehe (and I tried to tag as much as possible but my memory is messing around with me I'm sorry if I forgot anyone): @v4leoftears @remonemo @fizanotfeeza @bunmurdock @bellaxgiornata @kal-0n @1988-fiend @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @floral-charlie-cat @farfromstrange @babygirlmurdock @mattmurdocksscars @itwasthereaminuteago @c-mrdck @xxeycisxx @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mindidjarin @little-miss-dilf-lover @shiorimakibawrites @tongueofcat @marytheweefrenchie @chvoswxtch @devilsmurdock @galaxies-and-moons-and-cox @acharliecoxedfan @folkloreandfall @murdocklorian @munsonownsmyass @abbyhaslongshorts @murc0ck @lazyxsquirrel @theradioactivespidergwen @xxdrixx @saintmurd0ck @softasawhisper @she-likesorchids @peterman-spideyparker @mattmurdocksstarlight @amberlynnmurdock @courtforshort15 @saltedlays @importantnightwerewolf @lene-loki

That's basically everything I have for my birthday sleepover, feel free to submit requests and games! Thank you for coming to my sleepover tonight! <3

#yarrystyleeza #yuna's sleepover #Yuna's 22nd Birthday Sleepover #matt murdock #daredevil #charlie cox #matt murdock x reader #michael kinsella #matt murdock x you #norman reedus #tristan thorn #tristan thorn x reader #daryl dixon #michael kinsella x reader #daryl dixon x reader #henry eat locals #sleepover #celebration #birthday party #Yomna's ask box #send asks #ask game #games

[loveroftoomanyfandoms]

Hello, I have a Michael Kinsella x reader request. Mikey and you are fighting because you want to start a family with Michael, but he thinks it's too dangerous because of the family business. You have to go away for a few days and you stay at a friend's house. You find out that you are pregnant, but are very afraid to tell Mikey.

Hi Nonny!

Thank you so much for the request -- hope you like it!

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Warnings/Tags: Smut, Angst, Fluff (this has everything, y'all), Pregnancy, another additional surprise at the end.

Word Count: ~2800

A/N: Trying my hand at writing in 2nd person and not using Y/N -- let me know how y'all like it!

"...Fuckin' hell, love, ya feel so fuckin' perfect," your boyfriend, Michael Kinsella, groaned as he drove his long, thick cock in and out of you. "Yer cunt's always so good fer me."

"Mikey, darlin'." You were so close to the edge of ecstasy and just needed that tiny little push to get you there. "Need it, love, please."

Michael groaned, his hips stuttering slightly. "Love ta hear ya beg for me, pet, such a good lass."

You sucked in a breath, willing to do just about anything at that point as long as Michael would let you come for a second time. "Please, Michael, please. Need yer cock, love, wan' ta feel it deep inside me."

Michael grabbed onto the headboard and drove into you even harder. "Gonna make sure ya remember who this cunt belongs ta while yer' away, who it is tha' makes ya feel this good."

You whimpered, digging your nails into the hair on his chest. He had already littered your chest and inner thighs with an array of love bites before eating you out so damn thoroughly that your legs were still shaking. "Yes, Mikey, love, give it ta me." 

Michael thrust so deep into you that you were sure that you'd feel his cock inside you for days -- which is what you supposed he was going for. "Wan' ya ta think about wha' it feels like ta have me inside ya, pet," he growled as he repeatedly slammed into you. "Fillin' ya up with me cum until it's fuckin' drippin' outta ya. Don't wan' ya ta so much as look a' another man while yer' gone."

"Fuck -- yes, Mikey, fuckin' ruin me, love," you moaned. "Fuck a wee one inta me, show everyone that I belong ta ya."

The thought of carrying Michael's child inside of you was enough to send you hurtling over the edge. "Michael --"

"Shit --" Michael groaned out your name as he slammed into you one last time, releasing rope after rope of his hot seed inside your quivering cunt.

He reached down to circle your clit with his thumb, prolonging your orgasm until you were shaking with oversensitivity.

You weakly pushed at his chest even as your greedy cunt milked his cock of every last drop of cum that had been offered to it.

Michael collapsed on top of you, his cock twitching inside you as it was spent. "Fuckin' hell," he breathed, turning his face to nuzzle your neck.

You hummed as his beard scratched deliciously against your sensitive skin. "Mmm."

Michael leaned up and eased his way out of you, pressing a kiss to your lips before laying at your side.

You turned to face him. You and Michael had been in the middle of a very important discussion about the future of your relationship when he had distracted you with sex. "Are we at least goin' ta talk about it?"

Michael shook his head. "There's nothin' ta talk about. I don' wan' another baby."

Your eyes welled with tears. The topic had been a point of contention between you and Michael for the past several months. As much as you loved Anna like she was your own, you wanted a biological child -- specifically with Michael, who had been staunchly refusing to even consider having another kid but wouldn't give you a reason why. "You don' wan' another baby, or you don' wan' a baby with me?"

Michael said your name mournfully. "Pet--"

You shook your head. "Don' ya 'pet' me, Michael Kinsella. I'm good enough ta keep in yer bed and ta tell that yer' not gonna let another man even so much as look a' me, but ya can' give me a reason why ya don' wan' ta marry or have a baby with me."

You climbed out of bed. "I have ta get ready ta go or else I'll miss my flight."

Michael followed you. "Wait, love--"

You pointed at him angrily. "Do not, Michael. I don' even wan' ta hear whatever half-arse excuse yer' tryin' ta come up with."

You slammed the bathroom door and locked it, and when you came out after taking a brief shower Michael was nowhere to be found. Instead there was a note on your bed in Michael's neat script. I'm sorry, love. Can we talk about it after you get back? I'll explain everything, I promise.

You sighed, the anger draining and leaving a deep sense of disappointment inside you. You knew Michael truly did love you -- getting married or having a baby together wouldn't change that.

You dressed then grabbed your phone off of the charger and sent Michael a message. Yes, we can talk when I get back.

A reply came immediately. Thank ya.

Where are ya?

You looked up as Michael appeared in the doorway. "I was givin' ya some space," he explained. "Wasn't sure if ya wanted ta tell me goodbye or not before ya left fer yer holiday."

You shook your head. "Of course I wouldn't leave without tellin' ya goodbye."

Michael walked over to you and wrapped his arms around you. "A month is too long ta have ta go without ya."

You nodded. "I'm sorry, love, but I promised Caitlin that I'd come visit her and it's been years since we saw each other in person."

"I know, I'm just gonna miss ya." Michael gave you a kiss. "Have a safe trip, darlin'. Call me when you get there?"

You nodded again. "I will, Mikey. And be careful while I'm gone, okay?"

"I will, pet."

A cab honked outside.

You grabbed your suitcase. "That's my ride. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Okay."

Michael helped you bring your suitcase downstairs and out to the waiting cab, then gave you one last kiss before you climbed into the cab and headed to the airport.

Your best friend squealed your name as she saw you come around the corner at Boston International airport.

She wrapped her arms around you in a hug. "Hi!"

You hugged her back. "Cait, it's so good ta see ya."

"It's good to see you too. How was your flight?"

"It wasn' tha' bad. I got ta rest on tha plane, a' least."

You had met Caitlin in college when she had done a semester abroad in Ireland and had become immediate friends, staying in touch through everything life had thrown at the two of you.

Caitlin gave you a knowing smile. "Your hot Irishman been keeping you up at night?"

You grinned. One of the wonderful things about Caitlin was that the two of you could talk about literally anything. "He definitely kept me up this mornin', tha's fer sure."

Caitlin huffed out a laugh as you headed out towards her car. "Get it, girl."

You shook your head. You'd tell her about the rest of it over a glass of wine later. "So, how are things with ya?"

Caitlin snorted. "Well, the dating life is dryer than the Sahara desert, but at least work is going well."

She grinned. "I sold 2 more full manuscripts and another one just based on a synopsis."

You gasped. "Cait, tha's amazin'!"

Caitlin nodded in appreciation. "Thank you, thank you. Gotta actually write that one now, but hey, it's a good problem to have."

"I'm so proud of ya."

Caitlin smiled. "So tell me more about Mr. Perfect."

You shook your head with a chuckle. "Oh he's far from perfect. We actually had a big row right before I left."

Caitlin's face dropped. "Oh no, what happened?"

You shook your head as you loaded your suitcase in the backseat and the two of you got into her car. "I tried bringin' up maybe havin' a baby but he flat-out refused, no explanation, no discussin' it, nothin'. And then when I pressed him about it he distracted me with sex -- fuckin' phenomenal sex, but still, he said tha' there was nothin' ta discuss. He avoids the topic of marriage too -- we were talking with his cousin tha other day and he said somethin' about Michael makin' an honest woman outta me and Michael jus' froze and changed tha subject."

You sighed. "He acts all jealous and possessive sometimes -- and I don' mean in a bad way, like he's never threatened me or accused me of anythin', it's more like he likes ta mark me up durin' sex and talk about how I'm his -- but yet he completely avoids all talk of commitment."

Caitlin frowned. "Do you think he's afraid of commitment?"

"I don' know. Maybe it's jus' me tha' he doesn't want ta commit ta." You shook your head. "Anyway, we had a row, then I left ta go shower and get ready fer my flight, and when I came back out of tha ensuite there was a note on tha bed apologizin' and askin' if we could talk about it after I got back from my holiday."

"Well that's something, at least."

You shook your head again. "Yeah, if he actually decides ta talk instead of jus' distractin' me again."

You powered your phone up. "Actually, I promised Michael I'd let him know when I arrived. Let me do tha'."

You sent Michael a text. Arrived in Boston. Caitlin and I are on our way to her flat.

A few seconds later, your phone chimed with a reply. Okay. Love ya.

Love ya too. Have a good night.

You put your phone back in your pocket. 

Caitlin looked over at you. "So what are you going to do if Michael doesn't want to commit?"

You sighed. "I don' know. I wan' a child, but if he doesn't then I guess I'll have ta give up tha' dream."

Caitlin shook her head. "I'm sorry. I know you always wanted to be a mom."

"Don' get me wrong, I love Anna, but I guess I don' really feel like she's mine. She's always been sweet ta me, but it's definitely been in more of a stepmum kind of way rather than a mum mum kind of way." You took a deep breath. "Michael isn't even tha' close ta her, ta be honest."

Caitlin reached over and patted your arm. "Well, no worrying about all that while you're here. We're going to catch up and see the sights and have fun and drink cheap wine like back in our college days."

You huffed out a laugh. "Exactly." Nothing was going to ruin your holiday.

"Ugh, why does my body hate me?" you bemoaned three weeks later. You had been feeling tired and ill for the past couple of days and had barely moved from Caitlin's sofa. "It's all this American food ya been feedin' me. Even my tits hurt."

Caitlin chuckled sympathetically. "I have some Tylenol in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom, want me to get it for you?"

You waved her off and got up. "Nah, tha's alright. I'll grab it. I have ta wee again anyway."

You walked into Caitlin's bathroom and opened her medicine cabinet, grabbing the bottle of acetaminophen.

You froze as something caught your eye. "Cait? What's today's date?"

"The 18th, why?"

You stared at the box of tampons as you did some mental math. "Oh, fuck. Oh no. Oh no, no no no..."

An hour later you sat on Caitlin's sofa, a positive pregnancy test in your hands. You had been staring at the word pregnant for the past ten minutes. Pregnant. I'm pregnant. How could I have been so forgetful?

You had made a calendar note in your phone to give yourself your birth control injection every three months but had somehow missed the last one, which was supposed to have been almost two months ago, and it wasn't like you and Michael had exactly been careful otherwise.

You were torn between sheer terror and absolute elation. Michael had made it explicitly clear that he didn't want any more children, but you already felt fiercely protective of the life growing inside you.

"Are you okay?" Caitlin asked gently.

You blinked up at her. "What the fuck am I going ta do? Michael is goin' ta be so angry -- he's goin' ta think I got pregnant on purpose." 

You let out a shaky breath. "I don' wan' ta lose him, Cait, but I don' wan' ta lose this child either."

"Well you're going to have to tell him eventually, and maybe even make a decision between the two of them." Caitlin squeezed your hand. "No matter what you decide though, I'm here for you 100%."

You wrapped your arms around Caitlin in a hug. "Thanks, Cait."

You had a big decision to make.

Michael, we need ta talk, you recited to yourself as you walked up the driveway to your and Michael's shared home. There's something important I have ta tell ya.

You had kept in touch with Michael the entire time you were gone, of course, but there was no way you were going to tell him that you were pregnant over the phone.

You stepped inside and gasped. 

LED candles and rose petals lined the entryway, making a red carpet leading to the stairwell.

Michael stood at the end of it, a single white rose in his hand. "Hi, love," he said.

You blinked at him. "Hi."

He approached you. "I need ta tell ya something."

You opened your mouth to say "okay" but what came out was "I'm pregnant."

Michael froze. "Wha' did you just say?"

You grimaced. That definitely wasn't how you had planned on breaking the news to him. "I said I'm pregnant."

"How long?"

"Probably six weeks or so? I just found out a couple of days ago though, I hadn't been feeling well and I thought it was something I had ate, but then I realized my cycle was late, and I --" You faltered at the unreadable expression on Michael's face and looked down at the floor. "I realized I had missed my injection, but I didn't mean ta, Mikey. I wasn't tryin' ta get pregnant, I swear ta ya."

Your eyes welled with tears. "I understand if yer' angry with me, but I want ta keep this baby. I won' expect ya ta be responsible for it or anythin', so ya don' have ta worry about me comin' after ya for support --"

"Yer' leavin' me?" 

You looked up at Michael in surprise, his broken tone shattering both your heart and your resolve. "No, no, I -- I just figured ya wouldn't wan' me now since ya made it clear tha' ya don' wan' another baby."

"It's not tha' I don' want a child with ya, love, I --" Michael shook his head. "Here, come sit with me."

He led you over to the sofa.

You sat, watching him as he gathered his thoughts. 

He took a deep breath. "The reason I told ya I didn' wan' another baby is because my work -- my life is dangerous, and I don' wan' ta put anyone else in harm's way. I've already lost Jamie ta this life and I almost lost Anna because of it, I don' wan' ta lose another child."

Your heart broke for him. "Mikey…"

Michael shook his head. "However, I've had a lot of time ta think over tha past month and I've decided tha' my fear of losing another child is not worth losing you over."

He slid off of the sofa and got down on one knee.

You reeled back. "Michael, wha' tha fuck are ya doin'?"

He took your hand in his and reached into his pants pocket. "Somethin' I shoulda done long ago."

He pulled out a ring. "I actually bought this tha day after our first date. I knew right then tha' I wanted ta spend tha rest of my life with ya, I've just been waitin' fer tha right time ta give it ta ya."

He breathed out your name. "Will ya marry me, love?"

You nodded, tears springing to your eyes once again. "Yes, yes, of course, Mikey, I love ya so much."

Michael slid the ring onto your finger and gave you a kiss. "I love ya too."

He sat back on the sofa and pulled you into his lap, his hand creeping under your shirt to caress your stomach. "So, yer' carryin' my child in there, hmm?"

You giggled. "Yeah, if the very clear 'pregnant' on the test I took at Caitlin's was any indication."

He stood and carried you towards the stairs. "Maybe we should go try again, jus' ta make sure."

#lotmf writes #michael kinsella x female reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella x reader #kin amc #writing request fill

[peterman-spideyparker]

Cheesy Hash (Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader)

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

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

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

Other Characters: None

Word Count: 990

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

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

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

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

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

“Good morning, Michael.”

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

“Mm, I get breakfast, too?”

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

“Ooh, scandalous, Mikey.“

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

“Surprise me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mm, so sexy.

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

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

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

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

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

“I like that idea.”

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

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

“And if I don’t?”

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

“Wow.”

“What?”

“You really meant all weekend.”

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

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

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

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

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

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#michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x fem!reader #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella x reader fluff #michael kinsella x fem!reader fluff #michael kinsella fanfic #michael kinsella fanfiction #kin amc #charlie cox

[bellaxgiornata]

Safe Haven [Chapter Seventeen]

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.9k [Series Masterlist]

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

a/n: Finally y'all get the other part of the night after that meeting with Birdy, Frank, and Jimmy! 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 @harperdoodle @kmc1989 @danzer8705 @mattys-rat1989 @kezibear

Arms wrapped tight over your chest, you began to make your way down the drive as the bitter wind blew around you. Behind you, you heard the sound of Michael closing Birdy's front door before his heavy footsteps soon caught up with you along the pavement. Your anticipation of an angry outburst from him only rose with each thump of his boots, the hammering of your heart pounding in sync with them. 

“What were ya thinkin’ goin’ out like that alone, Grace?” Michael hissed out between his teeth as he fell in step beside you. “D'ya have any idea how reckless that was? How close ya could've been to gettin’ yourself killed tonight?”

You blew out a rough breath in frustration, your eyes focused on your own feet as you walked. Of course you were aware of how stupid and dangerous it had been for you to meet that Serpent alone, but you hadn't really had another option. And it certainly wasn't like you wanted to go to that meeting, either. 

Glancing over your shoulder, you took in the sight of Michael beside you. Despite the way the tension had eased from his body and the way the fire had mostly left his eyes once he'd gotten away from his family, you could still see the fear and anger lingering in them as the lights from the Garda car parked farther down the street lit him in a wash of blue and red. 

“Of course I damn well know that it was dangerous,” you told him. “But I didn't have a choice. He knows who I am. And not only that, but Birdy was the one to see him leaving the letter to meet him in my sister’s letterbox , Michael. Meaning he knows where both her and I live. What was I supposed to do?” you asked, irritation in your own voice. “Was I just supposed to ignore the letter and put my sister in danger? Because that seemed like the far more reckless and stupid option.”

“No, I wouldn't expect ya to just ignore it,” he snapped back, stuffing his hands into his jacket pockets. “But ya saw me before ya were headin’ out. Ya should’ve damn well said somethin’ to me! Ya shouldn't have dealt with this alone!” 

“It was my problem to deal with!” you snapped back, keeping your voice low so as not to draw attention from the Garda. “I didn't come to Dublin expecting help with my situation! And I'm sure as shit glad I didn't say anything to you because I'm sure that Serpent would've happily shot you on sight if you'd come with me tonight!”

Michael loosed an irritated grunt at your words as he followed you up your sister’s drive. Her car was parked in front of the house and the sight of it shot a pang of guilt through you. You'd told her you were going out to work at a coffee shop before her shift at the hospital ended, and that had been quite awhile ago now. With everything that had happened tonight, you'd forgotten to let her know that you were alright. She was probably worried about you by now, wondering what coffee shop was open quite this late at night.

“I can take care of myself,” Michael said, his tone sharp. “It isn't your job to look out for me.”

Your teeth grit together as your hand dug into your pants pocket, feeling for the key to Megan's house as the pair of you approached the front door. As much as you'd felt safe with Michael lately, your situation wasn't his to take on. Especially with what he already had going on with his family and his health. You weren't going to dump your problems onto him, too.

“Well it isn't your job to look out for me, either,” you shot back. “I'd been doing just–just fine on my own for years, Michael. I don't need you or your family risking your lives for me.” Your hand shook as you inserted the key into the lock, intentionally keeping your focus away from him. “I don't need anymore people’s lives weighing on my conscience.”

You twisted the door handle with more roughness than necessary, pushing the door open and eager for a chance to get away from Michael’s wrath for the night. You just wanted to end this shitty day already, but his hand darted out and grabbed you by the wrist, halting you in place on the front step. Your head turned sharply in his direction, prepared to tell him to leave you alone tonight, but the unexpected softness on his face immediately gave you pause. 

“Grace, I–”

“Oh my God ,” Megan's voice rang through the house, cutting Michael clean off. “You've been gone for hours! Where the hell have you been? I was starting to get–”

Megan appeared around the corner from the kitchen and immediately stopped dead in her tracks when she saw you. Her eyes darted from you to Michael and then straight to the bandage on your forehead. Her mouth fell open as her eyes grew wide.

“What the hell happened?” she asked you. Her panicked gaze shifted to Michael before you could even answer as she roughly demanded, “What the hell happened to her? Why is she coming home with a bandage?”

“Nothing to worry yourself about,” you grumbled as you stepped into the house, slipping loose from Michael’s grasp before you began to take off your boots. “So leave him out of it.”

Out of the corner of your eye you saw Megan’s face contort into something stern as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her hardened stare fixed on Michael as he stepped inside the house a moment later, closing the door softly behind himself. Inwardly you braced yourself for another outburst–this time from your sister. 

“Like hell I'm leaving him out of this!” she exclaimed, throwing a hand in his direction. “I’m not stupid, Grace. I know you weren’t at a coffee shop writing tonight. You don’t even have your laptop with you! And then you come home late with a bandage on your forehead that I damn well know wasn’t there the last time I saw you! So what the hell is going on? How’d you get hurt? And one of you better fucking answer me with the damn truth!”

“A low ranking Serpent discovered who I actually am,” you said with a sigh, pulling your last boot off of your foot. “He left a message for me to meet with him tonight in the letterbox. Birdy saw him. I didn’t exactly have a choice to not go considering what he already knew. I didn't want to worry or involve you which is why I said I’d be at the coffee shop.”

Megan immediately sucked in a sharp breath, her entire body freezing. For a moment the only sound was Michael behind you, slowly taking his own boots off. Apparently he wasn’t done reprimanding you for the evening.

“So does that mean you need to leave again? Find somewhere new to hide?” she breathed out, her body still stiff. “Is he telling the entire charter? Is Victor on his way?”

You shook your head, running a tired hand along your forehead, careful to avoid the wounded side of it. Everything was finally beginning to catch up to you from today, your body starting to feel completely exhausted from all the stress and fear. You just wanted to collapse on your bed and maybe–if you were lucky–fall into a dreamless sleep where you could forget about absolutely everything for just a short while.

“I’m not leaving, not just yet,” you assured her, brushing past her and making your way down the hall to the sitting room. “He’s after something else and he’s just trying to threaten me with calling in Victor for now.”

“And is that supposed to make me feel any better?” she asked, following closely on your heels. “What could he possibly want from you?”

You sunk into the cushions of the sofa, your body aching as you did. As your attention shifted towards your sister, you spotted Michael entering the room just over her shoulder. He leant against the doorframe to the sitting room, hanging his head almost shamefully as he stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets.

“Me,” Michael muttered. “He wants me.”

Megan’s brows arched up onto her forehead in surprise, her head turning over her shoulder to focus on Michael curiously. 

“I can’t give ya any details–family business and all,” he explained, his voice quiet. “But he’s after me. It’s my fault he’s after your sister, that he even knows who she is.”

Your brows furrowed in confusion as you shook your head. “No, that’s not true,” you disagreed. “He’s after me because of my psychotic ex. This has nothing to do with you.”

Michael’s head rose, his sad eyes meeting yours from across the room. The frustration you’d felt towards him a few minutes ago quickly dissipated at the sight of the pain visible on his face.

“But he was the one tailin’ us after I took ya out for coffee, wasn’t he? That’s how he found out ‘bout ya, isn’t it?” Michael pressed. “He was after me and found ya in the process. So it's my fault he knows who ya really are.”

You pulled a face immediately, your mouth opening to counter his argument. But Megan held out her hands, the gesture quieting both of you.

“Let's not turn this into a battle of who's to blame,” she said, turning her focus back on you. “So the problem stands that someone in the nearby charter knows you’re Victor’s ex and that you’re here. What the hell is being done about that? Because I’m guessing you’re not about to give up your boyfriend to the MC.”

“He’s not my boyfriend,” you corrected her, your cheeks heating as you avoided Michael’s stare. “And yes, something is being figured out. Like I said, you don’t need to worry about anything right now. I’ll handle it, okay? But honestly after tonight, all I want to do is go to sleep. I’m fucking tired and I just…don’t want to think anymore. It’s late.”

“Fine,” Megan relented. “But are you okay?”

“Yes,” you assured her.

Megan’s eyes narrowed at you before she turned, focusing on Michael across the room. She threw a thumb in your direction and you rolled your eyes when she spoke.

“Is she really alright?” she asked him.

“Took a good hit to the head with the butt of a gun,” he told her, pausing when Megan let out a hiss. “But I think she’s alrigh’ despite that. Though I…was plannin’ on offerin’ to stay the night here if ya didn’t mind, Megan. Sleep on the sofa down here just to make sure that Serpent doesn’t show back up in the middle of the night or anythin’.” A sheepish smile crossed his lips as he added quietly, “I’d feel better knowin’ ya weren’t both here alone.”

“You know, I’d probably actually feel better if you stayed here too after finding all this out,” Megan told him. “So it’s fine by me. I can try to find some more comfortable pillows–”

“What’s there is already fine,” he assured her. “I don’t need anythin’ more, really.”

“Okay, well,” Megan began awkwardly, her eyes darting between you and Michael as she took a step back towards the staircase. “I’ll just go get ready for bed now that you’re finally home safe. I’ve got another early shift in the morning tomorrow.”

Michael nodded his head, smiling at her and murmuring a soft ‘goodnight.’ You watched as your sister made her way quietly up the stairs, shooting you a curious last glance over her shoulder before she disappeared from sight. And then it was just you and Michael in the room.

A silence fell over the pair of you as he remained standing over by the sitting room entrance. Your gaze fell to your hands nervously fidgeting in your lap, aware of the weight of the gun in your jacket pocket once again. Most likely in a few days you’d have to use it. And you certainly hoped you could, when the time came for it.

“I think I’m just going to head to bed,” you eventually said, breaking the silence when it started to feel suffocating. 

“Alrigh’,” Michael replied softly.

For the second time this evening you felt your stomach sink to your feet as you rose from the sofa. You were certain you’d somehow gone and messed things up with Michael when you’d lied to him about where you were going earlier and he’d found out. He'd certainly seemed pissed at you for that.

But maybe that’s for the best, you told yourself as you made your way up the stairs. Maybe I shouldn’t get attached. If I need to run again soon, feelings would just make that harder.

Gasping for air, you woke up with a cold sheen of sweat covering your skin. Your eyes flew around the mostly darkened bedroom as you tried to orient yourself while your heart thundered away in your chest. Fear spiking within you at the lingering memory of his voice in your ear, you swore you could feel the cold blade of a knife pressed to your stomach. 

Feeling like the bedsheets themselves were trying to hold you down, you began wildly flailing in an attempt to throw them off of you, swinging your arms and feet as you tried to free yourself. A few tears slipped out of your eyes as you did, your panicked mind still replaying threats on repeat.

It was a few moments before you’d finally untangled yourself from the sheets, scrambling backwards against the headboard and sitting upright. Your chest was heaving as you tried to catch your breath, the back of your hand running along your sweat-dampened forehead gently.

“Just a nightmare,” you whispered to yourself. “Not real. He’s not here.”

But he’s looking for you. And this time he’s probably going to do more than add another scar if he finds you.

Bottom lip rolling between your teeth, your right hand reached down, sliding the hem of your shirt upwards a little. You lightly brushed your fingertips over the three gashes on your abdomen that had scarred over. A brand to your skin that you’d never be able to remove, permanently marking you as his . A strangled noise slipped out of you and you clamped your teeth down harder, trying to quiet the sound.

“Grace?”

You audibly gasped as your head spun towards the sound of your name, your pulse speeding at the fear of an intruder. But in the faint light filtering in past your curtains, you could make out the sight of Michael standing halfway in the doorway, a look of concern etched across his features.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle ya,” he whispered. “Just thought I heard somethin’ from downstairs and I figured I’d make sure things were alright’.”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, quickly lowering your shirt. “Just had a bad dream but I’m fine.”

The bedroom door swung open just a bit wider and you watched as Michael stepped slowly into the bedroom. The corners of your lips curved downwards as you continued to try to calm your breathing. If he was up here to lecture you again, you certainly weren’t interested in hearing it.

“D’ya wanna talk ‘bout it?” he offered. 

“No,” you answered simply.

Michael nodded, taking another hesitant step into the bedroom and closing the door partially behind himself as he did. His other hand ran over the back of his neck as he ducked his head. You watched him wordlessly, drawing your legs up towards your chest.

“‘M’sorry ‘bout the way I went off on ya earlier,” he whispered. “I shouldn’t have done that. Ya were scared and tryin’ to do what ya thought was right. But ya…ya scared me, if I’m bein’ honest.”

Your tongue darted out, licking your lips nervously. That was not what you’d expected to hear him say after the way things had played out earlier. 

“If somethin’ had happened to ya–especially because o’ me–I don't think I could forgive myself,” he murmured, shifting back and forth on his feet as he focused on the bedroom floor. 

“I told you already, it wasn't your fault,” you replied.

“Except it is,” he stated firmly, glancing up at you through the darkness. “That Serpent is lookin’ for a way to get to me. To kill me . And unfortunately you're gettin’ dragged into all my shit because of the things I did. And I can't forgive myself for that.” 

You hugged your arms around your knees, guilt flooding you as you pulled them tighter to your chest. You realized that he had probably reacted the way he had tonight because of the accident which had resulted in his ex-wife's passing. Something he didn't know you knew about yet. It made sense then why he was so determined to protect you, and why he refused to let you be the one to take the risk killing the Serpent. He didn’t want your death on his conscience, either. Because it was apparent he'd find a way to blame himself for it no matter what. 

“How about we both agree this mess is a combination of both of our problems?” you suggested quietly. 

“I would, but the difference is that I actually did things to deserve to be in this mess,” Michael told you. “Whereas ya didn't do anythin’ to deserve the fuckin’ shitty situation your ex has put ya in.”

“Okay,” you said, shooting him a sad smile, “I think I agree with what Megan said earlier. Let's not play the blame game. Pointing fingers at ourselves won't change the situation anyway.”

“Mmm,” Michael hummed. “I s'pose ya got a point.”

Another silence fell between the pair of you, though this one was vastly less uncomfortable than the previous one in the sitting room. You chewed your lip nervously as Michael stood beside your bed, his eyes clearly focused on you through the dark. His presence was beginning to soothe you the longer he stayed and you soon found yourself not wanting him to go back downstairs. Especially not after that nightmare. Despite your better judgment, you found yourself wanting to ask for what you really wanted for once. 

“Can I…ask you a favor?” you whispered. 

“Always,” Michael replied immediately. 

Eyes falling down towards the bed, one of your hands dropped down to your side. Nervously your fingers fidgeted with the sheets, twisting them as you tried to find the courage to ask him to stay here with you. Part of you knew it was safer and smarter to stop letting him get closer to you, especially with danger already looming on the horizon. But the other part of you craved the comfort he always somehow managed to bring you, something you hadn't felt in a long time. 

“Could you maybe…stay with me?” you asked, shyly looking back up at him. “Just for tonight?”

“O’course,” he answered. “I'm here whenever ya need me.”

Michael made his way around the foot of the bed, your eyes following his form through the darkness as he did. You saw him pull something out of the waistband at the back of his jeans, realizing a moment later it was the gun he'd had earlier. He set it onto the nightstand before he turned, adjusting the rumpled mess you'd made of the sheets on the bed and pulling them back up before he climbed onto the mattress himself. 

You began to slide back down along the headboard, rolling onto your side towards him and slipping back beneath the sheets. As he settled onto the mattress next to you, he turned onto his side, facing you in return. A bit of moonlight crept in just around the edge of your curtains, a thin ray of it illuminating part of his face in all the blackness. The corners of his lips were curved upwards just the faintest bit.

“Didn't think ya would want me with ya tonight,” Michael murmured.

Your stomach fluttered at his words and the position you'd found yourself in with him. Both of you were barely half a foot apart from each other now, eyes locked on one another. You could feel the warmth of his body radiating off of him and heating you beneath the sheets. Your hand clutched tighter to your pillow as you fought the urge to wrap it around him and pull yourself closer to him instead, desperate for connection.

“You make me feel safe,” you confessed, the words falling out of your mouth before you could stop them. “And less alone. For the first time in a long time.”

Gradually Michael’s hand slipped up out of the sheets, reaching out towards you and gently landing on your cheek. His fingertips lightly brushed away a few strands of hair before they affectionately began to lightly stroke your skin. You could feel your heart beating harder in your chest under his touch, the sound of it loud to your own ears. Your skin was beginning to heat beneath his fingers and your own only curled tighter around your pillowcase.

“Ya do the same for me, pet,” he whispered back.

Your breath caught in your throat at his words. You hadn't expected him to tell you that. You also hadn't expected it to feel so good to hear him tell you that, either.

Michael shifted on the bed, sliding closer to you as his palm cradled your cheek. Your eyelids fluttered shut the moment you felt his soft lips press a lingering kiss to your forehead. A warm, pleasant sensation felt like it was racing up your spine the longer his mouth remained pressed against your forehead. It was a feeling that felt a lot like safety and acceptance.

Without thinking, your hand released the pillow and darted out, wrapping its way around Michael as your fingers clutched at his back. You drew your body in tight against his, raising your head from the pillow as you did. Michael’s lips faltered along your forehead at the movement, but you quickly caught his lips with yours in his brief surprise.

He didn’t pull away or hesitate. Instead, his own mouth molded itself to yours, his hand sliding its way down your cheek and resting along your neck, pulling you in closer to him to deepen the kiss. He kissed you back with such intensity that your fingers fisted his shirt in your grasp, your mind going blank to everything except how good this moment felt. How good he made you feel.

But unfortunately the kiss ended far sooner than you'd have liked.

Michael pulled away only a fraction from you, the tip of his nose affectionately brushing the tip of yours. You could just make out the little smile on his lips in the dark, the sight almost leaving you as breathless as that kiss had.

“For what it's worth,” he whispered, thumb caressing the line of your jaw tenderly, “I'm glad ya found yourself here in Dublin.”

Your hand released the tight grip on his shirt, sliding its way up from out of the sheets and up towards his face. Your own fingertips gently toyed with the dark hairs of his beard, your eyes watching the smile on his face grow wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners. What you wouldn’t give to always see him smile like that. 

“I'm glad I found you,” you whispered back. 

For however long I can have you.

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella #kin bbc

[siampie]

Finding You||Chapter 2

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3 k

Warnings/tags: pinning, childhood trauma, eldest daughter syndrome, mention of emotional abuse.

A/N: Enjoy this chapter, you guys. I don’t have much to say about this chapter. Apart from the fact that there’s some set up for Reader’s own story.  

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Tag list: @marytheweefrenchie, @sunflowersandsapphires, @schneeflocky, @danzer8705, @shouldbestudying41,

@beezusvreeland

Dividers by @cafekitsune

I have to talk to you, call me.

That was all what your sister;Mary;had texted you. She had sent it last night while you were sleeping. You couldn’t call her that morning. Not being in the same time zone made communication between you difficult but not impossible. It had also triggered your anxiety. What did she want to talk about? Maybe it was nothing too important. You were trying to convince yourself. A feeble attempt to calm your nerves.

Still, you were anxious. You usually called one another on the week-ends. And you never asked to call. It was never a thing. That she went out of her way to ask you to call was strange and worrisome. So being in a different time zone than your sister, you waited for your lunch break to call her.

“So, how’s life in Dublin?” You sister asked you once she picked up the call. You stood outside of the building. Your sister was finishing feeding her son his breakfast as you were calling her.

“Good.” You answered quickly. “How’s the little one?” You knew what she was doing, she was stalling. Whatever she had to say must be really bad if she felt the need to stall. So, you played into it. But the fact that she was stalling only spiked your anxiety levels.

“He’s growing up.” She said, you could hear the smile in her voice. Your sister had always wanted to be a mother and after years of trying with her partner, she became one to a healthy little boy. You were happy for her. “But it always seems like he’s trying to get himself killed.”

You snorted. “It seems like he’s failing so far.” You heard the clatter of utensils on the line. “Why did you want me to call?”

“Oh, boy!” You sister let out a long breath. “It’s about mom.”

“What about her?” You let out a shaky breath.

“Dave may have told her where you live. Giving her your address and everything.” Mary told you.

Dave was your brother. You did not have a good relationship with him. You didn’t hate him but he had failed to show up anytime you asked for his help. While you showed up each and every single time. And he sometimes had the audacity to blame you for being ungrateful for all that he was doing for you. You could not be grateful for something he had never done or that he done once in a blue moon. Whereas he failed to see all the times you had helped him.

He had not been in favor of your moving away. Judging that the money that your father had left you, should be shared amongst you. Because that was what your father would have wanted; for you to share the money equally. But you had refused. You were going to but the fact he suggested the idea. No, not suggested. Demanded that you do it, had made you decide otherwise. You chose to enjoy the money your father had left for you. Mary and Matthew had found it natural that your father would leave that money to you. You had earned it for all the sacrifices you had made for them.

After all, your sacrifices had allowed them to move out, to live their lives. It had allowed them to fall in love and build their own home and family. While you remained behind, taking care of your father, and maybe wasting your life away. They knew what you had done for them. And all they wanted was for you to finally be happy. This money was your reward. And you could do with it as you pleased.

You felt your anger flared up in your veins. You took a deep breath before you spoke. Trying to leave the anger out of your tone. Your sister was not the one who betrayed your trust. She was only the messenger. And you didn’t want to yell at her. Not at your sister.

“What the hell did he do that for?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “All he said was that mom asked and he saw no reason not to tell her.”

“Look, I get why all of you want a relationship with her. I do. But I told you, I don’t want to have a relationship with the woman.” You reminded her.

“I know that.” Mary reassured you. “And Matt knows that. And so does Dave. And honestly, I don’t know why he did that. But you’re in Ireland. She’s not gonna show up on your doorstep. You really think she’s gonna waste money on you?”

“No, I don’t think she will.” You replied, leaning on the wall behind you. “Still, I don’t want her to know where I am. She’s still with that prick, isn’t she?”

“They’ve been together for twenty years. And there’s no sign of a separation. They are more in love than ever.”

You scoffed. “Of course they are.”

“Listen, I don’t think they are gonna come and find you in Ireland. And why would they?” Mary tried to comfort you.

“To stir shit up.” You replied.

“I think she genuinely wants to have a relationship with you. And I know, you don’t. And Dave was wrong to give her your address.” Mary kept on. “I don’t think she’s going to show up, I just needed you to know.”

That gave you pause. “You don’t think she’s going to show up. But you needed me to know that she knew where I was?”

“Yeah—just in case.”

You huffed out a laugh. “Just in case. Yeah, she’s definitely showing up. With her boyfriend.”

“Husband.” Your sister corrected you.

“Fantastic.” You said dryly. “Remind me again why I decided not to go no contact with Dave?”

“Your goddaughter.”

“Yeah.” You nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

“Of course.” Your sister breathed out. “What kind of sister would I be if I didn’t?”

“The bad kind.” You joked softly. “I love you.”

“I know.”

“Say it back.” You frowned up.

“Talk to you later.” And she hung up. You immediately texted back a middle finger emoji.

You laughed when she texted it back to you. You dropped your head back against the wall.

Your mother had left when you were a child. And immediately after leaving your father, she had found love in the arms of her new husband. After years of emotional abuse, and manipulation on her part, of constant walking in and out of your life, you put a stop to it. You couldn’t go through this anymore. It was too painful. Plus, you hated her new husband. He was—he was not good. You had tried to accept him. You wanted to. But something about him, the way he behaved around you, made you afraid and unsafe. You couldn’t have that in your life. You didn’t want to feel that way anytime you were around your mother. You stopped any attempt at having a relationship with her. You no longer wanted her in your life.

Hopefully, your sister was right, your mother would not make the journey to Ireland. You were hoping for it at least. Your life was finally getting together. You were at peace here in Ireland and you wanted it to stay that way.

As soon as you got home, you discarded your shoes by the door, dropped your bags by the couch and fell into it. That day had turned out to be a long one. You loved hearing from your sister but you had regretted to call her at all. Especially with the bit of news she had given you. You should have stayed in bed this morning. Although, if you had—you would not have met your quite handsome neighbor.

Your mind flashed back to his soft hazel eyes, and the lone dimple that appeared under his beard when he smiled. Quite handsome, indeed.

“Damn it!” You cussed. “He’s a criminal. A drug lord and a murderer. You can’t find him attractive.”

You shouldn't and you wouldn't. He was a Kinsella and they were dangerous people. You needed to stay away from him.

Dressed in grey leggings and a large hoodie, you were enjoying your small diner in front of mind-numbing TV. When the red and blue lights flashed through your front windows. The Garda were down your streets. Shortly after they arrived, you heard the heart wrenching wail of a woman down the street. You slowly put your plate down. What had happened? You knew by the sound of that scream that terrible news had just been delivered.

The flashes of blue and red had vanished a while after that. You were lying in bed, hopelessly trying to fall asleep. But your thoughts could not just stop swirling around in your mind. Jimmy and Amanda had lost their son; Jamie Kinsella. The local news had broadcasted the news on their websites. It was brief and they didn’t have much information. But all of them relayed the same information over and over again. Jamie Kinsella had been shot and died on the scene.

You couldn’t help the sadness that taken over you when you read the news.  He was barely seventeen. Too young to die. He was just a child. You knew how it felt to lose a parent. It was painful and heartbreaking. In your case, you had time to say goodbye and come to terms with it. It was a loss; it was painful but not in the way the world perceived it. You had known it was coming. And you had already mourned your father before it ever happened. You had expected it.

As for Jamie, it was unexpected. It was so sudden and brutal. How did one prepare for such a death? How did one prepare for the loss of a child? It was not the natural order of things. That was not how it was supposed to go. A parent should never have to bury a child. And yet, it happened.

Why were you affected by it? Yes, it was sad. A young life had just ended but you barely knew him. It shouldn’t bother you that much. It shouldn’t affect you as it did. Your thoughts inevitably drifted to your neighbor next door. How was he feeling? How was he coping with the loss? Was he over at his brother’s to bring his support? Or was he alone in his home dealing with the loss on his own? No one should be alone when dealing with a loss. You knew how terrible it was to receive no comfort. To just stew in your own pain, alone.

Seeing as you couldn’t sleep, you had moved downstairs. You quietly made your way into your kitchen, looking for something that may help you fall asleep. The gold door light of your neighbor was filtering through your large window. Against the dimmed light, you could make out the silhouette of a woman walking away from Michael’s house. It was too dark out for you to be able to tell who it was. You watched as she disappeared behind the brick wall.

It must have been hard on all of them. Especially after they had all celebrated Michael’s release from prison. And now this. The tragic loss of a child. You could only imagine how Jimmy and Amanda were feeling. And Michael—

You took a deep breath and grabbed your keys off of the hook. You stepped out of the front door, in the chill air of the night. After you locked your door, you hugged yourself to keep warm and made your way to your neighbor’s door. You two had just met and this was probably bold of you to assume. But you thought that he might not want to be alone to face this. And maybe you were wrong. Maybe Michael did not mind being alone. That thought alone made you hesitate. Still, you made your way over to his doorstep. Your fist hovered for a few seconds. Hesitating. With another deep breath, you knocked three times. And you waited. You were growing more nervous as the seconds went by. You hugged yourself tighter. The door swung open revealing Michael behind it.

“Michael, hey.” You greeted him. Shoulders slumped, eyes red from crying, Michael looked tired and pained. Although, he tried and failed to hide it all behind a mask. “I saw the Guards earlier—” You went for the direct approach. And mentally slapped yourself for it.

“So, ya know about Jamie?” He nodded solemnly.

“I do.” You nodded. “I just came to see if you were—how you were doing?”

He scoffed, his sorrowful gaze dropping to the ground. “Not great.”

You puffed out a shaky breath. “I don’t mean to intrude or—” You trailed off. “Do you want to be alone?” You questioned him. His eyes snapped up at you. His brows scrunched up in confusion. His eyes roamed your face, studying you. “I know what it’s like to be alone when you lose someone.” You blurted out. “It’s not great but—if you’d rather be alone—” You trailed off.

His sorrowful eyes scanned you over. Studying you. You had surprised him. He clearly did not expect his neighbor that he barely met, to come to him in the middle of the night. Especially not to offer him comfort. Comfort that he desperately needed. Birdy had told him that he needed to be there for Jimmy and Amanda. Amanda had asked him what were Jamie’s last moments like. And for all of them, he had shown a brave face. He had stood strong but he was there too. He had seen it all. And no one had stopped to ask how he was feeling—except for you. His gaze roamed your face, he noticed how you tightened your arms around your middle.

He cleared his throat. “D’ya—want to come in?”

“Yeah.” You nodded. Michael stepped to the side to let you in.

So much for staying away from the criminal next door. There you were, in his home in the middle of night. The layout of his home was almost identical to yours for the most part, kitchen by the front door. The hallway that led to the living room. You left your slippers by the front door and followed Michael to the sitting room. He sat down in his couch as you stood by the doorway. Putting a semblance of distance between you.

“I was there,” Michael said after a few minutes of silence.

Your breath hitched in your throat at his words before your eyes fell shut. Pained to hear that he had seen it happened. He looked up at you, grief etched into every line of his face.

“He was laughin’, messin’ around and then—he was just gone.” Michael said quietly. His face crumpled as a set of fresh tears fell down his face. His hand quickly wiped away any traces of them.

“I’m so sorry you had to see it.” You said quietly, tears pressing against your eyes.

“He was just a boy.” Michael continued quietly.

“I know.” You were itching to reach over and just pull him into your embrace. Would he even allow it?

“Birdy told me I need to be there for Jimmy and Amanda.” His voice cracked. “Losin’ their son and everythin’. But—I—I lost him too.” He buried his face into his hands. “Jamie was—” His voice muffled by his hands. You waited for him to finish his thought but it never came as a sob racked his body.

You quickly wiped away a stray tear from your face. You moved to go sit down next to him. Your arms slowly and gently wrapped around him. And pulled him into you. His hands went up to your forearm, around his neck. You leaned your cheek on the top of his head. Whispering words of comfort as he wept. You probably had overstepped boundaries here. But what were you supposed to do? This was the only way you knew how to bring comfort.

Your ran your hand on his back in a soothing circle. When he seemed to have calm down, he pulled gently away from you. Your arms fell back at your sides. He ran his hand over his face, erasing the tears that had fallen there.

“Sorry.” He apologized as he did so.

“Don’t be.” You shook your head. “It’s okay.” You started to run your hands on your thighs, in a nervous manner. “I just—I’m so sorry about Jamie.”

Michael nodded solemnly; his eyes red from crying. He rested his hand on your knee. Your breath hitched in your throat at the gesture. Your eyes went to his face. He was staring at you, chewing on his bottom lip.

“Thank you,” He said. “For askin’ and for—bein’ here.”

“Ah.” You nodded, smiling softly. “I have no merit. I was just doing my neighborly duties.”

“Is that it?” Michael retorted his voice still thick with emotions. He cleared his throat. “Is that why you here?”

You shrugged. “Like I said, I know how it feels like to lose someone and have no one there with you; to comfort you. When you desperately need it. It feels very—”

“Lonely.” He finished for you.

“Yeah.” You stared into each other’s eyes for a few seconds. “And should you need a shoulder to cry on again—I’m right next door. Whenever you need.”  

He squeezed your knee gently, as tears welled back up in his eyes. A warm smile made its way onto his face. You had meant it. You probably shouldn’t have offered but you couldn’t help yourself. Michael Kinsella had looked so broken and so pained; it was hard to not offer comfort when he needed it. You knew too well, what it was like to not receive any when you needed it. And Michael needed it.

You just really hoped you had helped a little.

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#michael kinsella fic #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x fem! reader #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella fluff #michael kinsella #comfort #kin rte #kin amc #kin bbc

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 26: Seven Devils All Around

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: When you arrive at your apartment, you notice that the door isn't locked. You make the mistake of entering without calling the police first, and you pay dearly for your recklessness.

Warnings: ANGST, blood, violence, break-in, mentions of suicidal thoughts

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: It took me a while to get this done because I just wasn't happy with it, but I finally got it done. We're starting to get knee-deep into the next angst arc, so I hope you're prepared for some tension, twists, and turns!

The view behind the windshield blurs through your tears as you navigate the streets of Dublin, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly your knuckles turn white. 

You push your foot down on the gas. You want to go home, but you also don’t. Your apartment hasn’t felt like home in a very long time. After meeting Michael, and everything was still somewhat okay, he became your home, but even that seems like a distant feeling now. Your feelings toward him haven’t changed, of course, but the pile of shit you have to deal with keeps getting bigger, and you can’t catch up. You don’t know what to do. The helplessness adds to the pain of being in love—of worrying about the man you love and the family he was born into who seems to only want the worst for you and him—and that makes feeling at home a sheer impossibility. 

The motor of your car roars, but you keep going at a speed that might cost you your license until you pull into the dark street of your neighborhood and finally manage to park the car before you break down. 

Your sobs echo through the small space. Every hiccuped intake of oxygen rumbles in your chest, burning through every quarter of your lungs. It’s getting significantly harder to breathe. 

Leaving was a spur-of-the-moment decision that seemed right at the time. You had to leave. You were drowning, but the hand Michael offered was too far away and too high up to reach. Miles stretched between you; if you had tried swimming toward him, you would have never reached the end alive. You had to save yourself. 

Leaving was the right thing to do—at least that is what you kept telling yourself on the drive home. Now, though, you're starting to question what you were thinking, breaking apart at the seams after desperately clinging to a life buoy of paper. 

You used to be such a rational person. Perhaps it was the constant ignorance of reality—the lying to yourself and pretending all was well—that made everything easier. You became complicit with your trauma’s need to forget everything and move on because facing the truth was just too painful, and you tried telling yourself that you could barely remember most of it, anyway. The things you could remember, you swore to take care of once you had it figured out, but that was a foolish lie you concocted for the sake of your peace of mind.

After meeting Michael, reality only started seeping in again. Because his reality and your reality have both turned out to be brutal in their essence. Though after all this time of pretending and being eaten alive by the things you knew and couldn’t share—didn’t want to share, even because you knew the consequences could cause your entire life to fall apart—reality has become a weight you forgot how to carry. Now, your world is falling apart anyway, and there seems to be no way out. 

You knew this would happen, but you didn’t want to face the truth. That is the problem. And that is, you think, on you entirely. You should have been more careful, knowing your delusions would become your downfall eventually. 

And you can’t blame Michael, no matter how badly you want to. You can’t hate or degrade him, not even in your mind. He was worried, he was upset, and he was angry because he had to find out that even after trying so hard to stay on the straight and narrow, his chances of getting custody of his daughter would remain lower than the deepest parts of the ocean. He ran against an invisible clock and still lost, even after making it on time. You tried to help him, and he tried to help himself, but your attempts were futile. Now, after everything, he is scared of losing you, too. 

He gave you one condition; stay home and don’t do anything stupid. You couldn’t even do that, and the worry made his fuses blow. That’s not his fault. 

You don’t know why you did it. The nagging feeling wouldn’t leave you alone, and you acted on your feelings rather than common sense. You were angry at the world; Frank coming over and confronting you with the pictures that weigh heavy in the pocket of your jeans was merely your last straw in a game you felt like you were going to lose right this second if you didn’t do something other than sit around and wait. 

You faced your fears today and hated what you saw. You couldn’t stay, not when your lives are starting to pull you in different directions. Sticking together is a dangerous game, one you no longer know how to play without either one of you—or those around you—getting burned. You’re no good for each other, especially not now, and maybe you have never been. 

You couldn’t stay, but right now, crying alone in your car as you’re falling apart, you can’t help but wish Michael was there to hold you through the earthquake that takes you under. 

Pushing people away is your defense mechanism as much as it is Michael’s. You should never have let him this close in the first place, knowing the past you’ve been hiding from the world. You were so focused on yourself, playing down the risk behind it that you turned yourself into a fool. 

You can put a butterfly bandage on his forehead; you can love him, and you can accept the love he can give you, but none of that will fix something that has been broken from the start. None of that can fix your broken family or bring your sister back to you. 

Love, bandages, not even a nail could solve the issue you have been grappling with for years, and it won’t magically condemn your father to a lifetime of torture like the one he subjected you to. Saving yourself comes at a cost, and sometimes the leftover debt becomes too high to pay with an empty bank account. What do you do then? What do you do if you don’t have the means to pay the cost, not even to fight? 

You slam the car door, locking it with the press of a button. You’re not thinking straight, you try telling yourself, but your body has a mind of its own. 

The stairs leading up to your apartment creak under your footsteps. You take two at a time. Last-minute flights are more expensive, but you have some emergency cash stashed away in your wallet; that should be enough to pay for a flight to London. This is wrong. This is beyond reckless, and if Michael knew, he would move mountains to make sure you would never make it to the airport without opening your eyes and rethinking your decision, but it’s not rationality that drives you. 

Every time you breathe, the hourglass loses another grain of sand. Every time you move without a purpose or care, another second is wasted into oblivion. You can’t run fast enough, but you have to try. 

Hot tears continue to stream down your cheeks, staining your skin with a mixture of sweat and salt. When you finally reach your floor, you search for the right key on your chain with shaky fingers. It has to be somewhere. 

You approach the lock. When you left, you locked it. You know you did. You wrote a note in your phone, just in case you were to wonder if you turned off all appliances and locked the door on your way out. You can never be too careful. Michael’s family plays a huge part in your newfound care. It’s no secret that monsters are no longer just lurking in the dark shadows of an alleyway or under your bed. They are in your head and the people around you, and they are even part of your family—your own flesh and blood. Monsters are everywhere but in the places you expect them to be.

You insert the key, and you stop breathing. The door budges under your touch. You locked the door when you left. You closed it. All windows are shut, and one of your neighbors would have noticed if you had accidentally left one open. They would have called you about any suspicious activity because the old lady in the apartment above yours likes to watch. You’re certain you took the necessary precautions, and yet you push against the wood once, and your door opens completely. 

Your ribs are starting to hurt from how hard your heart is pounding against the sturdy bone. “What the—” you mutter under your breath. It’s a warning sign you expertly ignore.

Anyone else would have called the police at the first sign of foul play, but you can’t bring yourself to pull out your phone. If someone played with the lock, or if someone broke into your apartment, there are many things they could have taken, and you have never felt so sick to the pit of your stomach—not even when you were beaten senseless or had to confess to your father that you got a bad mark on a test, knowing he would make sure the injuries no one could see would hurt a few days longer, perhaps even scar so you could never forget what he did to you. But even without the scars, the memories are fresher than daisies on a spring morning. 

The floorboards creak. Blood rushes to your cheeks. You reach into your bag, fingers wrapping around the small bottle of pepper spray you ordered online one night after a few glasses of wine and a scary encounter with a stranger on your way home from work in the dead of winter. You clutch the small bottle so tightly, you wouldn’t be surprised if you end up spraying yourself. 

The silence is deafeningly loud. It screams into your ear. You’re met not with darkness but with a faint string of light streaming into the hallway from the direction of your living room. You should call the police, you really should, but you don’t. Instead, you breach the doorway and step inside. 

Documents line the floor like a thin carpet. Some pieces are torn while others are still held together neatly in the corners by fragile paper clips. 

You swallow. After Michael accidentally found the file in one of your drawers, you learned from your mistake and hid them somewhere they couldn’t be found. You thought you did because, between the two of you, you are the only ones aware that it even exists. You tried everything to make sure something like this wouldn’t happen. Would’ve, could’ve, should’ve, but nothing could have prepared you for this. 

The blood freezes in your veins. Your hands run cold. Your desk is tipped over, and your couch has been ripped apart at the seams, probably by a sharp blade that cut into the fabric to check the filling inside. You don’t keep any money in the apartment, but the paper trail tells you instantly that whoever did this was not looking for valuables. 

Only a handful of people would profit from that file: those who want to hurt you, and the one person who would take it to protect himself—the Kinsellas and your father. 

Tears spring to your eyes. The fear that spreads through your body at a speed faster than lighting works as a paralytic.  Your father isn’t a criminal mastermind, but he’s ruthless and who knows what he would do if he found out what you are doing behind his back. He wouldn’t just let out all of his anger and frustration on you, he would kill you. If only he knew what you were doing, he would make sure another gravestone would be added next to Ellie’s. He is that kind of person, but not the kind of person powerful enough to orchestrate this. At least that is what you would have believed a few days ago. Now, you’re not so sure anymore what to believe.

The Devil likes to hide in plain sight.

You can only stare and pray to the heavens above that you’re just dreaming. That this isn’t real. That you’re not standing in ruins. You were so careful…

Again, the floorboards creak, but you didn’t take a step this time. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your skull burns as though someone is glaring daggers into the bone. You can feel another presence in the room, breathing down your neck. Your thumb brushes over the trigger. 

The light switch on the other end of the room cracks under the weight of a heavy fist. This is it, you think. You’re going to die. But—and even if it’s just for a moment, it still crosses your mind—maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

Your ragged breaths break the silence in the sudden darkness. Without warning, a pair of strong arms wraps around you from behind. You cry out, but a gloved hand finds its way over your parted lips. The taste of the leather makes you gag. 

Fear takes over in a storm, but your mind refuses to let you curl up and die. You throw your head back, arms flailing as you scratch at his forearms. DNA is crucial, and no matter what happens, you must fight back. 

You fight back with every ounce of strength left, but it's like struggling against a force of nature. The masked man is relentless as he crushes you against the wall.

With a deafening crash, the wooden shelf next to the still-open front door topples over as he backs against it with you pressed to his sturdy chest, sending shards of glass and ceramic crashing to the ground. 

The pain explodes like a dirty bomb at the side of your skull. He smashes you against the bricks that hide behind the white wallpaper you chose not to paint over after moving here. In the darkness, you can’t see the crimson stain that forms underneath, but the shadow glistens in the moonlight. 

You hit the floor hard, the man tossing you to the floorboards. The impact pushes all the air from your lungs. You gasp, and it burns, but you can’t get the oxygen back where it needs to. 

Desperation claws at your throat as you reach out, grasping for anything to defend yourself. You are okay with dying, but not without putting up a fight. And is the easy way out really what you want to take to your grave after making it so far? You doubt that. Survival moves to the forefront of your mind. Before you can even muster a coherent thought, the masked stranger is on you again, hands locking around your throat. 

You choke, trying to pry him away, but it’s useless. You kick your feet up and forward, desperate for air, and finally knock him off balance. With a growl of frustration, he releases his hold on you.

In the dim moonlight, you catch a glint of porcelain on the floor next to the scattered shelf. It’s the vase that held the flowers Michael gave you on your first date. You didn’t throw them away when they started to wither because you wanted to hold onto that sliver of happiness for a little longer. The sharp piece scratches the inside of your palm, but you continue to reach for it, your teeth gritted as you struggle against your attacker. Eventually, your fingers wrap around the sharp edges, and you try to jab it into his bicep. 

The man leans in close, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. “Just stop…fuckin’ fighting,” he hisses. You don’t recognize his voice. It doesn’t even cross your mind to try and do so; your only motivation is to get out. 

He catches the shard before you can hurt him though. You half-expected him to keep choking you until you pass out or die. Instead, he turns your makeshift weapon around on you. 

Time slows to a crawl. With a primal scream of defiance, you lunge forward, trying to get it back. Yet, it's too late.

The glass pierces your flesh, tearing a gash into your side. The pain knocks the remaining air right out of your lungs. You can’t scream. You can’t cry. 

Blood wells up against your skin. With a final, vicious twist of the glass, the stranger wrenches the shard free from your body. The walls start caving in. You’re trapped in a box, and the water is rising in your lungs.

The floorboards from the apartment above that make up your ceiling start to creak, and the man sits back on his heels, chin tilted up. He curses under his breath. 

You try to catch a glimpse of his face, but the darkness is overwhelming. Again, the floorboards above creak. You want to beg for mercy, maybe even scream for help, but nothing wants to come out. 

The weight on your chest disappears. Your eyes flutter, but you force them to stay open, patting along your trousers. Where is your phone? You hope to God you didn’t leave it in the car. You should have called the police. You should have…

It was foolish to think you would stand a chance against an intruder with a mere bottle of pepper spray. It seems as though he was trained for this very moment. He destroyed your apartment, and now he is reaching for what you were trying to preserve. You don’t know who he is, but he seems to know exactly where to find your little secret, and that makes you sick. The pain makes you sick.

How did he know?

Through blurry eyes, you see the masked figure playing with the file in his hand. He passes by you, the mask moving where he’s smirking. 

“No,” you choke out. “Please…”

He sighs a condescending breath. “Little girls shouldn’t stick their noses into issues that don’t concern them.”

‘What does that even mean?’ you want to scream back at him, but the only sound that passes your lips is a gurgled moan as the tip of his steel boot starts to dig into the wound on your side. 

You reach for him, but he disappears as soon as the light outside turns on and the stairs creak under the weight of your upstairs neighbor—the old lady who once introduced herself as Lilian after you helped her carry her groceries. 

The invisible noose around your neck tightens. You haven’t been this scared in a very long time. If you’d stayed; if you and Michael had talked it out, and if you’d tried to be more rational instead of letting your heart take over, this wouldn’t have happened. 

You fumble for your phone, your fingers slick with your blood. They tremble against the surface of the screen, leaving crimson fingerprints behind. The screen doubles and distorts before your eyes, the numbers dancing mockingly out of reach.

You manage to hit the speed dial for Michael—yes, him, not the police, and that little voice in your head is baffled that you continue making such bad decisions. Your voice is a hoarse whisper as you plead, “Please pick up, please pick up, please…” But there's no answer.

Panic claws at your chest. The phone slips from your grasp, clattering to the floor beside you, into a pool of blood and the remaining shards of the vase. 

Lilian calls out from the other side of the door, her footsteps hurrying down the stairs.

With a last, desperate surge of strength, you reach out, fingers brushing against the cold floor. “Help,” you croak. Your head pounds. It sounds as though you’re screaming.

The door doesn’t budge. Didn’t she hear you? You press the call button again, desperate, but again, Michael doesn’t pick up. You can’t hold your eyes open much longer. You can’t…

The world spins dizzily around you, the darkness threatening to claim you and drag you toward the light. 

You sob, reaching for the throbbing wound in your side. It’s time to accept it for what it is, you figure. Lilian pounds on the door, but the sound is starting to fade as your heartbeat pounds harder and faster against your ribcage and your throat, trying to catch up. You realize it won’t. Not in time. Your heart will grow weak soon. 

You’re unsure how long you lie there, floating in a weird middle space between consciousness and a depth you have never been in before. You dip in your toes, but it won’t quite accept you just yet. You want to jump in. You want to learn to swim, even if you have to drown first. The pressure is taking you under. God, you want it to end. It’s too much, and you hate that you can’t do anything.

Denial works until it doesn’t. 

The door breaks off its hinges. It couldn’t have been Lilian. You feel a hand on your cheek, and the man it belongs to slaps your skin rather roughly. Your eyes flutter open, weak and sensitive to the light.

The old lady must have alerted your other neighbors. Their voices overlap, grow louder, and then disappear. You can only hear your racing heartbeat in your throat. 

Someone applies pressure to your wound, and you cry out. At least you think you do. Your fingers twitch, reaching for the man’s arm. He’s looking at you softly, trying to keep your attention on him, but it’s not him you care about. 

Michael.

It comes out as gibberish. 

“Save your strength,” your neighbor says. “Help is on the way.”

But you fear that the help he mentioned might not make it on time as your eyes close and you decide to succumb to the darkness. You put up enough of a fight for one day. You’re tired, and so you decide to let your eyelids flutter shut and fall into blissful oblivion. 

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

[everythingsf1ne23]

𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐌𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐋𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫? 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐 | 𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭 𝘒𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘢 (𝘒𝘪𝘯)

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 💌:

part 2 as requested by the lovely @yarrystyleeza I’m very excited to post this! Please check out my Glen Wright one - shot you guys as I absolutely love it and it’s one of my favourites that I’ve written so far <3 ~Jess

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 📝:

in which, the girl who Michael still loves turns up at his door to talk  after Amanda’s dinner (inspired by the song ‘How Much Longer?’ by Alexander 23)

𝘔𝘪𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘦𝘭’𝘴 𝘗𝘰𝘷:

I hear a knock on my front door, that’s strange especially after I left the dinner earlier, I head towards the door, I unlock it to see her standing there, I stare at her and she speaks up

“Are you alright?” she asks me

“Why would you care?” I reply coldly

“You just seemed not like yourself at dinner so can I come inside so we can talk more”

I didn’t want to talk to her anymore but I nodded and let her inside, she made her way to the sitting room.

She speaks up once again,

“I’ve missed you, ya know?”

“Oh really? I thought that you found someone else according to Amanda”

“That’s bullshit, I thought I had but he didn’t like me back”

“If it helps, I’ve missed you too” I tell her with a soft smile and before she has time to reply, I talk again “but why did you leave me?” I question and she looks directly into my eyes, she takes a breath and sighs.

“I thought that you deserved someone better than me, I mean look at you Mikey, you could have anyone that you want”

But I only want her.

“But you’re the girl that I want, I’ll never want anyone else, I want you to be mine forever” I respond

“Really? You’re only just saying that”

She tells me 

“Yes really, that’s why I chose you in the first place, you’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met”

I notice her eyes tearing up

“I’m so sorry for breaking your heart Mikey, I didn’t mean any of it, I love you so much” her voice breaks as she starts sobbing, I hurry over to her

“It’s okay, but that is never happening to us again, instead of breaking us up you could’ve spoken to me about how you’ve been feeling” I say holding her tightly against me

“I know, I’m sorry” she pulls away and I give her a tissue, she looks up at me

“Can we please forgive me Mikey so we can start over again?”

If she would’ve asked me this at Amanda’s dinner I would’ve said no but her words have helped heal my broke heart

“Yes of course, I forgive you, I love you”

“I love you more Mikey” 

#kin rte #kin bbc #michael kinsella #michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst / fluff