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Michael Kinsella - Blog Posts
thank you, I found the show a bit tough to get through (especially the early episodes) but like I watch for Charlie, I get Charlie
I watch Kin for the plot.
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sweater weather
pairing: michael kinsella x fem! reader
word count: 1.3K
tuna-tober prompt: breast worship
summary: you’re michael’s first stop after he’s released from prison.
warnings: mdni 18+! swearing, reader has pierced nipples, breast worship, i have no idea how to write irish dialects, probably poorly edited, idk what else. 🙃
tagging: @yarrystyleeza
a/n: ngl, i struggled writing this one. just wanted to post it to maintain fidelity to the prompt posting schedule. thanks for reading?
The relationship you had with Michael Kinsella was unconventional. You’d been childhood best friends until he drifted towards crime. He always called you an angel because of your ability to always do the right thing. He admired you and wished he could have been more like you and led a simple, quiet life.
When he went away to prison you would write him letters and visit when you could, you even started a monthly book club together. The time you spent in the visitation room at Mountjoy Prison was sacred to you. The quiet laughter, and smiles yielded to tender hand holding and tight hugs goodbye. You would forgo most things in your life for just one hour with Michael. You developed a deeper relationship through these one on one visits. In your delusional mind, they were like dates to you. Each visit left you craving more of him, more of his touch. Your friends and family all thought it odd that you hadn’t brought a guy around in this span of eight years. You knew it was crazy but you were half in love with Michael Kinsella and wouldn’t entertain the subject of other suitors.
After a week spent running on empty you sought solace in your home. You had ordered your favorite takeout, read a book and drank some tea while some quiet music played in the background. The aroma of bergamot, mahogany, and musk enveloping your cozy sitting room. As you finally felt your tension melting away, you were ready for sleep. You just finished brushing your teeth you heard a sudden knock on your door.
You open the door without taking a peek and you’re stunned silent as you see Michael standing in your doorway. You heart skipped a beat and your pulse quickened at the sight.
“Michael,” you say breathlessly. Completely in shock he’s standing before you, and you feel really underdressed for this unexpected visit. He might be fresh from prison, but he looks good in his sweater and jeans. You’re wearing pajama shorts and a tight white t-shirt, not exactly dressed for company. Nevermind the cool air making its way inside, making your permanently hard, pierced nipples, that much more pronounced.
“Hey pet,” Michael says with a smile looking you up and down. When his eyes land on your hardened nipples he quickly refocuses his gaze back to your face as his cheeks turn pink.
“Didn’t realize ya got out. Come in,” you stand aside offering him permission to enter your home.
He blinks, smiles, and crosses the threshold, “Just got out a bit ago… Nice place ya got here,” he says as he admires your house.
“Thanks, I was just gettin’ ready for bed…” you say.
Michael bites his lip and you catch him staring.
“What’s a girl like ya doin home alone on a Friday night?” Michael asks as his gaze roams your body. Despite his feelings for you, he always encouraged you to not get attached or wait for him. Which you completely ignored, much to his delight.
“Needed a night in to myself,” you say with a small yawn.
“I just wanted to see ya, and thank ya, yer visits kept me sane while I was locked up. I appreciate what ya did for me while I was in there,” he knows he’s rambling but he’s turning into a blushing, stuttering mess. The sight of you in your tight pajamas with those nipple piercings is driving him mad. He’s half hard already thinking about what they look like and the pretty sounds you’d make with them in his mouth.
His thoughts devolve quickly into a lustful frenzy, it’s been so long since he’s had a woman. He definitely thought of you during his lonely nights in his cell.
“Michael, my eyes are up here,” you tease him as you notice his eyes on your chest.
“Sorry love, I just can’t stop starin’. I’m tryin’ to be a gentleman, but ya look too damn good and I’ve been wantin’ ya for so long,” he sighs as your beautiful figure wears him down.
“Oh… ya like what ya see, hmm?” You ask playfully.
“I do. Yeah. When did ya do tha’?”
“Probably four years ago. Did it on my birthday. Always wanted to.”
“Never would have figured ya’d be the kinda girl to do something so naughty,” Michael is openly gawking at your chest.
“Michael. A lot has changed since high school,” you shrug your shoulders with a small laugh.
“I can tell, I like it,” he says as his pupils are blown wide and his face is flushed with desire.
“Ya want to see them?” You ask cheekily.
“Can I? Ya’d let me?” He’s biting his lip and looks hopeful like a little boy about to play with his favorite toy.
You life your shirt up, taking it off in one fluid movement, walking up to him with a smile as you gently push him down onto your couch. Once he’s seated you unbuckle his belt, and unzip his jeans, pulling them down to his knees. You see the outline of his hard cock through his boxers.
“Can I touch ‘em?” Michael looks up at you pleading.
You nod your head and say, “I think we’ve waited long enough, Mikey, ya can do whatever ya want tonight. Full consent. I know how bad we both want this. Only wanna make ya feel good and make up for lost time,” you murmur gently in his ear.
Witt your consent, Michael’s fingers trace the barbells and the perimeter of your perfect nipples. He’s so focused on how utterly perfect your tits are. His thumbs brush over your nipples and you shudder.
“They make everythin’ a lot more sensitive,” you say with a small moan.
“Tha’ right?” Mikey asks as he continues to brush his thumbs over your nipples. “So perfect, pet, just like I knew ya’d be.”
His hands are massaging your tits as he rolls your nipples with his fingers. It’s so pleasurable, and it’s Michael giving you pleasure, something you’ve dreamed about for the longest time. You find your panties are becoming soaked as you grind down on his muscular thigh.
Testing the water, Michael licks your nipple which pulls the most gorgeous moan from your mouth.
“Oh, you like tha’?” He teases.
“Fuck, yeah, I do,” you groan as you grind on him more.
Your words and noises push him to do more, his little licks turning into full blown sucking on your nipple as his other hand continues to play with the other. He alternates the attention paid to each, ensuring equal attention is paid to your gorgeous breasts.
Grinding down on his thigh is no longer enough to relieve the tension coiling in your belly. Your hand dips into the waistband of your underwear. They’re soaked through and you’re positive he can feel your slick all over his thigh. You start to rub your clit and this sends Michael over the edge. He’s sucking your tit harder into his mouth, teeth grazing over the barbell, gently tugging to make you lose control.
“Fuck, Michael, yer mouth feels so good on me. I could come jus’ from this,” you moan as he continues to lavish your breasts with heated attention.
“Mmm, pet, wanna go to the bedroom to find out what else my mouth can do to ya?”
You’ve never agreed to anything faster in your life. Before you know it, Michael has you hoisted up, legs wrapped around his waist as he carries you to your bedroom for a night you won’t forget.
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Fingertips
Pairing - Michael Kinsella x fem!reader Tuna Tober Prompt - Day 25 - Playing with their Hair Summary - you discover that Mikey loves it when you play with his beard.
Author's Notes - Just a quickie. Hasn't had much editing so might be a tad wordy and have the odd mistake!
“That feels so good, pet…so fuckin’ good…don’t ya stop…please don’t stop.”
Usually, when Michael Kinsella was nestled between your thighs, it was you whimpering the majority of those words. You, groaning, moaning, begging those words, as he buried himself in your heat like a man possessed. He was normally facing you too. Not zoning out staring up at the ceiling, like he was doing now, heavy eyes closing gratefully.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you softly reassured him. “I’ll do it for as long as you like. Until you want me to stop.”
“Never gonna want ya to stop,” he warned, letting out a little gasp of pleasure when you tugged fractionally harder.
You bit back an affectionate grin. “Not even for dinner? I'm making your favourite tonight.”
“Ah, ya so good. So good to me,” he sighed placidly. “Don’t know what I did to deserve ya, pet.”
Your fingertips immediately stilled. You had lost count of the number of times he had declared himself unworthy of your love. Not only verbally. You would often see it in his face, in the tightening of his handsome features, or feel it palpably in the air.
“Now what have I told you about saying things like that?”
He let out a playful little whine, peering up at you imploringly from those beautiful, soulful, puppy-dog eyes. You tried to remain unimpressed as you frowned down at him, but it was hard when he looked so damn cute.
"Darlin'...c'mon...please...I need those magic fingertips..."
Finally admitting defeat with a click of your tongue (but laughter in your eyes), your fingers resumed their lazy circling and you felt the twitch of his smug smile as his eyes closed again.
You had discovered Mikey's adorable little quirk a few weeks ago. Something surprisingly and delightfully innocent. That could reduce the notorious Michael Kinsella to putty in your hands within seconds. Have him purring for a very different reason while down south.
He had returned home, angry and irritable, after a long unproductive day with Jimmy and Amanda, but rather than flop down beside you on the sofa and pull you close, like he usually did, he had lowered himself to the floor, scooted between your legs, and rested the side of his head against your knee. The action had been so submissive, so stoical, so very bone-weary, that it had taken you aback as much as it had made your chest tighten. Your hands had instinctively swept forward to cradle his head in your arms, urging him back against the warmth and softness of your parted thighs.
As much as you had wanted him to turn around and pleasure you, you'd been overwhelmed with a greater desire to comfort him instead. Give him some form of pleasure that wasn’t necessarily sexual. You loved it when he drowsily tickled your back after sex. It made you tingle and bliss out, but didn’t turn you on. It was about affection and closeness. You wanted him to feel that too.
And that’s when it happened. When your fingers had idly trailed into the soft coarseness of his beard.
His mouth had dropped limply open, expelling his frustrations in a long drawn out sigh. It was almost as if your touch had activated a pressure release valve inside him. You had watched his slackening features in surprise. While you did run your fingers through his beard during love making, it was always fleeting, the two of you far too preoccupied with more carnal activities.
Spurred on by his reactions, you lightly cupped his face and continued your tentative exploration, biting your lip hesitantly.
"You like that?"
“Aye…” he had breathed encouragingly. “Aye, love…”
As he had relaxed deeper into your touch, you had settled back against the sofa cushions, closing your own tired eyes, your hands lovingly caressing his beard, teasing the hairs, dragging them languidly through your fingers, pulling ever so slightly, enjoying their pleasant coarseness against your skin. The fact that they were slightly more bristly than the hairs on his head made it all the more pleasurable somehow. The grooves between your fingers were particularly sensitive to the sensation. And going by Michael’s clipped whimpers as you lightly raked your nails along his jawline and swirled patterns through the thicker hair there, he was loving every second of it too.
It became a daily ritual. The first thing you did to unwind at the end of a long tedious day. You were usually home before Mikey, so would wait patiently for him on the sofa, reading a book and sipping at your tea until you heard his key turn in the lock. He’d walk into the room with that harried look on his face and you’d immediately stop what you were doing and gesture for him to sit on the comfy pillow at your feet.
“Love ya, pet,” he murmured, promptly returning you to the present as he clasped your hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. “Want ya to still be doin’ this when I’m old an’ grey.”
Praying that you would see him live to be an endearingly grumpy old man, that he would finally break free from his destructive family, you leaned down and returned a kiss to his forehead. “Love you too, Mikey.” A mischievous smile shivered across your lips. “Though do you think you’ll be able to get down on the floor when you’re old and grey?" You ribbed lightly. "You might have bad knees, you know.”
“Not me,” he threw back amused, and it gave you so much joy - and relief - to see him calm and unruffled again. “I’ll make sure to keep m’self limber ‘specially for it.” He met your gaze wickedly, suddenly reviving. “An’ other things.”
“Other things?” You feigned innocence as you grazed through his beard a little more zealously, his heated eyes igniting a fire inside you. You gave him a coy look. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"
His deep chuckle vibrated up through your fingers, sending a delicious shiver running along your spine. “Then get ya straight up those stairs an’ I’ll show ya exactly what I mean.”
He turned slowly, predatory, no longer putty beneath your fingertips, and your heart skipped a beat. "I'm givin' ya a ten second start..."
Squealing your excitement, you scrambled from the sofa, and bolted for the bedroom.
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Tuna-Tober Prompt Challenge 2024
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"Don't Let Go" (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader, Fic)
Time for Day Six of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! I chose the angst prompt, "Shh, I've got you now. I'm here." with Michael Kinsella! I originally planned to use all three prompts (the above plus 'love bites' and 'spread your legs for me') but this one just sorta worked beautifully focusing on the angst prompt alone, despite my plan. May come back and do a sequel with the other two prompts eventually. You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader
Wordcount: 1.1k
Warnings for this chapter: angst, blood, injury care, mention of reader briefly held hostage, language, mention of domestic violence, some shouting and breaking things (Michael is very angry here, just not at you).
His hands shaking, Michael cleaned you up in the bathroom.
You weren’t sure if that tremor was due to fear, or… or exhaustion, maybe. He probably hadn’t gotten much sleep the past two nights while you’d been missing, held captive in an abandoned building by a group of men who’d been looking to blackmail the Kinsella family. It hadn’t worked out well for them based on the dead bodies you’d seen when Michael had grimly carried you out past his brothers, his hands stained heavily with blood and smelling of fresh gunpowder.
It was those hands—the very same hands that had so recently dealt out death and destruction—that now tended gently to your wounds. With barely a word save a soothing murmur whenever you winced, he washed away the crusted grime and dried blood from your body in the shower before settling you down on the side of the porcelain tub. Once you were comfortable, he set about cleaning out and bandaging the bloody cuts on your hands and face, the torn skin on your wrists left by the handcuffs, and the burns along your forearm from the cigarettes one man had decided to put out against your skin when you’d spat in his face.
With every injury Michael cared for, however, the more his hands shook, his breathing growing sharper, hissing out from between his clenched teeth.
No. This wasn’t fear or exhaustion making his hands shake, you realized. This was…
He rose from where he’d been kneeling in front of you. He stared down at you for a moment with those dark eyes of his, taking all of you in for the first time since bringing you back home—taking in every last swollen bruise and vicious cut, every bandage and mark of pain left behind by those who had wanted to harm his family by using you against him.
…This was rage.
He snatched up the first aid kit, turned, and hurled it with a furious scream. It shattered against the wall in the hall, its impact leaving a crumbling hole in the drywall. Gauze and ointment, bottles of pills and splinters of plastic scattered left and right.
“Michael,” you said weakly. “I’m ok now.”
It was as if he hadn’t even heard you. “I’m goin’ ta find the rest of ‘em and kill 'em for this!” he snarled savagely, his accent even thicker in his fury. Gone was the gentle lilt, the familiar softness he always seemed to gain in his voice when he spoke to you or about you. Now he was every inch the dangerous Kinsella that so many feared, though not you. Never you. Even now you weren’t afraid, despite the way he whirled and paced wildly in front of you, as if looking for the very same ones who’d so recently hurt you. This was rage in your defense, and that made all the difference.
“Michael—”
“They think I can’t find ‘em?” he spat. “They really think I can’t? I’ll hunt down every last fuckin’ one’a them filthy little cunts fer puttin’ their hands on ya! By the time I’m done wit’ em, there won’t be enough’a their fuckin’ bodies left for their mams to bloody bury!”
This time it was the drinking glass on the counter that paid the price. It flew out into the hall to shatter violently against the wall just beside the mark left by the first aid kit. Glittering shards of glass, some pieces still damp, joined the rest of the debris on the floor.
“Michael.” You heaved yourself upright on shaky legs, wobbly as a newborn fawn. And it hurt, it hurt to move, cuts tugging, body aching. You tried to blink the dampness away in your eyes, not now, come on. “It’s alright—” “Don’t tell me it’s alright when they hurt ya!” he roared. But the moment he swung back around to face you and saw you on your feet, he spat out a curse. He stormed across the bathroom before you could take more than a step. “Daft woman, sit your arse back down before ya fall over!”
One hand still braced against the wall, you lifted your other arm quickly towards him. He lurched to a stop before he could touch you, an expression of horror twisting across his face, all furrowed brow and parted lips. Only then did you realize what that must have looked like to him—your arm held up to fend him off, trying to stop him from coming towards you, tears in your eyes as if you were… as if you were terrified of him and what he had been doing.
Gone in a breath was the rage, the fury, replaced by a gutted, heartbroken grief. If you hadn’t known any better, you’d have said he was about to cry, too. “Ya didn’t think I was goin’ to…” he whispered, swallowing hard and taking a cautious step back. “I… I swear, pet, I would never—”
“God, no, Mikey. I know you weren’t going to hit me,” you croaked, trying to put your arm out again in a more welcoming way, and if your breath started to hitch, tears now beginning to roll down your cheeks despite your best efforts, well, surely you were entitled to that, because it had been a horrible few days and the longer you stood here, the more you began to shiver and hurt. It had only been a few minutes since you’d been in his arms, but your body clearly wasn’t ready yet for even that much separation. Emotion welled up inside you like a dark wave, endless, bottomless. You were terrified you’d drown beneath it without him to help you keep your head above water. “I was trying to… could you come over here and… and hold me? I just need…”
He caught you just as the first choked sob tore its way out of your throat, the strength of the sound so violent, so raw it almost frightened you. One of his arms quickly wound around your waist, pulling you in against the comforting, familiar warmth and strength of his chest. His other hand rose to gently cradle the back of your head, bringing your head down so you could bury it against his neck. He rumbled low, soothing notes into your ear, tender words of comfort as you desperately tried to breathe in the scent of whiskey and leather, gun oil and rain between your heaving breaths and broken sobs.
“There ya go. Shh, I’ve got ya now, pet,” he whispered, laying his cheek against your hair. He shifted the two of you carefully across the floor until he could ease himself down on top of the toilet seat, pulling you slowly into his lap. You went without a fight, clinging to him, the fabric of his shirt held tight between your fists as if it were your lifeline. “I’ve got ya now. Let it all out. I’m here, darlin’. Yer safe with me.”
“Don’t let go,” you choked out, “Please.” “Never. I promise.”
Tuna-tober Day 7
Prompt: Nightmare
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader
Word Count: 468
At first, you're unsure what woke you up. The room is still dark and cold. The latter of which you combat by burrowing deeper into your blankets. You're just prepared to drift back off when you hear it.
A whimper followed by shuffling of the sheets.
You immediately roll over and face Michael, who is fast asleep next to you, and the events of the night come slamming back to you.
You're not home, in your own bed. You're at Michael's, sleeping over for the first time. And if the noises coming out of him are any indicator, he's having a nightmare.
“Oh, Michael…” You whisper. You want to reach over and touch him, shake him from his dream. But you know that can be dangerous and you don't want to put either of you in a bad situation. So you gently call out to him.
“Michael…come on, sweetheart, wake up. It's just a dream.”
His face scrunches up and he rolls over to face you but he doesn't wake.
“Michael. Michael, sweetheart, wake up. I'm right here. You're only dreaming.” You long to reach out and cup his face, smooth the worry lines on his face, but again you decide not to risk it.
It takes a few more tries but eventually Michael's eyes snap open. You can tell he's disoriented at first so you continue to softly talk to him.
“Hey, hey. It's okay. It was just a dream. You're here with me. You're safe.” You tell him.
He rasps out your name and you finally reach for him. Gently you take his face in your hands, doing your best to soothe him.
“Yeah, Micheal, it's me. I'm here.” You coo softly. His eyes flutter close and he leans into your hands. For several moments it's quiet.
“Are you okay?” You ask him quietly.
“Yea.” He says thickly. “Jus a bad dream. Tha's all.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Your question comes out gentle. You only want him to talk if he wants to. You definitely don't want to push him. So you're not disappointed when he shakes his head no.
“No. No, I- I would ratha go back ta sleep.”
“Okay, Mikey.” You gently rub your thumbs over his cheeks before withdrawing your hands. He shudders at the loss of contact.
“Can I hold ya? Jus til we go back ta sleep.”
“You can hold me as long as you like.” You tell him. He immediately pulls you in, letting you roll over so your body can slot up against his.
With the two of you snug in bed, you both eventually drift back off. With you in his arms, Michael spends the rest of the night with pleasant dreams.
And when he wakes in the morning, he's forgotten all about his nightmare.
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Day 4 - Compromise
Prompt: 4 - Sixty-Nine Character: Michael Kinsella Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Word Count: 755 Warnings: Referenced sex, explicit sex, 69 position, oral sex (male and female receiving), swearing Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist
Compromise
One of Michael’s best qualities was that he wasn’t a selfish lover. He loved eating you out until your legs gave out. Even when he was fucking you, he never forgot your orgasm. Ever. Your pleasure seemed to matter more to him than his own.
Which was great. It was wonderful to be with someone so attentive. Especially after so many years of men who only cared about their own pleasure, that thought sex was over once they orgasmed. Not Mikey. He made sure that you orgasmed, more than once if possible, and never skipped aftercare.
Between that and doing his share of the housework without prodding, Michael Kinsella had ruined you for all other men.
The only fly in the ointment was that you weren’t a selfish lover either. As much as you liked receiving pleasure, you also liked giving it. You wanted to make him feel good. But when you expressed a desire to do so, that’s when his tendency to downplay his own needs and wants reared its ugly head.
The very idea of focusing primarily on him and his pleasure just did not compute. The baffled look he gave you when you insisted that you would enjoy sucking his cock would have been cute under any other circumstance. But under this circumstance, it was just frustrating.
After a couple of rounds of irresistible force meets an immovable object, you and Michael came to a compromise. Mutual oral sex aka the sixty-nine. It wasn’t something you had done before but you were willing to give it a try.
Even if it was a little awkward, having your ass in Michael’s face like this.
“I like havin’ yer arse in my face,” he countered. His voice had taken on that deep, smokey quality that went straight to your cunt. As if to emphasize his assertion, he started kneading your ass in his hands. “Ya have the best arse in Ireland.”
“I think you are confusing me for yourself, Mikey,” you said.
He snorted, “Gotta disagree with ya, pet.”
You disagreed but now was not the time to start an argument about who had the better ass (which was obviously Michael). You’d deal with that nonsense later. Right now, you had other things that needed your attention.
Like this pretty cock right in front of you. Flushed bright pink, it was tempting you to lick it. So that’s what you did, running the flat of your tongue across the head. You felt Michael’s body underneath you jolt. You wanted to smirk. He hadn’t been expecting that.
He couldn’t contain a moan when you repeated the action. Or began to lap, chasing every drop of the salty pre-cum leaking out of his cock. But if there was one (more) thing that Michael was good at it, it was reacting quickly. Using his grip on your ass, he tugged you closer to him. You shivered at the prickly sensation of his beard against your inner thigh.
But that was nothing compared to the shudder that wracked your body when his tongue ran through your folds. Once. Twice. Before focusing on his target - your clit. It was your turn to moan when he began doing the same flat licks to the sensitive little nub as you were doing to his cock.
Then he started sucking gently on your clit. You were unable to stop yourself from squirming. Especially when he upped the ante by humming. You cried out. The vibration alone was almost enough to tip you over that edge.
Two can play at that game Kinsella, you thought. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and sucked. Then you hummed. This time he was the one who lost control. His hips bucked up, pushing his cock a little further into your mouth. You moaned, your fingers digging into his thighs.
He broke the suction on your clit to groan out, “Fuck, pet, ya killin’ me”
You rewarded him by moaning around him again.
But as before, Michael wasn’t left flat-footed for long. With rumble that almost a growl, his mouth latched back into your clit. His hands dug into your ass, holding you in place with a grip almost hard enough to bruise. You didn’t care if it did. All you cared about was the pleasure coursing through your veins . . . the obscenely loud slurping and grunting noises filling the bedroom . . . the heavy cock filling your mouth . . . the salty taste of him on your tongue . . . the building tremors in Michael’s body as you hurdled together toward that sweet, sweet peak . . .
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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: "Are you blushing?"🐟✨
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Compliments
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]
Tuna-Tober Prompt: "Are you blushing?"
Warnings/tags: 18+; mentions of sex, sheer fluff, making Mikey blush, naked cuddling in bed
Summary: You notice the way Michael always reacts when given a compliment and you quickly wonder what would happen if you showered him with multiple at once.
a/n: Mikey deserves to be showered with compliments on the daily and you cannot change my mind. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
Shivering beneath the sheets, your eyelids slowly opened. Soft, faint morning light was seeping past the plain navy blue curtains as you lay along the bed, your body partially curled in along itself. Goosebumps had already begun to dot your skin just before you’d fully stirred awake, the chill of Michael’s bedroom the most likely culprit for you waking just as the sun had begun to rise. Craving his body heat, you nestled a little further backwards into his body behind you.
Last night had been the first night he’d ever asked you to stay over at his place, but you had not anticipated just how needy Michael would become when he awoke in the middle of the night with you in his bed. You weren’t going to complain about the pleasant ache that you could now feel between your thighs, smiling at the memory of Michael half-awake as he buried himself into you over and over, but as another involuntary shudder raced through your body, you regretted not dressing before falling back asleep last night.
A hand cautiously smoothed its way over your bare hip and your body startled beneath the touch, jumping slightly in surprise. Head rolling along the pillow, you spotted Michael’s shy smile greeting you from where he lay along his own pillow behind you. His eyes were half-lidded and creased at the corners, that lone dimple in his cheek present on his tired face.
“G’morning, pet,” he greeted groggily. “How’d ya sleep?”
“Good,” you answered, rolling over in bed to face him. “Even better thanks to that midnight interruption.”
“Mmm,” he happily hummed out, his sleepy grin growing. “I'd have to agree with ya, that definitely helped me sleep better. And now it's a perfect mornin’ wakin’ with ya here.”
“It is,” you agreed. “Except I am absolutely freezing in here,” you told him, playfully pouting as you inched a bit closer to his naked body. “I will never get used to the constant chill in the air here.”
Michael’s expression shifted from sleepy to concerned as his dark brows furrowed together. “I'm sorry, pet. I didn't realize ya were cold. C'mere,” he said, his hand on your hip tugging you closer to the front of himself. “Let me help ya with that.”
Allowing him to draw you right up against his body, you reveled in the heat radiating off of him and seeping into the front of yourself. Wrapping your arms around him beneath the sheets, you smiled back at him as he slipped one of his large, warm thighs between your own. His body heat alone was quickly chasing the chill straight out of you and it had you further relaxing against him.
“How's that?” he asked. “Better?”
“Mmm,” you hummed pleasantly, one hand tracing absent patterns along his back. “Much. You're like a furnace, you know that? Or a giant space heater.”
“Oh I am, am I?” he questioned with a grin.
You nodded, your fingers still brushing the tips of your nails affectionately back and forth across his back. You swore you saw him shudder a few times when your fingertips passed alongside his spine.
“A really handsome, really sexy space heater,” you teased, shooting him a wink.
Michael chuckled lightly, his gaze briefly averting from you as he glanced just over your shoulder. Biting your lip, you'd caught on once more to the way he usually seemed to react to your compliments. Always with a soft, nervous laugh and sometimes a deflecting comment before he looked anywhere but at you. You quickly found yourself wondering what would happen if you suddenly complimented him repeatedly.
“With a very skilled mouth,” you mischievously added on. “A beautiful, talented mouth.”
“Oh, is that so?” he replied, his eyes hesitantly meeting yours again. “So I take it yer first night stayin’ over was grand then?”
“More than grand,” you answered, noting the way he changed the subject. “I never realized you were such a great cook. And you even clean dishes despite my insistence to let me take care of them. Ever the gentleman, Mikey.”
Michael shrugged sheepishly, the sheets slipping down his shoulder at the movement. “‘M not sure if I'd say I'm a great cook, but I'm glad ya enjoyed dinner last night. And o'course I wasn't goin’ to have ya clean up after.” He cleared his throat, his eyes once more darting away from your own. “If yer…not in a rush this mornin’ I'd happily cook ya some breakfast.”
You caught the nervous tinge to his tone when he'd asked you to stay longer this morning. As if he expected you to want to wake and immediately dart out the door instead of lingering and spending more time with him.
“I'd love to have breakfast with you, Mikey,” you told him, watching as his face brightened at your answer. “Though after how you repeatedly took care of me last night, maybe I should be the one making you breakfast this morning. You know, as a thank you for dinner and the multiple orgasms that followed.”
Grinning coyly back at Michael, you teasingly waggled your brows at him before shooting him another wink. Michael huffed out a laugh, his eyes once more flying to land somewhere just past where you lay. You were about to say something more, but then you noticed a slight tinge of color in his cheeks beginning to peek through his beard.
“Michael Kinsella, are you blushing right now?” you asked in surprise.
Another little nervous chuckle fell from his lips as he ducked his head, entirely averting his gaze. Unable to resist how sweet his reaction was, you tugged him tighter to yourself and Michael quickly buried his face against your neck in an attempt to hide, his beard pleasantly tickling your skin.
“Yer bein’ so nice,” he mumbled. “‘M’not used to it.”
“Well get used to it, Michael,” you told him, leaning forward to plant a kiss to the top of his head. “Because I'm going to tell you how amazing, intelligent, sweet, handsome, and brilliant you are all of the time. Because clearly you haven't been told all of that remotely enough and I have a responsibility to change that.”
“Ya do, d'ya?” he asked, his voice muffled against your skin.
“Mhmm,” you hummed back, your hands still soothingly brushing up and down his bare back beneath the bed sheets. “Until you believe it. And then even after that.”
Michael made a noise that sounded like something mixed between a sigh and huff. You giggled before placing another kiss into the mess of his dark hair.
“Yer too good for me, pet,” he said, lips brushing your neck as he spoke. “Don't know how I found ya.”
“Yes you do,” you countered with a laugh. “You saved the poor tourist struggling to find a coffee shop and now you're stuck with me.”
“Best damn decision I ever made, too,” he replied with a chuckle, face still hidden against your neck. “Ya just looked so damn cute wanderin’ ‘round Dublin confused, but I couldn't let ya continue on strugglin’.”
“And now you're giving me mind-blowing orgasms,” you teased.
A burst of deep laughter came from Michael, his body shaking against yours. You smiled at the sound, one of your hands reaching up to affectionately play with his hair.
“Dunno ‘bout that, pet,” he said once his laughter had subsided. He withdrew his face from your neck, his eyes finally meeting yours again. “But how ‘bout I make us some breakfast? How d'ya like yer eggs?”
Your bottom lip rolled between your teeth as you bit back a smile at him trying to change the subject once again. “Fertilized,” you joked.
Michael rolled his eyes, but the smile grew on his own mouth. “Ya goin’ to be like this all mornin’?” he asked.
“Yes,” you answered. “Because I love seeing the beautiful smile on your face where it belongs.”
Another bit of red tinged Michael’s cheeks at the compliment before he loosed another chuckle and glanced away. Smiling triumphantly to yourself, you settled in for a morning of complimenting him at every opportunity that presented itself.
Michael Kinsella One Shot Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @sunflower-tia @kezibear @loves0phelia @millennial-birkin @steve-chandler @flowher
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: MOVING IN TOGETHER 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Tuna-tober Day 4 ALT
Here's day 4 of Tuna-tober! I used one of the alternative prompts for this day!
Prompt: Moving In Together
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader
Word Count: 433
You and Michael had been seeing each other for quite some time. Moving in together was the next logical step in your relationship. And yet, you were nervous. You tried to hide it from Michael, not wanting him to think you didn't want to move in together. Because you did want to move in with him. You wanted it more than you could tell.
But anxiety was not logical. It liked to remind you of all the things that could go wrong.
You found yourself hoping Michael wasn't able to pick up on your anxiety. You didn't want him to think you were having second thoughts. This was what you wanted. You were just nervous.
Too bad things didn't always go your way.
Michael approached you the morning before you moved and watched you carefully. You were in one of his shirts and you were in the process of making coffee. But he could see the way you'd chewed your lip to the point of bleeding. He could see the way you would get lost in thought. He knew something was wrong and he was so worried that you were changing your mind.
“Pet?” He called out softly. You jumped at his voice but thankfully you hadn't picked up the coffee yet. You turned to face him with your hand clutched over you chest.
“Mikey! You scared me.” He chuckled and moved closer, pulling you into his arms. He kissed your temple.
“‘m sorry, pet. It wasn't on purpose.”
“I know. Gonna put a bell on you so I can hear you coming.” You both chuckled at that. “Did you want to ask me something, Mikey?”
Michael swallowed hard before nodding. He smoothed a hand down your back.
“Just wanted ta check in with ya. Ya still wanna move in, right?” He asked timidly. You immediately pulled back to look at him.
“Of course I do! Why would you think otherwise?”
“I noticed that ye've been nervous lately. Anxious. I just wanted ta make sure ya hadn't changed your mind.” He said quietly. You sighed and settled your forehead on his shoulder.
“That's because I have been. It's not that I don't want to move in with you, because I do. It's just that I'm nervous. This is a big step for both of us and I want to make sure it goes smoothly.” Michael slipped a hand under your chin and tilted your head back so you were looking at him.
“Yer right. It is a big step. But we both want it and we're both ready. So let's take it. Together.”
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: WATER GUN FIGHT + TICKLING 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Day 5 - Sunlight
Prompts: 5 - Water Gun Fight + 17 - Tickling Character: Michael Kinsella Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Word Count: ~400 Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff, spoilers for Kin Season 1, referenced character death and drug use, past depressed mindset, vague but original child character Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist
Sunlight
It was amazing how much of a difference a few years makes.
If someone had told Michael Kinsella five years ago what his future held, he wouldn’t have believed them. At best he would regarded such predictions as the product of a diseased mind. At worse, a cruel joke.
Because, five years ago today, Michael wasn’t certain that he was going to survive the rest of the year.
Soon or later, if enough people were determined to kill him, one of them would succeed eventually. He’d make a mistake. Or he’d stop fighting. After all, what did he have to live for? His wife was dead. Jaime, the son he had never allowed to be anything other than Uncle Mikey to, was dead. Anna hated him. Everyone watched him with fear or disgust in their eyes. Including his own family at times.
Everyone seemed intent on pulling him back into that quagmire of crime and violence. Just like when he was kid desperately trying to escape that sucking pit, everyone turned their backs. Left him to drown in darkness and pain. Only this time, he couldn’t even numb himself to it with drugs and booze without making the seizures worse.
Not since it had first snapped shut on him at sixteen had the jaws of this trap hurt so bad.
Five years ago, Michael didn’t know that his impulsive decision to keep walking instead turning left toward his cold, empty house would change everything. Or that downpour would have him ducking into a little shop where he’d meet you, the love of his life.
Now he came home to a home filled with warmth and people who loved him. A life where his hands were used to create beauty instead of misery. Or to tickle his child until the little one’s delighted peels of laughter were the only thing he could hear.
Five years ago, Michael was condemned to be a bloody shadow stalking the twilight streets, a bringer of fear and death.
Today, he ran across the sunlight garden armed with a little green water pistol. The only thing he had to fear was Anna nailing him with another water ballon.
Or his toddler, with the giggling assistance of his pretty wife, ambushing him from behind the tree with the garden hose. While he fought for control of the hose, Anna started lobbing balloons at all of them. She had impeccable aim. Not that this saved her from the wrath of her younger sibling.
Needless to say, when it was time to go inside, everyone was thoroughly soaked.
And Michael couldn’t be happier.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: WATER GUN FIGHT 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
work song
pairing: michael kinsella x fem!reader
word count: 1k
tuna-tober prompt: water gun fight
summary: michael kinsella pure domestic bliss fluff
warnings: some suggestive dialogue, kids being kids
tagging: @yarrystyleeza
a/n: i’ve never written for mikey before. he’s my newest obsession. hope i did him some justice. i appreciate any likes/feedback/reblogs. ❣️
You’re spraying on your favorite perfume as you hear the sound of loud melodic laughter coming from the garden.
There’s a rare heatwave in Ireland and your kids have been cooling off with popsicles and jumping through the sprinkler.
You glance out your window to see your seven year old daughter and five year old son filling up their water guns. They’re strategizing and whispering about their plan of attack. Your son instead picks the super soaker to fill up.
You spot Michael tending to your garden, unaware of the attack your mischievous children are planning. Your daughter and son are locked and loaded, trying their hardest to stifle their giggles as they run up on their da.
They shriek as they both pull their water gun triggers, eliciting a surprised yelp from Michael. In a matter of seconds his thin t-shirt is soaked through and clinging to his chest. You hear him groan about how unfair their ambush was, only to be met with louder belly laughs from your children.
Michael picks up your young son and playfully lifts him upside down, your little guy is a daredevil and loves to roughhouse with his da. Michael takes your daughter’s small water pistol and shoots it at your son. Your son tries to lap up the water like a puppy. Your daughter hugs Michael’s legs as she tries to take him down onto the soft grassy ground. The moment is such a joy to watch unfold. You knew the horrors of Michael’s past life and the man that he was.
The man that he is now is honest, decent, and wholesome. Your walls are decorated with family photos of your life together. The highlight reel of the life you built together, brick by brick. The universe brought you both together at exactly the right time that it felt uncanny. He never knew love without manipulation, and your love was steadfast, whole-hearted, and true. The first time you ever made love was better than any high, and he wanted more. You broke down all his walls as you helped pull him out of his life of crime and desperation. With your help and guiding light he started a new humble life. He was able to gain legal access to visitations with Anna. They worked on their relationship and healed old wounds. You were absolutely honored when Michael introduced you to Anna. You could never replace her mother, but she grew to develop an affection for you and asked you for teenage advice. She was quiet and bright, she listened to you in a way Michael would never be able to get through to her. You’d go on shopping dates and grab lunch together, you provided her with a strong female influence. Michael asked Anna’s opinion before he popped the question as he wanted her support and wanted her to be a part of the family he hoped to build with you. She enthusiastically agreed. She wanted you to be a part of her life as well. When Michael asked you to marry him you agreed only on terms that he’d take your last name and give you beautiful children. Without hesitation he was overeager on both accounts. You married quickly and secretly not wishing to draw any attention. It didn’t take long for you to become pregnant with your daughter.
You see Michael was still joking around with your kids about their stunt. You open the window and yell out, “Karma is a cat, Mikey. Ya need to get ready anyway. Anna will be here soon!”
Michael acknowledges your remark realizing he’s short on time. He lifts both of the children into his arms and carries them inside and up the stairs so they can get changed out of their wet swimsuits.
Michael opens your bedroom door and closes it behind him, “I’m soaked”, he says as he rips off his shirt and hangs it up to dry off.
“Maybe if ya play yer cards right, I’ll be soaked later, too,” you tease as you put on your necklace, watching him advance as you look in the mirror. He’s behind you and he kisses a path from your shoulder up to your neck. His beard and his breath tickling you the whole way as he stops and nips on your earlobe, “Ya know, yer too good to me, pet.”
Downstairs you hear your door open, it’s Anna shouting “Ma, Da, I’m here!”
You urge Michael to get ready quickly so you aren’t late for your dinner reservation. He gets ready at rapid speed and looks so effortlessly handsome. You depart from the bedroom and head downstairs where your kids are already harassing their grown up half-sister. She’s asking them about school and they pick out books to read together in the fort they’re planning to build in the living room. Your daughter is showing Anna the blueprint of where the furniture and blankets will be set up.
“Don’t worry lovebirds I have everything under control, stay out as late as ya want, but remember while car sex isn’t illegal in Ireland, indecent exposure is, so, don’t get caught sickos,” Anna jokes. She’s at university studying law, following in your footsteps.
“Noted, thank ya for the brilliant legal advice, Anna. Call if ya need anythin’,” you say as you give her a warm hug.
“Will do, ma,” Anna says back to you with a smile.
Your kids run up to you and give you both great big hugs and kisses before your departure. You walk hand-in-hand to your car, excited for a much needed date night.
“Ya hungry, love?” You ask as you pull out of your driveway.
“Starvin’, but not for anything on the menu,” Michael said with a smirk and a glint in his eyes.
“Oh? And what’re ya hungry for?”
“Always ya, pet,” Michael sighs as his hand grips your thigh.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: WATER GUN FIGHT + TICKLING 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Day 5 - Sunlight
Prompts: 5 - Water Gun Fight + 17 - Tickling Character: Michael Kinsella Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Word Count: ~400 Warning: Tooth-rotting fluff, spoilers for Kin Season 1, referenced character death and drug use, past depressed mindset, vague but original child character Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist
Sunlight
It was amazing how much of a difference a few years makes.
If someone had told Michael Kinsella five years ago what his future held, he wouldn’t have believed them. At best he would regarded such predictions as the product of a diseased mind. At worse, a cruel joke.
Because, five years ago today, Michael wasn’t certain that he was going to survive the rest of the year.
Soon or later, if enough people were determined to kill him, one of them would succeed eventually. He’d make a mistake. Or he’d stop fighting. After all, what did he have to live for? His wife was dead. Jaime, the son he had never allowed to be anything other than Uncle Mikey to, was dead. Anna hated him. Everyone watched him with fear or disgust in their eyes. Including his own family at times.
Everyone seemed intent on pulling him back into that quagmire of crime and violence. Just like when he was kid desperately trying to escape that sucking pit, everyone turned their backs. Left him to drown in darkness and pain. Only this time, he couldn’t even numb himself to it with drugs and booze without making the seizures worse.
Not since it had first snapped shut on him at sixteen had the jaws of this trap hurt so bad.
Five years ago, Michael didn’t know that his impulsive decision to keep walking instead turning left toward his cold, empty house would change everything. Or that downpour would have him ducking into a little shop where he’d meet you, the love of his life.
Now he came home to a home filled with warmth and people who loved him. A life where his hands were used to create beauty instead of misery. Or to tickle his child until the little one’s delighted peels of laughter were the only thing he could hear.
Five years ago, Michael was condemned to be a bloody shadow stalking the twilight streets, a bringer of fear and death.
Today, he ran across the sunlight garden armed with a little green water pistol. The only thing he had to fear was Anna nailing him with another water ballon.
Or his toddler, with the giggling assistance of his pretty wife, ambushing him from behind the tree with the garden hose. While he fought for control of the hose, Anna started lobbing balloons at all of them. She had impeccable aim. Not that this saved her from the wrath of her younger sibling.
Needless to say, when it was time to go inside, everyone was thoroughly soaked.
And Michael couldn’t be happier.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: BROKEN + "I feel real when I'm with you." 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)
Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader
Wordcount: 2k
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)
It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you to sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed.
“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.”
Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had wanted this. But he was a loyal man, endlessly devoted to family, something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of.
You had thoughts on that, too, but that would also have to wait.
“We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said ta him, and…”
Some nights, though, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath that weight—the weight of expectation and a grim responsibility he shouldered without complaint, even as he began to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met this beautiful, quiet man in that small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form. Over time, as he gradually began to let you in, you’d discovered the far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done, had only opened that door further, until he began to seek you out as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits were brought closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inevitably in the pull of each other’s gravity.
Neither of you had named what this was. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it.
“Just… be gentle with him, dear.”
Somehow, even the knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the rain and a gust of chilled wind.
“Oh, Michael,” you whispered.
He was soaked to the bone, dark hair plastered down against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and hands, more of it leaking steadily from a split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he seemed to realize you didn’t buy it, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and exhausted.
“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for humor and missing by miles.
“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his arm and tugged him forward until you could quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness.
“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, stripped of all energy, as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head, staring down at the growing puddle on the floor, his face twisting through something unreadable. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”
“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was standing shivering in the hall as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”
He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”
He clenched his jaw, still refusing to look at you. Some of the blood on him had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a rusty pink. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”
You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the door. He went stiff the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops, making it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of whiskey and leather, of gun oil and rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder as his breath hitched. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”
He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his hands tentatively finding their way around your waist, as if he were still half-convinced it would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ ta give ya. Ta give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”
“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands beginning to fist in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath from him, more of his tears falling against your throat as he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I let you in because I just need you. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.”
That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked sobs. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, soothing whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and through his hair as he let go of every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world.
It took time for that wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, taking the time to clean him up. He accepted the care silently, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready, so you let the quiet have its place, though every now and then you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
You left him alone just long enough for him to change. You were glad he now kept a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, the knowledge that this place was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed, you tipped your head before heading towards the bedroom. He hesitated, just for a moment, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.
It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. Just on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed each other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against grief or hurt. Until now, however, it had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed. That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge. Somehow you knew there’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply friends.
And after a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow.
The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you.
Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him.
“I don’t know what I’d do without ya’,” he sighed, his breath slowly easing. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them took your breath away, filled with a tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the end and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am, yer’ there ta bring me back. I feel… I feel real when I’m with ya’. I…”
His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair as his lips met yours.
The kiss was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a hesitance that swiftly gave way to confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed down as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he lay his forehead against yours, his eyes falling closed. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, eyes crinkling, even if they stayed closed. “Wanted ta do that for a long time, now,” he admitted. “Not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing.
“Can I take ya ta breakfast tomorrow?”
You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for.
“I’d love that.”
And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: FALLING ASLEEP IN A HOSPITAL ROOM🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Up All Night
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]
Tuna-Tober Prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room
Warnings/tags: Mentions of violence/canon-typical violence, confession of feelings, light angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: You wake up in a hospital bed wondering how you got there.
a/n: Because Mikey always needs more love, I had him on my brain to kick off Tuna-tober. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
A muted, burning pain tore its way up through your abdomen. The feeling had first started off dull–almost like a faint tickle–but gradually the sensation grew sharp and searing, quickly becoming impossible to ignore the further you groggily returned to consciousness. Gritting your teeth together, your eyes squeezed tighter shut as the pain coursed its way up your left side in shuddering waves. Steadily becoming aware of your entire body starting with your partially numb toes, you whimpered softly to yourself. But that persistent dull pain near your stomach easily overshadowed the stiffness in your legs and the uncomfortable ache in your back.
Why did you hurt so much?
Something light brushed along the back of your hand and you startled at the touch. Eyes flying open at the soft contrast to the piercing burn in your gut, you were desperate to see who was here with you–wherever here was. Though your eyes immediately snapped shut again as an unexpected bright light blinded you. That's when you felt a similar sharp, searing sensation in the palms of your hands, too.
“Mmmph,” you groaned. “Hurts.”
“I should think so,” the unmistakable voice of Birdy met your ears. “Ya did try to stop a knife with yer bare hands, dear.”
Your brows knitted together as her words slowly registered in your ears. Attempting to open your eyes again, you squinted up at Birdy's face where she towered above you. There was a solemn expression there as she gazed back down at you.
“What?” you croaked out, voice thick from disuse.
“Ya jumped in front of a knife unarmed, love,” she repeated. “The asshole managed to stab ya in the stomach after slicin’ yer hands up. But he wasn't breathin’ much longer past that, or so I'm told.”
Listening to Birdy’s explanation carefully, you tried to recall any of what she'd said. The last thing you could remember was being called to meet Frank, Jimmy, and Michael down at the pub. After that, you could only recall brief flashes–a black hooded sweatshirt, cigarette smoke, panicked screams, and a blinding white hot burst of pain.
A frown settled onto your mouth as you lightly shook your head. “Why…why would I do that?” you asked her. “I don’t–don’t exactly remember what happened.”
Birdy’s lips gradually curved upwards into a warm smile before she took a pointed step back from the hospital bed you’d soon realized you were lying in. Her head turned over her shoulder and your eyes followed to where hers had focused. Slumped in half in a chair across the room was Michael. He looked uncomfortable passed out in the tiny seat, his body awkwardly hunched in on itself. There was a deep frown drawing his mouth downwards, a slight crease between his brows. His dark hair was tousled and sticking up in places as if he'd been running his hands through it for awhile.
“Because ya saved Mikey's life,” Birdy explained softly. “That asshole came outta nowhere outside the pub. He was lookin’ for Mikey, but it was you who spotted him first. Placed yerself between him and Michael. Tried to take the knife with yer bare hands. Unfortunately he got ya once before Mikey took care o’ him.”
Eyes growing wide, they returned to Birdy. Slowly her own gaze focused back on you, one brow quirking up onto her forehead as her smile grew wider.
“Michael did what?” you asked in shock.
“He saw to it that the asshole got what was comin’ to him,” she answered. “No one hurts one o’ our own. Ya should know that by now, dear.”
There was something more to the look on Birdy’s face, something hiding just beneath the surface, but it felt like there was a fog in your head making it hard to concentrate. Whatever more she might’ve meant, it was too much for you to piece together.
“One of…yer own?” you repeated, the crease between your knitted brows growing. “But ‘m'not a Kinsella.”
“Mmm,” Birdy hummed out, one hand patting the space beside your leg. “Should probably wake our poor Michael,” she said, your clouded mind noticing that she'd intentionally changed the topic. “Been here all night waitin’ for ya to finally wake up.”
“He–he was?” you asked.
“Think hospital staff were a wee bit scared o’ him,” she continued in amusement, her heels clicking along the floor as she made her way towards him in the chair across the room. “Guests aren't s'posed to stay o'ernight. Yet Mikey here stayed awake all night with ya.” She came to a stop in front of him, a sympathetic look on her face as she fondly gazed down at him. “Poor man only fell asleep a bit ago.”
Your attention shifted back down to Michael still asleep in the chair. The thought of him staying here all night in your hospital room had something warm and hesitant settling into your chest. You'd always had feelings for him, ever since that day he'd been released from prison and you’d actually met him. He wasn’t like the rest of his family, which had drawn you right towards him, but he'd never seemed to notice you more than he needed to, contacting you only when he needed help with something for a job.
“Mikey, love,” Birdy said, shaking his shoulder gently. “She's finally awake, pet.”
Michael's eyes flew open at the sound of her voice, his head darting straight up almost instantly. He looked completely alert, his attention quickly shifting from Birdy before over to where you lay. When his eyes met yours from across the room, you felt your breath catch. You hoped the heart monitor you were connected to hadn't given away the jolt you'd just felt in your chest as a nervous energy washed over you.
Michael pushed himself up and out of the chair, one of his hands running through his hair as he continued to stare back at you without a word. Beside him, Birdy’s eyes swept back and forth between you both with a growing grin.
“I'll come check in on ya later, dear,” she said to you.
Michael stood rooted to the floor, unmoving even as Birdy reached up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. You saw her lips move beside his ear, but she spoke so softly that you couldn't quite catch whatever she'd said to him. She patted his shoulder afterwards before making her way towards the exit without a backwards glance.
And then it was just you and Michael.
He didn't speak for a long time, his silence only increasing the tension in the air of your hospital room. The nerves in your stomach swirled uncomfortably as you chewed the inside of your cheek. One of your bandaged hands began toying with the stiff hospital sheets as you waited for him to say absolutely anything.
“Why'd ya do that?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Do what?” you cautiously questioned back.
“Try to stop a goddamn knife with yer damn hands?” he snapped.
You recoiled on the bed in surprise at his angry outburst. Michael had lost his temper before, but in all the time you’d known him, he'd never lost it with you. You weren’t entirely sure how to respond as you lay there beneath the growing fire in his beautiful eyes.
Michael began to stalk his way towards the side of your hospital bed and you stiffened along the hard mattress, the pain in your abdomen sending another jolt through you at the movement. His hands had clenched into tight fists at his sides as he moved with a fury you'd rarely personally witnessed in him.
“That was reckless and so fuckin’ stupid o’ ya,” he snarled. “Ya coulda been killed last night. D’ya realize that? And for what?”
Swallowing hard, you held his heated stare. As terrifying as he was standing there tense and furious, you couldn't help but grow curious as to why Michael Kinsella himself had stayed the entire night in your hospital room. Part of you was beginning to hopefully suspect it was the same reason you'd done what you'd done.
“For you,” you quietly admitted.
He'd opened his mouth, clearly about to continue shouting and scolding you, but your answer had appeared to surprise him straight into a momentary silence. His dark brows drew even tighter together, his lips still parted in shock. A flutter of nerves tore through your sore body next.
“What?” he asked, the edge completely fading from his voice.
“The night remains a bit fuzzy,” you explained quietly, watching the hard lines of his features soften, “but that guy was comin’ for ya. So I…did it to protect ya.”
The tension continued to visibly ease out of his body. His shoulders gradually relaxed, his hands beginning to unclench from the fists they'd been curled in. The expression on his face switched to one of confusion now as he gazed down at you.
“Why?” he asked.
You shrugged lightly, wincing a little. “I suspect for the same reason ya stayed here awake all night,” you answered. “Because ya…matter to me.”
Michael blinked rapidly, as if the idea that he meant something to you seemed too ludicrous to believe. Your heart twisted at the sight.
“But–but I'm not worth riskin’ bein’ killed over,” he countered.
“Well, Michael Kinsella,” you murmured softly, reaching your injured hand out towards him, “I happen to disagree.”
Michael visibly swallowed hard, the fire in his eyes melting into something hard to decipher. The corner of his lips began to twitch so minutely you almost hadn't caught the movement. And then slowly, his large hand reached out and gently wrapped around your bandaged one very carefully. You smiled up at him, squeezing his fingers despite the searing pain that shot through your hand.
“How long?” you whispered.
Shyly, he smiled back down at you with tears welling in his eyes. “Since that God awful party Amanda threw when I was released from prison,” he whispered back. “The second I first saw ya standin’ quietly at the back o’ the group.”
You laughed lightly, but the pain in your mid-section quickly cut the sound off. “What a coincidence,” you told him, trying to smile despite the pain. “‘Cause that was the same moment I knew.”
Michael’s smile briefly slipped, concern returning to his features. “But don’t think I’m done scoldin’ ya for what ya did. ‘Cause I’m not.”
“‘Course yer not,” you said with a grin.
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