the record of a single night's events, thoughts, or dreams
summary: you're a young vampire, turned against your will and abandoned by your sire. henry has taken you in, and while you're thankful for his mentorship, there's a certain kind of tension building between the two of you
pairing: henry x reader
word count: 3.2k
warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. swearing. mentions of blood (duh), one dead fox (sorry), horny vampires, smut, lots of biting (not sorry), kisses, sucking, marking, oral (f rec), filthy kiss, p in v, outdoor sex, you name it sugar
a/n: so I love different vampire myths/lore and obviously, I had to make up a few things for this fic to work. most of my inspiration came from the vampire: the masquerade ttrpg/video games series which I ADORE and uh, this was a lot of fun to write! so there's quite a bit of plot to this. ...oops? Also, some spoilers for the horribly dumb but still somehow entertaining movie that is eat locals.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics.
The world felt inky black under the thick canopy of the trees, broken occasionally by the moonlight shining through a few patches, but you found your way easily, your eyes adjusting to the dark. The air was warm, heavy and damp with summer and the scent of flowers and grass hanging all around.
You’ve been walking for an hour or two now, heading deeper into the woods to clear your thoughts. You weren’t sure if it was working.
But you needed a little space.
The past few months have been hard, to say the least. You remembered walking home late one night, lost in your thoughts - and then, your next memory was waking up on the side of an abandoned road, curled up in pain as your whole body was wrecked by cramps, shivers and the deepest, most ferocious hunger that you have ever felt in your life.
It was sheer luck that Henry and Sebastian found you, dragging you with them, fleeing the impending dawn as you fell in and out of consciousness, too weak to struggle.
You could still recall that hunger, fighting to take over you until you felt the metallic taste of blood pooling on your tongue - that sinister-sweet, dark pleasure filling you, a single drop falling from the corner of your mouth and the crimson shadow that Henry covered over his wrist.
Even though he wasn’t your sire, a bond formed between you two.
A strong one.
One that was hard to ignore, even now as you tried to get as far away from him as possible, making your way through the undergrowth.
It’s not that you weren’t thankful. Without their help, you surely wouldn’t have made it through that first night. But it was hard to take it all in. The fact that vampires exist felt like the plot to a terrible movie, and whether you liked it or not, it was your reality now.
It was demanding getting used to your new life, both physically and mentally. To control your hunger, no matter how strong ancient instincts were gnawing at your bones. To keep to the darkness.
To play by the rules.
The Council graciously spared your life under the sole condition that Henry was now responsible for you.
Teaching you. Guiding you. Guarding and providing for you until you’re fit to receive your own territory. And your own place among the new Eight.
And you were grateful for his mentorship, truly. But he was - how could you put it?
Overbearing.
Of course, there was much to learn - from the history of what you’ve become, to your new-found abilities, and Henry took his time explaining it all. But he was always with you, shadowing your every move. On some nights, he allowed you outside, teaching you how to feed, how to blend in with the shadows. But most of the time he saw it best if you stayed inside, where you could be kept safe despite you frequently voicing your disagreement.
It was patronizing, and it was driving you insane. The fact that he saved your life was already enough to make you feel indebted to him for eternity - even if you’ve thanked him numerous times, and he never mentioned or taunted you with it. But it was there, hanging thickly in the air between you.
Just a few days back, you were out hunting, crouching together in the shadows on the outskirts of the forest. Motionless, you waited for something, anything, to cross your path.
You swallowed thickly at the memory of Henry’s body pressed tightly to yours, his breath fanning your face. Vaguely, you were aware of him talking, the low whisper in your ear sending shivers through your very core.
Then, a low chuckle, a smirk on his face when he realized you didn’t hear a single word of what he was saying. Even as he scolded you, all you could think about was how fucking close his lips were to your skin; and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to get closer or farther away from it.
Nevertheless, all that close proximity wasn’t doing you any favors. You felt tense, all your frustration pent-up and ready to burst. More and more often you caught yourself looking at Henry, your gaze lingering over him: his face, his lips, his beard, down his neck before you caught yourself and turned abruptly away.
You’d sit there, frozen in silent horror, begging all higher powers that this be no more than a passing infatuation.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Yet sometimes, just sometimes, when you couldn’t bear it anymore and let your eyes wander to him again, you’d catch him staring right back at you. His expression unreadable, umber eyes darkening as he focused intently on you. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you’d gape back at him, fleeing the room with the lamest excuse tumbling out of your mouth.
Then, you’d close the door on yourself, laying in bed in the dark, thoughts racing as you wondered about the taste of his lips, or how that beard would feel against the soft skin of your thighs.
At sunset, Henry woke you from an uneasy sleep, to let you know he was going out for the night. Except this time, he wasn’t taking you along.
“Seba will keep you company.” he said, already halfway out the door when you snorted indignantly, muttering under your breath. He stopped, turning back slowly.
“What was that?” he asked, voice low and eyes flashing dangerously in the dusklight.
“Nothing.” you replied, and made sure it sounded as venomous as possible.
Henry took a step back into the room, towering over you.
“Good.” he said, and while he sounded calm, there was an underlying threat in his tone that made it crystal clear he was not up for your bullshit tonight. “I have something to take care of. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You could take me with you.”
God, you sounded so pathetic.
“This doesn’t concern you.” he said, leaving no room for argument. In a second, he turned his back on you, a whisper of a pain making room in your chest at how easy it was for him to be so dismissive of you. A sharp contrast to the yearning that seemed to burn every inch of your being, and you had to bite your tongue to not beg him to stay.
He looked back from the doorway, giving you one last warning.
“I’d better find you here when I’m back.”
Fuck him.
He was barely out of the house and you managed to convince Sebastian that you felt tired and wanted to be alone. You hoped Henry wouldn’t bite his head off for being naive enough to believe that lie.
Just to be sure, you waited a little before climbing out the window and made your way towards the woods. The cool night air, and the hike through the forest helped take your mind off of things at least. Not completely, of course, but it was nice.
It felt of freedom, even if there was a life to the forest; one the daylight would never let you see. Several hedgehogs crossed your path, hurrying on their way and you scared off an owl when a twig snapped under your boots.
Eventually, you reached your destination - a small creek cutting the forest in two, opening up the night sky. There was much more light here - the full moon rising high, illuminating the trees and breaking into a myriad pieces on the surface of the water.
You sat down on the riverbank, taking it all in. The clouds were clearing in the gentle wind, revealing the stars to you. Absent-mindedly, you pick up a small stone and throw it in the water. The splash scares up some critter hiding at the other bank and the leaves rustle under its paws as it scurries away.
For a few minutes, you just sit there, listening to the trickle of the stream and the occasional cricket chirping in the distance.
And then, you sense him, his presence looming behind you.
You’re not sure how far he was following behind because god damn it, you didn’t notice a thing. In fact, you’re pretty certain you only noticed him now because the bastard let you and that realization stirs up some old anger in you.
“What do you want?” you spat, refusing to spare him even a glance as you threw another stone.
“‘S nice to see you, too.”
“Go away.”
Another splash. He doesn’t move a muscle, of course - you’re in no position to order him around. It reminds you that you have no say in this game, no power. Instead of bickering, he simply sits down next to you, much to your surprise.
“I found a dead fox in the bushes. Was that you?”
You turn to him with a cold glare. “I’m not proud of it, y’know.”
Henry just chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll get used to it.”
You couldn’t help it. You were hungry, and taking what you needed from humans was not something you were ready to do. Pretty sure it wasn’t something you’d ever be ready for. At least there was no judgment from Henry for that. He was a firm believer that even as a vampire, one could still have standards - something he encouraged while mentoring you, too.
His voice dropped lower.
“I just want you to understand-”
“It’s fine.” you interrupted, throwing yet another stone. The words were venom on your tongue, except this time, you didn’t mean it. It just hurt.
Henry scoffed. “Can you stop being a brat for five minutes?”
“You don’t have to explain. I don’t care.”
Splash.
“But I do.”
“Don’t.” You raised your hand, ready to hurl another rock when he caught your wrist.
He wasn’t causing you any pain, just held on firmly when you struggled. You expected him to get angry. To yell. But when you looked over, ready to stare him down, to bicker until fucking dawn; there was something else in his eyes instead. Something soft, and caring - and it scared you.
With a huff, you tore your hand from his grasp. But you shut up.
Henry took a deep, uneasy breath.
“It happened only a few months before we found you, when there were still Eight of us. We met one night, to discuss some official matters. It was supposed to go all smoothly, far enough from town at a rural farmhouse.”
He snorted at the memory. “You’d think a handful of ancient vampires would know better, but we weren’t careful enough. I guess the past centuries made us a little too comfortable. A group of soldiers overwhelmed us.”
An awkward silence settled slowly, causing you to swallow against a sudden dryness in your throat. Never in your wildest dreams could you guess that something like this was behind his caution and sheltering. There were precautions to being a vampire, sure and the rules and quotas were in place to protect you, but still.
“A lot of my friends were killed that night.” He continued. “Only three of us survived - and Seba.”
“That was the night you met Sebastian?” you asked, incredulous.
“Yeah.” Henry looked over to you with concern. “Did he tell you about all this?”
“Just mentioned something in passing, once. Then panicked and refused to say anything else when I tried asking about it.”
“That sounds like him alright, yeah.”
“But what happened exactly?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it just as quickly, shaking his head. “One night, I will tell you. But I can’t, not now.”
He shifted closer, leaning in; you could almost feel his skin touching yours. If you tilted your head, just slightly-
“I- I can’t let that happen again. I couldn’t bear it. I can’t.”
You could practically hear your heart breaking over the pleading in his voice. “Henry…”
And there it was again. That gaze that seemed to see right through all the walls you’ve built, baring all your deepest desires. He was so close, impossibly close, his breath on the air, a whisper like a breeze.
“I can’t lose you.”
You moved before you could think. Just an inch forward, pressing your lips over his. His breath hitched and you braced yourself for inevitable disappointment; for refusal. You weren’t ready for the soft moan in the back of his throat, giving himself to you.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, îngeraș*.” he muttered before slipping his tongue into your mouth, and you didn’t even try to resist him, almost high on his taste.
Where you were desperate, needy and giving in, he was now intense; almost controlling as he took over, one hand slipping to the back of your neck, lowering, pushing you down until the scent of wildflowers erupted around you as you hit the ground, the starry skies embracing you from above.
Panting heavily, Henry pulled away briefly only to look at you, eyes glowing in the dark before he practically attacked your clothes, stripping you of your shirt, your own hands busy with his belt, tearing off his coat, getting rid of anything that could come in your way.
He looked absolutely gorgeous; better than anything you could have ever imagined: his body bathed in the moonlight, muscles glistening with sweat. Your eyes dropped to his neck, then lower, down his chest, following that sweet happy trail and you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself anymore, reaching out - only for him to catch your wrists again.
“Not yet,” he taunted, kissing the inside of your wrists half-apologetically. “I know you’ve been waiting for this, angel, but I’m gonna make you earn it.”
You choked on a sound, opening your mouth to protest but he interrupted you.
“That’s right,” he added, amusement evident in his voice at your shocked expression. “You think I couldn’t hear you? Panting and writhing and whispering my name in the other room as you touched yourself?”
You could feel heat creeping across your face, half in embarrassment, half in defiance as you tried to wrestle your hand free.
“Fuck, Henry, just let me touch you-”
“No.” He said firmly, grabbing your other wrist, pinning your hands above your head with ease as he laid above you, his face a mere inches from yours. “If I’m to claim you, right here, you’re gonna lay there and take what I’m giving you and you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and obey, you hear me. Can you do that, huh? Just once?”
You smirked. “Make me.”
The growl he let out was carnal, fangs flashing before he bit down on your neck. You moaned at the feeling of his teeth sinking into your flesh, just shy from breaking skin but enough to leave a deep mark, a final claim to make you his.
He grinded his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing to your thighs and you practically whimpered, wanting to feel him inside you.
“You’re mine.” he whispered, pressing kisses over his mark, “mine.”
Then, a trail of open mouthed kisses leading to your collarbone, your breasts, and he brought your hands down with his, fingers intertwined with yours to keep you in your place. You were a squirming, whimpering mess as he toyed with your nipples, fangs barely scraping your skin before he took them in his mouth, suckling on them, coaxing the most delicious sounds from you.
You clenched around nothing, needy and craving more as you tried to get some friction, grinding against him. One last lick, his eyes closed as he hummed in appreciation, his tongue slowly sliding over the soft skin of your breasts.
He was hunger itself, feral on the scent of your arousal as he slid lower, leaving small bites all over your stomach and sides, and you moaned louder and louder each time his fangs sinked into your flesh, practically crying with need.
And fuck, if it didn’t feel good to know you had this affect on him, the power to make him drop to his knees and worship every inch of your body with his mouth, his breath damp against your skin.
“Henry, please.”
One last bite, harder than the others, a low growl warning you to let him take what he needs, craves, wants. He squeezed your hands before finally letting go, laying flat on his stomach between your legs, eyes glowing with a fire like the stars above.
“Beautiful angel.” he said, arms wrapping around your thighs, holding you close, keeping you in place as he finally devoured you, dragging his tongue up between your folds, and you almost sobbed, lost in the pleasure.
Your hands scrambled until you found purchase in his hair, shamelessly guiding his movements as you rocked against him, your clit throbbing as he nipped and sucked on it. It felt like you could come any second, your whole body trembling with the force of it when he pulled away.
He wanted to give you more.
His beard was glistening with your arousal, and he made a half hearted attempt to wipe it away, only to reconsider, sucking his fingers greedily for every last drop. When he climbed over you, you couldn’t contain it anymore and reached out to cradle his face, pulling him in for a filthy kiss. He obliged happily, letting you get a taste of yourself.
He didn’t bother to warn you before he thrusted inside you, and fuck, it knocked the air right out of you, a choked sound in the back of your throat he swallowed readily. He filled you up completely, fitting so perfectly that there was no question he was made for you; born for you eons ago for this moment to make you lose yourself in him, his body, his yearning, his love.
He started rocking his hips, his eyes drawn to where your bodies met, watching his cock disappear in you, filling you with pleasure. He was drunk on your moans and the way his name hung on your lips, the way your hands looked for purchase so frantically, grabbing for his shoulders.
Panting, he picked up his pace, pounding into you harder, faster, deeper with each stroke, hissing, cursing softly under his breath when you dragged your nails down his back but fuck if he didn’t love it. It didn’t take long to get you close; the way you clenched around him, your eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming feeling of your whole body overcome with pleasure drove him over the edge too, the two of you cumming together, the clearing next to the creek loud with your grunts and moans.
Henry barely kept himself from collapsing over you, too greedy to pull out just yet, and you didn’t mind. You were high on euphoria, dizzy with pleasure, your hands lazily caressing his skin.
“We have to go.” he eventually said, softly, in-between featherlight kisses that he peppered along your neck.
He was right, you had to get back before sunrise.
“I want to stay like this forever.” you replied, the words tumbling out of you before you even realized.
“Don’t worry,” Henry said, smirking. “The dawn will find you in my arms, draga mea*; but not here.”
RHI!!! A million congrats on 2.5k, I can't think of anyone who deserves it more 🥰 and so glad you're back and feeling ok! For the train, I'd loveee to take a trip to 86th st with Mikey Kinsella and “please, for the love of god, shut up for once.” “why don’t you come over here and make me?” i think the way you write it would be SO gorgeous and interesting ❤️ and also because im a slut, i just know id LOSE it over a stop at Heuston Station with Fratt x reader and ❛ you want gentle? wrong fucking address. ❜ Anyways I'm so so excited to read everything you do for this event 🥰 congrats again!!
all fired up
join my sleepover | main masterlist
pairing: michael kinsella x reader
warnings: amanda slander, a tiny bit of spice (minors DNI), aggressive michael / reader, yes we're a little mean but dont worry he gets the upper hand ;)
a/n: christie my gorgeous, thank you so so so much for dropping in 🥺 i hope you like this one, and i am gonna post the fratt request in a separate ask >:) btw i am amending the prompts to better fit the characters i am writing for, so i hope you dont mind xoxo
Michael’s silent rage simmers in your periphery as he leans against the wall like a fallen angel, gritting his teeth, letting his chest rise and fall in short, controlled bursts. Everything in the room is setting him off: the clicking of your pen, the faint hum of the air-conditioner, and the distant noise of traffic from the main road.
Unfortunately for him, you’re far from caring today; not when you’ve scraped together the business proposal of a lifetime. One that could easily retire you in the blink of an eye.
You’ve worked your ass off to coordinate this, so isn’t it only fair that Michael, being the other major stakeholder in this business, quits his grumbling? It’s as if he can’t — or won’t — comprehend what this means if this works out. If you negotiate your way through this successfully, with Michael there or not, the Kinsellas land on top. They’ll control Dublin, and possibly the whole of Ireland, with opportunities to plant roots and spread vines across all the major networks in Europe. And as you’re the only decision maker not married to — or even fucking — anyone in the family, you’ve had to prove your worth, a thousand times more so. Simply being Michael’s closest friend and confidante didn’t sit well with the others, but you’ve made yourself far more capable than anyone in this business.
And this deal will cement you into the Kinsella hall of fame.
You cut a glance to where he’s standing, a momentary pang of empathy softening your expression. He’s exhausted from today, and it isn’t just the circles under his eyes that demonstrate it. You know his tells better than anyone; in fact, you know him so well that just by judging his body language, you can deduce who he’s been with, what he’s been up to, and what he tries hard to conceal. Right now, and at your disdain, you can see Amanda written all over him. It’s obvious in the way he’s carrying himself, with his chin pointed downwards, the tension almost shrugging his shoulders. Even his skin gives it away, from the warmth in his cheeks to the flush at the tips of his ears.
“Let me guess,” you sigh, breaking the silence, “Amanda thinks you’re not doin’ a good enough job, and you shouldn’t be workin’ with me?” Saying her name is enough to set you off, but you do your best to diffuse the situation, to bring Michael back to the present.
His eyes flick to yours at the mention of her name, and you grimace inwards at the sharp stab to your gut. “Somethin’ like tha’.”
It confirms what you suspected; that he and Amanda had met up today, for purposes you try not to burden yourself with. It isn’t your business what they get up to, or how many times you notice her silhouette beyond the frosted glass of his front door. 5 times this week, and it’s only Wednesday, you think, chewing on your lip.
Unease courses through your veins, and so you go to do what’s natural, and sweep the thoughts under the proverbial rug in your mind. You gesture at the mountain of paperwork in front of you. “Are you gonna help me, Michael?”
His only response is a delicate muscle feathering in his jaw, and for some reason, it sends a lick of angry heat up your spine. The deadline to the deal looms in front of you like a ticking time-bomb, and all he can do is stay silent, and God forbid, mope about Amanda?
Your mouth thins as you take a moment to decide if you want to add to his anguish. To deliver an insult worthy of his attention. There’s a rush that flows through you, a sick kind of satisfaction, that tug the corners of your mouth upwards. If it were Eric, or Jimmy, or even Amanda, he would’ve lost his shit by now. He’d probably have stormed out and sulked home, making sure his gun was accessible from beneath his jacket at all times. His heart would thunder in his ears, itching for a fight with some unfortunate soul who’d then be promptly taken out by none other than the Magician.
Your voice rings out across the room, coming out more confident than you’d played out in your head. “She refuse to blow you today or what?”
Michael’s brows furrow together. “What did you say?”
“I asked you something, Michael. Are you pissed because Amanda didn’t open her legs for you?”
His mouth twists into a sneer. “I’d stop talkin’ if I were you.”
But you return his glare, your blood thrumming with challenge. “Actually, I commend her for doin’ that. ‘Cause I wouldn’t want to fuck someone so miserable either.”
He’s in front of you in a couple of strides, seething cold fury as his voice drops an octave. When he talks, his breath fans your face. “I said stop fuckin’ talkin’.”
You swallow, feeling your chest heave as some unchecked part of you — the part that’s scared of no-one — takes over. “Or what?” You pout, cocking your head to the side. “Are you gonna run back to Amanda and tell her how mean I’ve been to you?”
“Shut. The. Fuck. Up,” he spits, grabbing you by the collar, shoving you until the back of your thighs press up against the desk.
Your retort comes out just before he lowers his mouth to yours. Just before he wedges his thick hand between your legs. “Why don’t you make me?”
I’m unsure if multiple stops is done this way >< buuuuut 🎟️ ticket for 🚇 34th St-Hudson Yards ("for years i have yearned for you, in secrecy and silence.") and 🚇 86th St (“you bring out the good in me.”) with Owen Sleater please! I’m dying 4 more content about this boiii!!
la douleur exquise
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pairing: owen sleater x reader
warnings: kinda unrequited love (ISH), angsty owen, hurt + comfort
a/n: thank you SO much for being my first sleepover ask! this was so heartbreakingly beautiful to write, and as this is my first ever owen piece, i hope you enjoy 💗 (p.s. tagging mrs sleater, @murdock-and-the-sea)
There’s a breezeblock sinking deep into your stomach as Owen reaches for the coat that’s lived on the hatstand for the past two years. It never mattered that the hatstand sat empty most of the time; not when you always knew he was coming back.
But today is different.
You barely register the sense of melancholic dread coursing through you, spreading outwards from the centre of your chest. Not when there are a million little things running through the abyss of your mind.
It feels like you’re gasping for air as you take in a staggering breath, doing your best to cast aside the unease carving his initials into your heart. Your voice cracks when you speak, and with it, any attempts you’ve made to ground yourself. “All packed?”
Owen’s lips twitch upwards as he nods, tightening his grip on the brim of his hat.
You’ve known for a while that this day would come, when he would inevitably have to leave Atlantic City. To go home, as he would fondly say. Home being Ireland.
Not here.
It couldn’t be here, unless Owen could resign himself to a life working for Nucky, being his right-hand man at best, but doing nothing else except taking orders and cutting down anyone who would get in the way.
You swallow thickly, tears prickling your eyes as his fingers close around the door handle. You imagine instead that his hand moves away, a man on a mission to seek out his love, but he turns towards you not to then press his lips against your own, but to angle his body towards the promise of his exit. “Ma’am.”
You draw in a breath, wanting to say something, anything, to fill the now-awkward space between you. The fact that nothing comes out shatters something whole within you. He’s reverting back to your old pleasantries, because you’re more strangers-than-not, and now, you’ll have to remember him for longer than you’ve known him.
“Mr. Sleater,” you call out from your place on the stairs, not caring that the words catch in your throat, “You needn’t address me like that.”
There’s a hitch in every syllable, one that wedges and distorts the sound coming from your mouth. But you keep going. “I thought we’d agreed that you’d call me by name. And don’t you say it’s because of manners.”
You wait a moment. “I know you’re not capable of manners, Owen.” You let his name roll off your tongue, and for some reason, it’s this instance that feels more indulgent than any other time you’ve used it. It reminds you that you’ve grown fond of his temporary permanence, and even then, fond is too austere a word.
He smiles sadly. “I have to.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be goin’ now.” The words echo in your mind even before he says them. “And I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
He turns the handle, and he’s gone in an instant; so quickly and without further goodbye you would think he’s otherwise vanished into thin air. It doesn’t surprise you all that much, because that’s how it’s always been with Owen: a man of few words, always leaving without a trace.
It all becomes unbearable too fast as you watch the sunlight filtering into the foyer, the spot where he stood now agonisingly empty. You stare fixedly at nothing in particular, replaying his words in your head, unable to do anything but bring a fist to your mouth to stifle the oncoming rainstorm.
As you make your way up the stairs, turning your back to the lingering ghost of Owen’s solid form, it hits you that this is what goodbye feels like. This is what it means to farewell something that could’ve worked out, if only you’d properly tried. Your knuckles whiten around the wooden banister, clutching it so tightly it’s a wonder you’re not rooted to the spot, able to move upwards at all. But you trudge onwards, shoving down every hint of his smile, his scent and his warmth, as deep as it’ll go.
Muscle memory leads you to the edge of the bed, and you sink down onto the mattress, rumpling the crisp sheets. Good, you think, let me stay here. Let me be consumed by the inordinate grief I carry for a man who was never mine.
It’s then that you feel the dam break, washing away your hardened resolve and with it, two years of missed opportunities and what seems like wasted yearning. Part of you screams that it’s no use dwelling on what could’ve been, but you allow yourself that luxury, if nothing but to live in delusion for just a little more. Catching a glimpse of yourself in the mirror doesn’t do much to help your case; not with your glassily dejected expression, your leaden limbs that hang by your side.
“All this,” you murmur aloud, your eyes fluttering closed, “for someone who never loved you back.”
You mull over your thoughts so forcefully that you almost miss the response.
“Is that what you really think?”
Your body goes rigid at the sound of his voice, your frantic gaze widening as you clock him standing by the door. His name comes out as a squeak, but you say it nonetheless. “Owen?”
He jerks his chin at you, taking a step forwards, his coat and hat markedly draped over the banister. “Now who said I didn’t love you back? Nucky?”
You open your mouth to answer, but nothing comes out. Instead, you purse your lips together, praying that the shallow rise and fall of your chest is noticeable to none other than yourself.
But it’s Owen, and nothing goes over his head. He fixates on your breathing, hyper-aware at the effect his reappearance has had on you, or more accurately, the implication laying heavy in his tone.
He walks in, rubbing his face as he paces in front of you. He grits his teeth as he speaks, his voice dropping an octave. “For years,” he starts, seething in anguish, “I have yearned for you, in secrecy and in silence. Years.” He lets out a small, sarcastic chuckle, but the pain laid bare in his eyes fool no-one. “I have thought every day of how to tell you.”
You feel like keeling over, but this isn’t the time. Gathering whatever’s left of your internal strength, you push up off the bed to get to your feet to face him.
Owen blinks at you, his expression inscrutable. “You bring out the good in me.”
You don’t know what this means — about whether he’ll stay or go, but you cast aside any reservations, choosing instead to focus on the matter at hand.
“Do you love me?” you ask, unwavering.
“Yes.”
You drop to a whisper, taking one of his hands into your own, brushing over every callous with your thumb. You’ve never known how to say anything to him about how you feel, but his candor sparks a light, but you know what you say next is the irrevocable truth.
“Then I am yours, Mr. Sleater. I am yours until the world — my life — decides otherwise.”
the record of a single night's events, thoughts, or dreams
summary: you're a young vampire, turned against your will and abandoned by your sire. henry has taken you in, and while you're thankful for his mentorship, there's a certain kind of tension building between the two of you
pairing: henry x reader
word count: 3.2k
warnings: 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. swearing. mentions of blood (duh), one dead fox (sorry), horny vampires, smut, lots of biting (not sorry), kisses, sucking, marking, oral (f rec), filthy kiss, p in v, outdoor sex, you name it sugar
a/n: so I love different vampire myths/lore and obviously, I had to make up a few things for this fic to work. most of my inspiration came from the vampire: the masquerade ttrpg/video games series which I ADORE and uh, this was a lot of fun to write! so there's quite a bit of plot to this. ...oops? Also, some spoilers for the horribly dumb but still somehow entertaining movie that is eat locals.
Dividers by @firefly-graphics.
The world felt inky black under the thick canopy of the trees, broken occasionally by the moonlight shining through a few patches, but you found your way easily, your eyes adjusting to the dark. The air was warm, heavy and damp with summer and the scent of flowers and grass hanging all around.
You’ve been walking for an hour or two now, heading deeper into the woods to clear your thoughts. You weren’t sure if it was working.
But you needed a little space.
The past few months have been hard, to say the least. You remembered walking home late one night, lost in your thoughts - and then, your next memory was waking up on the side of an abandoned road, curled up in pain as your whole body was wrecked by cramps, shivers and the deepest, most ferocious hunger that you have ever felt in your life.
It was sheer luck that Henry and Sebastian found you, dragging you with them, fleeing the impending dawn as you fell in and out of consciousness, too weak to struggle.
You could still recall that hunger, fighting to take over you until you felt the metallic taste of blood pooling on your tongue - that sinister-sweet, dark pleasure filling you, a single drop falling from the corner of your mouth and the crimson shadow that Henry covered over his wrist.
Even though he wasn’t your sire, a bond formed between you two.
A strong one.
One that was hard to ignore, even now as you tried to get as far away from him as possible, making your way through the undergrowth.
It’s not that you weren’t thankful. Without their help, you surely wouldn’t have made it through that first night. But it was hard to take it all in. The fact that vampires exist felt like the plot to a terrible movie, and whether you liked it or not, it was your reality now.
It was demanding getting used to your new life, both physically and mentally. To control your hunger, no matter how strong ancient instincts were gnawing at your bones. To keep to the darkness.
To play by the rules.
The Council graciously spared your life under the sole condition that Henry was now responsible for you.
Teaching you. Guiding you. Guarding and providing for you until you’re fit to receive your own territory. And your own place among the new Eight.
And you were grateful for his mentorship, truly. But he was - how could you put it?
Overbearing.
Of course, there was much to learn - from the history of what you’ve become, to your new-found abilities, and Henry took his time explaining it all. But he was always with you, shadowing your every move. On some nights, he allowed you outside, teaching you how to feed, how to blend in with the shadows. But most of the time he saw it best if you stayed inside, where you could be kept safe despite you frequently voicing your disagreement.
It was patronizing, and it was driving you insane. The fact that he saved your life was already enough to make you feel indebted to him for eternity - even if you’ve thanked him numerous times, and he never mentioned or taunted you with it. But it was there, hanging thickly in the air between you.
Just a few days back, you were out hunting, crouching together in the shadows on the outskirts of the forest. Motionless, you waited for something, anything, to cross your path.
You swallowed thickly at the memory of Henry’s body pressed tightly to yours, his breath fanning your face. Vaguely, you were aware of him talking, the low whisper in your ear sending shivers through your very core.
Then, a low chuckle, a smirk on his face when he realized you didn’t hear a single word of what he was saying. Even as he scolded you, all you could think about was how fucking close his lips were to your skin; and you couldn’t decide whether you wanted to get closer or farther away from it.
Nevertheless, all that close proximity wasn’t doing you any favors. You felt tense, all your frustration pent-up and ready to burst. More and more often you caught yourself looking at Henry, your gaze lingering over him: his face, his lips, his beard, down his neck before you caught yourself and turned abruptly away.
You’d sit there, frozen in silent horror, begging all higher powers that this be no more than a passing infatuation.
If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Yet sometimes, just sometimes, when you couldn’t bear it anymore and let your eyes wander to him again, you’d catch him staring right back at you. His expression unreadable, umber eyes darkening as he focused intently on you. Like a deer caught in the headlights, you’d gape back at him, fleeing the room with the lamest excuse tumbling out of your mouth.
Then, you’d close the door on yourself, laying in bed in the dark, thoughts racing as you wondered about the taste of his lips, or how that beard would feel against the soft skin of your thighs.
At sunset, Henry woke you from an uneasy sleep, to let you know he was going out for the night. Except this time, he wasn’t taking you along.
“Seba will keep you company.” he said, already halfway out the door when you snorted indignantly, muttering under your breath. He stopped, turning back slowly.
“What was that?” he asked, voice low and eyes flashing dangerously in the dusklight.
“Nothing.” you replied, and made sure it sounded as venomous as possible.
Henry took a step back into the room, towering over you.
“Good.” he said, and while he sounded calm, there was an underlying threat in his tone that made it crystal clear he was not up for your bullshit tonight. “I have something to take care of. I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“You could take me with you.”
God, you sounded so pathetic.
“This doesn’t concern you.” he said, leaving no room for argument. In a second, he turned his back on you, a whisper of a pain making room in your chest at how easy it was for him to be so dismissive of you. A sharp contrast to the yearning that seemed to burn every inch of your being, and you had to bite your tongue to not beg him to stay.
He looked back from the doorway, giving you one last warning.
“I’d better find you here when I’m back.”
Fuck him.
He was barely out of the house and you managed to convince Sebastian that you felt tired and wanted to be alone. You hoped Henry wouldn’t bite his head off for being naive enough to believe that lie.
Just to be sure, you waited a little before climbing out the window and made your way towards the woods. The cool night air, and the hike through the forest helped take your mind off of things at least. Not completely, of course, but it was nice.
It felt of freedom, even if there was a life to the forest; one the daylight would never let you see. Several hedgehogs crossed your path, hurrying on their way and you scared off an owl when a twig snapped under your boots.
Eventually, you reached your destination - a small creek cutting the forest in two, opening up the night sky. There was much more light here - the full moon rising high, illuminating the trees and breaking into a myriad pieces on the surface of the water.
You sat down on the riverbank, taking it all in. The clouds were clearing in the gentle wind, revealing the stars to you. Absent-mindedly, you pick up a small stone and throw it in the water. The splash scares up some critter hiding at the other bank and the leaves rustle under its paws as it scurries away.
For a few minutes, you just sit there, listening to the trickle of the stream and the occasional cricket chirping in the distance.
And then, you sense him, his presence looming behind you.
You’re not sure how far he was following behind because god damn it, you didn’t notice a thing. In fact, you’re pretty certain you only noticed him now because the bastard let you and that realization stirs up some old anger in you.
“What do you want?” you spat, refusing to spare him even a glance as you threw another stone.
“‘S nice to see you, too.”
“Go away.”
Another splash. He doesn’t move a muscle, of course - you’re in no position to order him around. It reminds you that you have no say in this game, no power. Instead of bickering, he simply sits down next to you, much to your surprise.
“I found a dead fox in the bushes. Was that you?”
You turn to him with a cold glare. “I’m not proud of it, y’know.”
Henry just chuckled. “Yeah, you’ll get used to it.”
You couldn’t help it. You were hungry, and taking what you needed from humans was not something you were ready to do. Pretty sure it wasn’t something you’d ever be ready for. At least there was no judgment from Henry for that. He was a firm believer that even as a vampire, one could still have standards - something he encouraged while mentoring you, too.
His voice dropped lower.
“I just want you to understand-”
“It’s fine.” you interrupted, throwing yet another stone. The words were venom on your tongue, except this time, you didn’t mean it. It just hurt.
Henry scoffed. “Can you stop being a brat for five minutes?”
“You don’t have to explain. I don’t care.”
Splash.
“But I do.”
“Don’t.” You raised your hand, ready to hurl another rock when he caught your wrist.
He wasn’t causing you any pain, just held on firmly when you struggled. You expected him to get angry. To yell. But when you looked over, ready to stare him down, to bicker until fucking dawn; there was something else in his eyes instead. Something soft, and caring - and it scared you.
With a huff, you tore your hand from his grasp. But you shut up.
Henry took a deep, uneasy breath.
“It happened only a few months before we found you, when there were still Eight of us. We met one night, to discuss some official matters. It was supposed to go all smoothly, far enough from town at a rural farmhouse.”
He snorted at the memory. “You’d think a handful of ancient vampires would know better, but we weren’t careful enough. I guess the past centuries made us a little too comfortable. A group of soldiers overwhelmed us.”
An awkward silence settled slowly, causing you to swallow against a sudden dryness in your throat. Never in your wildest dreams could you guess that something like this was behind his caution and sheltering. There were precautions to being a vampire, sure and the rules and quotas were in place to protect you, but still.
“A lot of my friends were killed that night.” He continued. “Only three of us survived - and Seba.”
“That was the night you met Sebastian?” you asked, incredulous.
“Yeah.” Henry looked over to you with concern. “Did he tell you about all this?”
“Just mentioned something in passing, once. Then panicked and refused to say anything else when I tried asking about it.”
“That sounds like him alright, yeah.”
“But what happened exactly?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it just as quickly, shaking his head. “One night, I will tell you. But I can’t, not now.”
He shifted closer, leaning in; you could almost feel his skin touching yours. If you tilted your head, just slightly-
“I- I can’t let that happen again. I couldn’t bear it. I can’t.”
You could practically hear your heart breaking over the pleading in his voice. “Henry…”
And there it was again. That gaze that seemed to see right through all the walls you’ve built, baring all your deepest desires. He was so close, impossibly close, his breath on the air, a whisper like a breeze.
“I can’t lose you.”
You moved before you could think. Just an inch forward, pressing your lips over his. His breath hitched and you braced yourself for inevitable disappointment; for refusal. You weren’t ready for the soft moan in the back of his throat, giving himself to you.
“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, îngeraș*.” he muttered before slipping his tongue into your mouth, and you didn’t even try to resist him, almost high on his taste.
Where you were desperate, needy and giving in, he was now intense; almost controlling as he took over, one hand slipping to the back of your neck, lowering, pushing you down until the scent of wildflowers erupted around you as you hit the ground, the starry skies embracing you from above.
Panting heavily, Henry pulled away briefly only to look at you, eyes glowing in the dark before he practically attacked your clothes, stripping you of your shirt, your own hands busy with his belt, tearing off his coat, getting rid of anything that could come in your way.
He looked absolutely gorgeous; better than anything you could have ever imagined: his body bathed in the moonlight, muscles glistening with sweat. Your eyes dropped to his neck, then lower, down his chest, following that sweet happy trail and you couldn’t keep your hands to yourself anymore, reaching out - only for him to catch your wrists again.
“Not yet,” he taunted, kissing the inside of your wrists half-apologetically. “I know you’ve been waiting for this, angel, but I’m gonna make you earn it.”
You choked on a sound, opening your mouth to protest but he interrupted you.
“That’s right,” he added, amusement evident in his voice at your shocked expression. “You think I couldn’t hear you? Panting and writhing and whispering my name in the other room as you touched yourself?”
You could feel heat creeping across your face, half in embarrassment, half in defiance as you tried to wrestle your hand free.
“Fuck, Henry, just let me touch you-”
“No.” He said firmly, grabbing your other wrist, pinning your hands above your head with ease as he laid above you, his face a mere inches from yours. “If I’m to claim you, right here, you’re gonna lay there and take what I’m giving you and you’re gonna be a good fucking girl and obey, you hear me. Can you do that, huh? Just once?”
You smirked. “Make me.”
The growl he let out was carnal, fangs flashing before he bit down on your neck. You moaned at the feeling of his teeth sinking into your flesh, just shy from breaking skin but enough to leave a deep mark, a final claim to make you his.
He grinded his hips against yours, his hard cock pressing to your thighs and you practically whimpered, wanting to feel him inside you.
“You’re mine.” he whispered, pressing kisses over his mark, “mine.”
Then, a trail of open mouthed kisses leading to your collarbone, your breasts, and he brought your hands down with his, fingers intertwined with yours to keep you in your place. You were a squirming, whimpering mess as he toyed with your nipples, fangs barely scraping your skin before he took them in his mouth, suckling on them, coaxing the most delicious sounds from you.
You clenched around nothing, needy and craving more as you tried to get some friction, grinding against him. One last lick, his eyes closed as he hummed in appreciation, his tongue slowly sliding over the soft skin of your breasts.
He was hunger itself, feral on the scent of your arousal as he slid lower, leaving small bites all over your stomach and sides, and you moaned louder and louder each time his fangs sinked into your flesh, practically crying with need.
And fuck, if it didn’t feel good to know you had this affect on him, the power to make him drop to his knees and worship every inch of your body with his mouth, his breath damp against your skin.
“Henry, please.”
One last bite, harder than the others, a low growl warning you to let him take what he needs, craves, wants. He squeezed your hands before finally letting go, laying flat on his stomach between your legs, eyes glowing with a fire like the stars above.
“Beautiful angel.” he said, arms wrapping around your thighs, holding you close, keeping you in place as he finally devoured you, dragging his tongue up between your folds, and you almost sobbed, lost in the pleasure.
Your hands scrambled until you found purchase in his hair, shamelessly guiding his movements as you rocked against him, your clit throbbing as he nipped and sucked on it. It felt like you could come any second, your whole body trembling with the force of it when he pulled away.
He wanted to give you more.
His beard was glistening with your arousal, and he made a half hearted attempt to wipe it away, only to reconsider, sucking his fingers greedily for every last drop. When he climbed over you, you couldn’t contain it anymore and reached out to cradle his face, pulling him in for a filthy kiss. He obliged happily, letting you get a taste of yourself.
He didn’t bother to warn you before he thrusted inside you, and fuck, it knocked the air right out of you, a choked sound in the back of your throat he swallowed readily. He filled you up completely, fitting so perfectly that there was no question he was made for you; born for you eons ago for this moment to make you lose yourself in him, his body, his yearning, his love.
He started rocking his hips, his eyes drawn to where your bodies met, watching his cock disappear in you, filling you with pleasure. He was drunk on your moans and the way his name hung on your lips, the way your hands looked for purchase so frantically, grabbing for his shoulders.
Panting, he picked up his pace, pounding into you harder, faster, deeper with each stroke, hissing, cursing softly under his breath when you dragged your nails down his back but fuck if he didn’t love it. It didn’t take long to get you close; the way you clenched around him, your eyes fluttering shut at the overwhelming feeling of your whole body overcome with pleasure drove him over the edge too, the two of you cumming together, the clearing next to the creek loud with your grunts and moans.
Henry barely kept himself from collapsing over you, too greedy to pull out just yet, and you didn’t mind. You were high on euphoria, dizzy with pleasure, your hands lazily caressing his skin.
“We have to go.” he eventually said, softly, in-between featherlight kisses that he peppered along your neck.
He was right, you had to get back before sunrise.
“I want to stay like this forever.” you replied, the words tumbling out of you before you even realized.
“Don’t worry,” Henry said, smirking. “The dawn will find you in my arms, draga mea*; but not here.”
my dear mandy, you are not only one of my favourite writers but also one of my favourite people 🥰 congrats on 50 love 🥳
could i please make a request for our baby mikey kinsella from the fake dating prompt list? i'll leave the exact prompt up to you, but please, you know what i'm going to ask for - as much amanda slander as possible 😂
- @mindidjarin ❤️
MINDI my love!
So, this one kind of got away from me, but I wanted to deliver on the Amanda slander, so here ya go babe!
I chose the prompt "my ex doesn’t understand it’s over, so I tell them I’ve already got someone new"
LOVE YA BOO, ENJOY!
Michael had grown tired of the song and dance with Amanda. He really wanted to find someone else after Molly, but she just would not stop with her advances. Their relationship was wrong, and Amanda didn't really care, but Michael definitely did. Her advances were getting less and less subtle, and he had to figure out a way to get the message across that he wasn't doing this with her anymore. Unfortunately, after what happened with Molly, he wasn’t sure if he was ready to put himself out there again.
Molly had transferred to another pharmacy, so at least Michael didn’t have to risk any awkward encounters with her when he was getting his medicine. He first saw you last time he picked up his medication, and he noticed you had a very sweet smile and kind eyes. Maybe the job hadn’t quite gotten to you yet, but he got a very warm and welcoming vibe from you. He definitely thought you were cute, but did he want to go down the road of asking out the cute chemist again?
Jimmy had invited Michael over to his house for a get-together, and he jokingly encouraged him to bring a date. Michael really didn’t know who he could ask, but he definitely wanted to bring someone along so Amanda would get off his back. It was time to pick up a refill of his medication, and he decided on the walk over that he would ask you to be his date if you were there. He was sort of hoping maybe today was your day off, so he could save himself the embarrassment, but lo and behold you were behind the counter with a smile on your face.
You felt butterflies in your stomach when you saw Michael walk in. Despite knowing who he was and what he had done, you couldn’t help the silly schoolgirl crush you had developed on him. He didn’t even have to tell you his name, you remembered him from his last visit and went to fetch his medication for him as he approached the counter.
“Michael Kinsella, right?” you asked in a chipper tone.
“Uh, yeah. That’s me,” he replied with an awkward wave.
“Grand! Can you just confirm your date of birth for me?”
He gave you his date of birth, and you continued ringing up his prescription, but Michael was absolutely mesmerized by your smile and your voice. He finally snapped back to reality when you asked him if he had any questions, and he had to shake his head for a moment to get back in the moment.
“Are you alright, Mr. Kinsella?” you asked with obvious concern in your voice. You were well versed in CPR and first aid, but you really didn’t want a handsome hitman having a seizure in the middle of the pharmacy.
“Yeah, I’m grand. Sorry.”
“Oh, it’s alright, Mr. Kinsella.”
“Please, call me Michael.”
“Okay, Michael. Do you have any questions for me?”
Michael could hear his blood rushing through his ears, and he felt like his heart was about to hammer out of his chest.
“Yeah, actually I do. Uh, what are ya doin tomorrow night?”
Woah. Was he actually asking you out?! Your little schoolgirl daydream was coming true, there was no way this was actually happening.
“I don’t have any plans, actually. Did you have something in mind?”
“Yeah, my brother invited me over for dinner, and he said I could bring a plus one, so would ya like to come with me?”
Accepting an invitation for dinner at the home of a crime family was probably not a smart decision, but, you only live once, right? You figured ‘what the hell’ and decided to accept his invitation.
“Sure, that sounds lovely. I’m not working tomorrow, but I can meet you here, and I can drive us there.”
“Wonderful. See ya here tomorrow at seven?”
“Sure, I’ll see you then, Michael.”
You said your goodbyes to each other, and you were suddenly feeling giddy at the fact that a handsome customer had asked you out. Michael was happy that he actually had a date to take to Jimmy’s, but now he had to figure out how to break it to you that he wanted you to pretend you had been seeing each other for a while.
The next day, Michael showed up at seven o'clock on the dot to escort you to his brother’s house. You had dressed a little nicer than you normally did for work knowing you had a date tonight, and Michael definitely noticed.
“Wow, ya look nice,” Michael said shyly.
You felt heat creeping up your cheeks from the compliment, and you couldn’t help but giggle. “Thanks, I do aim to impress,” you replied.
“Shall we?” Michael said as he gestured across the street.
“Ya sure, I’m just right over here,” you said as you led him to your car.
The ride to Jimmy and Amanda’s was filled with small talk, the two of you asking about each others’ days and such. When you finally pulled up to their house, Michael finally got the nerve to tell you what his motive really was.
“So, I may have told me family that I’ve been seein’ someone for a while now, and they’re gonna think it’s you.”
Your eyes went wide, and you suddenly forgot how to form words. “Oh, o-okay. What would give them that impression?”
“I mighta told them I’d been seein’ the cute chemist and that I was bringin’ ya over t’night.”
“Wow, well, okay then. So, I guess I gotta keep up the ruse, then.”
“M’sorry. Truly. If ya wanna just drop me off and leave, I don’t blame ya one bit. But, I’d like ya to stay.”
You mulled it over for a moment, and against your better judgment, you decided to go to the party with him. It could be a funny story to tell your kids one day, you thought.
“Ah, what the hell, let’s do it!”
Michael smiled and kissed your cheek, then the two of you headed into the party hand in hand. He really did like you, but making Amanda jealous was going to be a fantastic bonus.
something that can make you forget grief or suffering
pairing: college!matt x reader
word count: 2k
warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+ ONLY MINORS DNI. angst, feeling sick, mentions of blood tests, fear of needles, reader struggling with weight gain and body image
a/n: Self-indulgence? What is THAT? Ahahaha. Hahaha. Haaa... ಥ_ಥ Also pls excuse my rust af writing.
Divider by @firefly-graphics.
Matt was angry at himself for not noticing it sooner. But something was definitely off with you today from the start.
First, you missed your morning classes, which you never did unless you had a good reason to. You loved Criminal Law, fighting your way to the front row and took pride in the fact that everyone turned to you when they needed notes. But even after the first break, you were a no-show, so he tried calling you several times.
When you didn’t pick up, he managed to get Foggy to send you a text, asking if everything was ok. He tried not to show it, but he was getting worried, too. Which only drove home the point that this was very uncharacteristic of you. In the middle of your next class, the phone dinged with a message, apologizing and letting the both of them know you were on your way.
Not ten minutes later, in the middle of Legal Research, you awkwardly creeped in through the door, much to the vexation of the professor, who merely huffed at you for interrupting his speech. You sneaked a shy wave towards them and took the first empty seat you could find.
Foggy leaned in close, whispering to him about how pale and tired you looked; and he could feel it, too. Anxiety was practically oozing out of you, and you were drinking an awful lot of water.
“You think she’s sick?” Foggy asked, but Matt wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem like you had a fever.
But he would get to the bottom of this.
After class, you tried to play it cool and brush it off. All you were willing to say was that you had a doctor’s appointment. “Just a checkup,” you reassured, and it wasn’t a lie, technically. But Matt could tell you were skidding around the truth, though he refrained from pushing you too hard.
It wasn’t until you were all walking across the campus that he reached the end of his patience. Foggy was animatedly telling you about what you missed that morning when you stumbled and fell over, almost dragging Matt down with you. He managed to grab your arm just in time, pulling you up and Foggy rushing over to your other side to help.
You really didn’t mean to. You specifically wanted to avoid telling them anything because you didn’t want to make them worry. But your stupid appointment left you lightheaded and dizzy, and it was hot and Foggy was talking and you tried to pay attention, barely hearing him over the ringing in your ears… Next thing you know, you were yanked up by Matt just in time to keep you from hitting the ground.
Foggy was ready to run for the nurse, but you managed to convince them there was no need for that, and that you just got dizzy. Matt was annoyed, you could tell. Curtly, he demanded you explain, but only after you had something to drink and layed down. Their dorms were closer and reluctantly, you let them take you to their shared room, guarding you from both sides despite your protests. This is exactly what you wanted to avoid, but fighting them was pointless.
Now, you were laying on your back across Matt’s bed, eyes closed as you tried to relax and even your breathing. He sat down next to you, the bed dipping under his weight.
“Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, sounding more hurt than angry.
You opened your eyes, heaving a big sigh as you stared up at the ceiling. “Because it was just a blood test, it wasn’t supposed to be a big deal.”
“Not a big deal? They stabbed you three times, like a pin cushion!” Foggy exclaimed. He was sitting across the room on his own bed but you could feel his worried gaze - the both of their gazes - as if they were waiting for you to inevitably get sick again.
“They had to take different samples. It was for an insulin test.” you said meekly. Absent-mindedly, your hands brushed over one of the small bruises on your arm.
Matt furrowed his brow. This was the first time he was hearing about this, unaware of you having any medical issues. “A what?”
You really didn’t mean to burden them with this, but after your fall, you supposed they deserved an explanation. You really gave them quite a scare. “First they take a blood sample to check your blood sugar. And then you have to drink this disgusting cup filled with a lot of sugar and a little water, and then they take another blood sample after an hour, and then another after two hours have passed. To see your insulin levels.”
“Is it for…?”
“It’s to check for diabetes, and insulin resistance, yeah.”
There was a bit of silence, Matt reaching out to take your hand in his, fingertips skimming over your skin soothingly. “Is everything okay?”
“You’re not ill, are you?” Foggy asked from the other end.
Gosh, you could cry from how sweet and caring and worried they were. But it made you feel so guilty.
“I’m not. I-I think.” There were a few tears brimming in your eyes already. It was so stupid. “I just.. I’m sorry. I just struggled with my weight recently, so I went to see a doctor and-”
“Sweetheart,” Matt interrupted, in the most tender way possible. “There’s nothing wrong with your-”
“No, no, I know. I know, okay?” You pulled your hand away, instinctively wrapping your arms around your body. You could see it hurt Matt, but he didn’t force you, wanting to give you space if you needed.
It was so bloody stupid.
“I know it’s not a big deal, and that it could be worse, but I was really struggling, and I wanted to feel better about myself. And I tried paying attention to what I was eating, but it just- i-it wasn’t doing anything?”
Matt’s mind was speeding, trying to remember if you’ve ever mentioned this to him. Vaguely, he recalled how you often skipped eating together these past few weeks, claiming that you already had lunch, or politely declined the snacks they offered to share.
He didn’t think it meant anything other than you not feeling hungry, but now… if Matt was angry at himself before, now he was furious for not noticing. He was about to scold you - as gently as possible - but Foggy beat him to it.
“You didn’t start one of those crazy diets, did you?!”
At least, his exclamation brought a weak smile to your face, however fleeting. “Nah, don’t worry. I’m smarter than that, at least. I just tried to get better food, and did all the stupid things like drinking more water, and going on walks. But even after a few months, it was just-”
How could you explain it to them? It was hard to grasp, even for you. It was like your body despised you, refusing to cooperate and instead, turning against you. Like it was ignoring the rules that applied to everybody else, clinging to everything you gave it, refusing to let go.
You knew it wasn’t healthy to think about it this way, but you had so many classmates who just looked better than you. Thinner. Prettier. More natural. And it was blood-boiling how they seemingly had it all figured out, eating what they wanted and worrying about it later.
When your thoughts were getting nastier, and you felt worse about yourself than ever before, you realized that maybe you need a little help. You sought out a dietitian, who, despite your initial fears, was very understanding and patient with you. She actually listened and took notes about your family history. When you mentioned your grandmother had diabetes and thyroid gland problems, she immediately suggested taking some tests.
You didn’t want to tell Matt because you’ve only been dating for a short while, already feeling guilty for having so much baggage. Even if deep down, you knew he would support you through this. He was truly so sweet and kind, along with Foggy.
In the end, you just sighed. “I just wanted to make sure I’m doing things right, and the doctor seemed nice when she suggested the test. But I swear, I wasn’t starving myself.”
“You still got pretty dizzy today, yeah?” Matt asked, opening his palm and with a smile, you slid your hand back, entwining your fingers with his.
“Yeah, I don’t handle blood tests too well. I don’t like the needles.”
Foggy snorted. “This is why you should have taken us. We could have blindfolded you in the waiting room so you didn’t have to see.”
Matt burst out in laughter so unexpectedly that it was contagious and, despite still feeling a little sick, you couldn’t help but laugh yourself.
“I’m not sure that would be a good thing to do, but, thanks, Foggy.”
“We really don’t mind going with you next time, you know.” Matt offered, gently squeezing your hand. “If you want.”
It was silly that they wouldn’t support you, now that you thought of it.
“It would be nice, yeah. Sorry for not telling you about it. I didn’t even know it was going to last this long, and I had to go on an empty stomach, and couldn’t drink or eat anything in-between the samples… it was hard.”
There was a pause.
“But you did eat after it, right?” Matt asked, voice stern.
Shit.
You quickly averted your gaze from him, only to be met with the deadliest glare you have ever seen from Foggy.
Shit.
“I was in a hurry to make it to class!”
“That’s no excuse!”
“But—!”
“Sweetheart, what were you thinking?”
“I don’t know! I wasn’t thinking!”
“You have to eat something, right now.”
You groaned in defeat, grabbing Matt’s pillow and pulling it over your head.
“Fine, I’ll go grab something from the cafeteria.” Foggy said, climbing off his bed. “Matt, make sure she stays here.”
“I’m not a prisoner, Foggy!” You exclaimed, throwing the pillow in his general direction.
“Oh, you’re staying sweetheart, don’t worry.”
Once Foggy left, you promptly climbed over so you could lay your head in Matt’s lap, wrapping your arms around his waist. He chuckled, rubbing your back.
“You know we’re only doing this for you, right?”
“Yeah, yeah, you are both mother hens, I know.” You mumbled, pressing your face against his shirt. You took a deep breath, inhaling his scent and letting it calm you.
After a little silence, Matt brushed his fingers over your cheeks lovingly. “You really scared me today.”
“I’m sorry, Matt. I really am.”
“It’s ok, sweetheart. I’m not angry. But please,” he said, voice so low as he almost pleaded with you. “Don’t do it again.”
“I won’t, I promise.” You held him a bit tighter, and you both fell to a comfortable, peaceful silence.
It was only interrupted by a knock on the door a few minutes later.
“I hope you guys are decent,” Foggy said, carefully opening the door “cause I don’t wanna drop these sandwiches.”
“Foggy!”
You couldn’t even get angry at them. Most of your guilt has evaporated when you saw how ready they were to help, and if you wanted to be truly honest with yourself, it felt good to be doted on a little.
They were more than ready to entertain you all afternoon but after eating, you still felt a little tired, so Matt walked you back to your own dorm room. You thanked him for everything they did, and of course, being the sweet guy he is, he brushed it off as nothing to worry about.
He waited until you got comfortable in bed, leaning to press a kiss to your forehead. “I will always love you, no matter what happens, angel. And if you want to feel better, or just more comfortable about yourself, I’ll be here with you through that too, okay?”
You barely managed to squeak out a reply, eyes teary but feeling so loved by him. He gave you one last, quick kiss goodbye before he left to let you rest.
Summary: You're on your period and you tend to get bad periods, but today is a particularly rough day. You call in sick from work, and when Mikey comes home to find you still in bed, he gets worried. When he finds out why you're writhing in pain, he doesn't hesitate to help you out.
Warnings: Description of period symptoms, use of pain killers, mentions of menstrual blood, fluff, fluff, FLUFF.
Word Count: 2.9k
A/n: So I just got my period and I could barely move for the past three hours. I wrote this while I was literally bawling from the pain, but I thought some of you might need this as well. There is a serious lack of period comfort with Mikey.
It’s half past three in the afternoon, and the sun is up over Dublin, a welcome change in the usually so dull weather. You should be sitting in the backyard with a book and a cup of tea and enjoy the nature behind your house. Instead, you are bound to the bed.
Every muscle in your body aches. The stabbing pain in the left side of your lower abdomen spreads into your legs, making it impossible to move without feeling like you might pass out. The pain comes and goes in heavy waves. Your muscles contract and you can only whimper as the cramps ripple through your stomach. You’ve tried all kinds of positions, but either your back starts hurting or the pressure you can feel on your lower half gets worse, so you find yourself flipping around every five minutes, and it’s starting to get exhausting.
It’s not unusual that you wake up long after Michael has gone out, especially not when you have a late shift, though today when you woke up and the bed was empty, you found yourself crying at the loss of warmth. And when you went to the bathroom and realized just why you’ve been feeling like utter shit the past week, you knew that you had to call in sick. Working in the state you're in is not something you can do or should do.
It’s worse this time around. You’re not sure why. Maybe you have been working a little too much lately and the stress is finally getting to you, but it seems almost rude of your uterus to treat you like a criminal during your period. You’ve taken as much Ibuprofen as you could find in the medical cabinet, and it still wasn’t enough. It got to the point where you cried yourself into a restless nap. But the pain only continues to roll you over like a bulldozer.
Now you’re alone at home, the afternoon sun streaming in through the curtains, and you still feel like shit. Another sharp cramp hits you, and you roll onto your side, pulling your knees up to your chest. It elevates the pressure only for a moment before the pain returns tenfold and you try to lie on the other side, curling around your boyfriend’s pillow and hoping that maybe that will help.
It doesn’t.
You’re not strong enough to get up and grab a hot water bottle or take a shower. You’re stuck here. For a moment, the thought of calling Michael and asking him to come home crosses your mind, but it instantly makes you feel bad. He has more important things to do than to take care of you through something that you’ve been having for years, and before him, you managed perfectly fine on your own. You’re not sure how because you are immobile at this point, but it’s not his responsibility, you think.
After another miserable hour of agony, the key rattles in the lock. You listen to his distinctive movements as he drops the bag with his prescription on the dining table, takes off his jacket, and grabs himself a glass of water before going on a search for you.
Michael is more than surprised to find your car in the driveway. He figures you might have come home from work earlier, and that makes him smile, but then he notices that the house is unusually quiet and he grows worried.
He makes his way up the stairs toward your shared bedroom. He knocks. When you don’t answer, he pushes it open just enough to step inside. The curtains are still in the same position he left them, and you’re still in bed. Under any other circumstances, he would have figured you decided to take a nap after work, but you’re still wearing his shirt that you went to bed with, there is a pack of Ibuprofen on the nightstand and an empty water bottle lying next to your frame on the mattress.
You’re not okay, and he doesn’t have to ask you to know that.
“Love?” he says softly. You must be sensitive to light today or the curtains wouldn’t be closed. “I’m back.”
You have your back turned to him. At the sound of his voice, tears well up in your eyes. You missed him a little too much, but now that he’s back, you realize how miserable you look and how ghastly you must smell after hours spent in bed without properly moving. You wouldn’t be surprised if you bled onto the sheets.
The mattress dips as he sits down. “What’s wrong?”
You sniffle and answer, “I’m fine.”
“Yer not fine.”
With a grunt, you manage to roll over. When he sees the sunken bags under your eyes and how pale you are, his eyes soften even more. Michael reaches out to touch your face. “What happened?” he asks. “Are you hurt?”
“I called in sick,” you admit, “because I got my period this morning.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry, it’s nothing serious, I promise.” As if to demonstrate, you try to sit up, but your arms lose balance and your face contorts as another cramp tears through your uterus. “Fuck me!” This time, you can’t stop the tears from falling, and you grab a pillow to bury your face in it. The sounds you let out are utterly broken, the exhaustion palpable.
His hand moves from your face to your arm. “That doesn’t sound like nothin’, love. Ya look like yer in quite a lot of pain.”
“It’s okay, don’t worry about me.”
“I do.”
“I can handle it.”
“Ya should have called me,” he says. He inches a little closer. “I could have helped ya, maybe got ya something stronger for the pain.”
Another tear slides down your cheek and you look up at him. “I didn’t want to be a burden,” you choke out.
His heart breaks when he realizes that you didn’t tell him because you felt guilty, maybe even a little disgusted. “But yer not–”
“This is not something you should have to concern yourself with.”
“I love ya, of course, your wellbeing concerns me.”
“It’s just a period.”
Michael offers you a soft smile. “Exactly. Nothing I can’t handle.” He strokes your arm. “Is it always that bad?”
You shrug.
He reaches out to wipe your tears. “So it is?”
“It just…” your eyes look helpless as they stare into his. “It hurts so much and nothing helps.”
He grunts in the back of his throat. That’s why the Ibuprofen is still lying next to you. Michael hates a lot of things, but seeing you cry is definitely the worst because it hurts him just the same. “Oh, my love–” he cradles your cheek, and your eyes flutter shut at the impact, fresh tears pearling off your lashes. “Ya should have called,” he says again. His voice is soft, it doesn’t hurt your head more than it already does, but the guilt has nestled its way into your brain.
You don’t want to be weak. It’s bad enough you have to use a sick day every month around the first or second day of your period. Now that Michael is in your life, this is new territory for both of you. You’ve never had someone around on bad days, and he’s not used to seeing the effect a bad period has on you because you’ve only just moved in together and before that, you isolated yourself for a day to get better and then swallowed the rest of the pain after. This is bad though, and you hate that you still have found no way to manage it. No doctor or scientist has found a cure for the kind of pain you and many other women experience for many months, and your hormones are so all over the place that even taking the pill will only make it worse.
You hate yourself and you hate being a woman, especially right now, maybe only right now, but the world just sucks and you want nothing more than to crawl under a rock and die.
He leans down, his lips brushing your temple. “Shh,” he coos. “I’m here now. Let me help ya."
“How?” you ask. You don’t have the strength to argue as another cramp seemingly knocks the air out of your lungs, and you want nothing more than for it to stop or at least ease up one way or another.
Michael offers a helping hand and you would be stupid to deny it. You can’t. Your body is too weak to withstand it on its own. You don’t want to be alone. The whirlwind of emotions inside of you feels like such a mess and it’s stupid; you feel like an idiot, but you’re also sad and angry and frustrated and in pain, and it has to stop. You need it to stop.
He starts rubbing your arm more firmly now. “First, let’s get ya in the shower. I’ll take care of the rest,” he says.
“I can’t stand–”
“Okay, pet, c’mere.”
With what little strength you have left, you climb into his arms. He lifts you up with ease, your legs wrapping around his waist, and he carries you to the bathroom. He even holds you as he turns on the shower and makes sure the water is warm enough for you, making sure you don’t fall over. When it comes to taking your clothes off though, you blush.
“What?” He stops at the hem of your shirt.
You cross your arms. “I don’t want you to see, you know, the blood,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “It’s disgusting.”
He gives you a stare of confusion before it turns blank and then the bastard even has the audacity to laugh at you.
Your eyes widen and you stare at him. “It’s not funny!” The tears in your eyes stem from anger now.
He catches onto them, and his laughter dies into a small chuckle, his arms wrapping around you. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m so sorry, I– I’m just– yer scared I’ll get disgusted… by the sight of blood. Me.”
“Yes, and that’s not funny!” You try not to sob, but you fail miserably.
Michael takes you back into his arms, his broad shoulders caging you in. He has you fully engulfed now, his lips pressed to the crown of your head. “I’m sorry, love. I didn’t mean it in a bad way, I just… I don’t mind the blood, okay? I don’t mind any blood. Ya know that.”
“I know.” You cling to him.
Still, it feels like such a huge step in your relationship, one that isn’t fresh but it’s also not years in the making either, and you simply don’t want him to see you like that. But you also know that standing straight with the pain that is tearing your lower abdomen to shreds is a task that’s going to exert you to the point you might as well fall unconscious.
“I’ll turn around if that’s what you want, I just want to help,” he says. His puppy-dog eyes meet yours. “Will ya let me do that?”
You take a deep breath. “It’s gonna be a crime scene.”
“Lucky me that I didn’t cause that one, eh?”
Your brain takes a moment to process the words, and they sound so nonchalant coming out of his mouth. His smile is bright and a little mischievous and you can’t help but laugh a little. He can be such a dork if he wants to be.
“Shut up,” you mutter as you begin taking your shirt off.
Michael rushes to your rescue. “Made you laugh,” he says.
“Astute observation, Mister Kinsella.”
“Shut up,” he mimics you, and you can’t help but chuckle again.
“I’m in pain, I get to say what I want.”
“Fair point.”
He helps you out of the rest of your clothing before turning around as he promised. You step under the warm water, holding onto the wall for leverage. You feel dizzy. All the lying around and the lack of sustenance have caused your blood sugar to plummet, and it’s gradually going down.
He is by your side in seconds, his promise to stay behind long forgotten. He holds you up, washes your hair, and the sweat off your skin. You protest at first, but he shoots it down with a gentle kiss to your lips, and then you’re on fire again and you can’t deny it feels good to be taken care of. It’s relaxing, almost.
The pain continues to wash over you, but at least you have someone to hold onto now. If you had been fully lucid, you would have cursed him and thrown him out, but you have to admit that you need help. You need his help. He understands you in ways no one else can, and he is the first man to prioritize your well-being when it comes to your period. He’s not disgusted, he’s merely worried and he loves you. That’s something you have to get used to; it might take some time, but Michael does it in a way that makes you feel safe. He has never made you feel anything short of safe. He’s your home. You need him, that’s no longer a secret, and you allow yourself to let loose a little.
It’s easier to breathe now. He washes you carefully, gets you one of his oversized shirts (his sweaters are too warm, you tell him), and even helps you brush your teeth for the first time today.
Soon enough, you’re tucked back into bed, once again put on bed rest, while he rummages around downstairs in the kitchen. There is a knock on the front door. You can hear Michael’s voice and is that… Jimmy? It doesn’t last long though, and you hear the stairs creak as he makes his way back to you.
You’re curled into a ball on your side. Michael smiles when he sees you, obviously a lot more relaxed than before, and closes the door behind him again. He’s carrying a tray with a plate of different variations of fruits, a cup of tea, water, a Coke, and two different kinds of pills. The latter makes you frown.
“Made you some food before ya pass out,” he says.
You make some space for him to sit next to you.
“Thanks,” you say, then point to the pills. “What’s that?”
“I asked Jimmy if they had something against nausea and maybe some painkillers that might be stronger than the ones ya have here. He just brought them over.”
“Mikey…” You tear up again, but this time not because of the pain. He is so considerate, it makes your heart swell. And maybe it’s a little because of the pain.
He hands you the water bottle. “Here, take ‘em.”
“You didn’t have to do all this.”
“Nonsense, I– well, I guess I just want to be a good man for ya, and if that means taking care of you while yer on your period, I take my job very seriously.”
“It’s not your responsibility.”
He shakes his head. “You are, my love. I love ya, which means I’m here, always, and I want ya to tell me when yer not feeling well.” Guiding the bottle and the pills to your lips, he smiles. “Now take your pills. Don’t want ta have to tell ya twice.”
You swallow them without hesitation. At some point during your relationship, you gave up on asking what kind of medication his brother and his wife keep around and just hope they haven’t given you any hard drugs. But Michael wouldn’t let that happen, anyway.
He senses your struggle for a comfortable position and moves the tray aside so you can sit between his thighs. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest. Your legs pull up instantly, wanting to get rid of the annoying pain in your front, but his next action confuses you. He forces them back down and on either side of his thighs before he slips his large hand under your shirt and places it over your stomach.
You gasp, feeling a little exposed, but then his fingers start kneading your skin and you crumble completely. Your head drops back against his shoulder. It feels like magic. He’s massaging the sore muscles of your lower stomach while at the same time numbing all other oncoming cramps. He pushes a button inside of you that instantly makes you slack in his arms, and he holds you tighter around your shoulders with the free one.
“How’s that?” he asks.
“Don’t stop,” is all you know how to answer.
“So… what?”
“It’s good.”
“Okay, grand.”
“Yeah. Now shut up.”
He chuckles, burying his nose in your hair that now smells like his shampoo, and he continues digging his fingers right where you need them.
Your body grows limp after a while, and when he looks down to check on you, your eyes are closed. You’ve fallen asleep in his arms, and there are no more creases of worry on your face.
Michael presses another kiss to your temple. “Good girl,” he says.
Then, he retreats his hand and gently lays you next to him. He tucks you in the same way he did before. You’re quick to move around in your sleep until you’ve found him again, and your head subconsciously moves to his chest.
He doesn’t waste time wrapping his arms around you and holding you close, just like every night. And you know that when you wake up, he will be right by your side, not leaving until he’s certain that you’re feeling better.
Mikey Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @lina-mar @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked (if any more of you want to be added, let me know)
But also tagging @bellaxgiornata bc I know you're on a Mikey trip and I think you might want to read this, darling <3
Alright, it was close but the people have spoken! Part inspired by the Deftones - Radiant City lyric, 'Nothing I've tried will replace your caress '. Some of you might recognise a section of this, finally found a place for it!
Tags/warnings: pwp, fingering, unprotected p in v, very slight angst?
~
When the door to the roof opens and his boots hit those stairs, you know. He doesn't even bother to remove the mask as he comes to you, just picks you up, lifting you onto the edge of the counter with a strength that has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together to ease the sudden unrelenting throbbing there. But he doesn't let you.
"Spread your legs for me sweetheart."
You immediately comply, biting down on your plump lower lip as the smooth tone of his voice takes the control of your body away from you, and you don't care. He moves into the space you've made and as soon as the words 'good girl' kiss your ears, you're already aching for him to touch you, and when he finally does, fingers merely drawing soothing circles just above your knee, you can't hold on to the needy sound that leaves you.
He smiles. He's always gorgeous when he does and this one is tinged with just a hint of barely restrained lust. He licks across his lips, tasting your reciprocal need, your readiness that hangs thick and sweet in the air around him. As his hands drift further up your thighs your body almost vibrates like a tuning fork with how badly you crave him like this, raw and ready from the streets. Like the opposing poles of two magnets held just a little too far apart you're primed to snap to each other, for your bodies to collide and lock together the way they belong, but he infuriatingly enjoys prolonging that time in-between.
"Matt…"
You breathe his name like a prayer, nuzzling into his partially gloved hand as he lifts it to your face, running the pad of his thumb along the line of your jaw as his fingers furrow into your hair. Your lips part willingly as he molds his mouth against yours, a soft, almost experimental kiss that cruelly teases his intent and makes you ache.
You were waiting for him, he knows. Slept restlessly in his bed, his scent already all over you and tending that possessive streak in him into a blazing fire that only the feel of you can quench. He smells of the cool night and light sweat, leaning in again, his soft breath on your neck as he speaks, raising goosebumps and making you close your eyes so you can focus on the words.
"I've been thinking about you all night," he rasps into your ear before kissing you on the spot just below. Your hands come to rest around his neck as you arch into his touch. The thumb of one hand brushes the soft sensitive skin of your inner thigh as it continues on its path, pushing the hem of your sleep shirt up to your hips.
"...and I know that you've been thinking about me."
You don't hold back your moan of affirmation, squirming as he touches your bare pussy, fingers slowly sliding down between your slick folds and then back up giving you a fleeting brush against the focus point of your pleasure as you hold onto him, your breath already short and fast.
"Do you want this?" He asks, starting to swirl the rough pad of his finger around the swelling little bud of nerves, "or this…?" He takes your wrist to guide your hand to cup against the prominent hard line of his erection over his black tac pants.
Your whimpered yes and desperate nod against the hand still cradling your jaw brings out that dark smile again. He shifts you closer to the edge of the counter, delicately sucking and savouring the taste of you from his fingers before he slides two of them slowly into you. Your nails grip into the muscle of his shoulder, your jaw slack as his thumb pushes into your clit with each lazy thrust of his fingers.
"So perfect." He tells you.
He tilts your face up to look at him, listening to the way your heart is thudding against your ribcage as he works the belt and fly of his pants open at the same time as he works you open, his lips tracing along your jawline to your open mouth where he readily swallows your pretty uhms and ohs.
You rock your hips against his hand, eager to freefall right over that blissful edge he's pushing you towards as he strokes against that hidden spot that makes you feel like exploding into a million pieces.
"C'mon sweetie, I know you're close. Now give it to me." He growls.
The knot at the base of your spine tightens, back arching towards him, your fingers digging even harder into his back as you feel your orgasm start to unravel and bloom out through your entire body.
"Matty… oh, ohh fuck--" you moan, biting into your lip as you shake, your head hanging down watching his fingers pump in and out of you as you ride out your climax. He withdraws them, shining, coated in your come, licking it off barely giving you a breath to recover before he wraps a hand around his length and rubs the thick head of his cock against your entrance.
Your body sags against him as he pushes all the way in, a shared sharp gasp of sensation punched out of both of you. You feel the scrape of teeth as he snarls into your breast, the pent up energy inside him threatening to boil over and burn you both, but then it's gone. The savage beast is soothed.
"Sweetheart–" he almost buckles over you, humbled by the pleasure that you're giving him, unafraid to bare his weakness, relinquishing the control he thought he had to the velvet heaven of you.
You fit together perfectly, wrapping your legs around him, your fingers furrowing their way up his nape into the hair at the back of his head as he holds you to him, showing how he needs you just as you need him.
And then there's no containing what he's feeling, the vast spectrum of sensations expressed in the almost violent tensing of his abdominal muscles and contrasted with the gentle hush of warm breath that fans over your skin, and the moans that meet your ears, surprisingly soft and sweet like it's the first time.
When you come around him this time, it's as if you have reached in and pushed him outside of his body. He's the one in freefall now, sinking through deep dark depths of warm waters in the slowest of motion. You're surrounding him, an inescapable, sweet suffocation. The ambrosial nectar of your aroused state drips down the back of his throat and feeds the butterflies in his stomach. The very essence of you coats his heart and tends its beat. His lungs open to take you within, as there's no need for air or anything else. You're everywhere, you're his breath, the rushed pulsing thrum of blood in his veins, and the flooding of precious dopamine through his brain.
Nothing else feels like you, and god knows at his lowest ever ebb he's tried to find something that compares and he'd never been so glad of failure.
Suspended in this pleasure you hold him as his physical body shudders and shakes, wrung out in ecstasy letting you receive whatever he has to give. His eyes are glazed, strangely serene when he eventually stills and you can feel how his muscles melt just like chocolate against his bones. His heart, usually so strong and steady, flutters wildly beneath your fingers as you draw your hand down his chest, the cage of his ribs visible through his tight shirt as he draws in heavy breaths.
"God, you're amazing. An angel. I don't deserve you." He speaks his truth right into your skin, willing you to feel what he feels, the full spectrum of colour, not just red.
His dark lashes dance against the tops of his cheeks as he struggles against the onset of drowsiness and you do too, laying back onto the countertop with him draped across you.
You could cry, he's beautiful like this. You see the tears in his eyes as the clarity of rational thought hits. You find yourself smiling and he is too, and you savour it. A quiet night in the kitchen brought him back to you and you're grateful.
OH MY GOURD! There are 50 (well 53 actually) of you here now?! That's just amazing to me! 50 new friends that want to read my silly little stories! I am SO GLAD you are here!
June is also my birthday month, so what better time for a celebration?! Except I'm giving the gifts to YOU!
I have chosen some prompt lists from the wonderful @creativepromptsforwriting and I hope you will send me some!
I currently write for Matt Murdock, Murderdock, Michael Kinsella, Frank Castle, and TASM Peter Parker. I am open to other Charlie Cox and Jon Bernthal characters, so if you don't see your blorbo here, just ask!
I love a good trope, so here are some prompts for my favorite tropes:
Grumpy x Sunshine
There's Only One Bed
Non Sexual Intimacy
Fake Dating
Domestic Fluff
Don't want to send a request? Well, I have something for you too! Here is a list of 100 Compliments, send me a shoutout to your mutuals or someone you really admire!
Tagging some mutuals to spread the word: @munsonownsmyass @mattmurdocksscars @itwasthereaminuteago @pedrito-friskito @chvoswxtch @saintmurd0ck @spiderispunk @rae-gar-targaryen @withahappyrefrain @splendiferous-bitch @stress--relief @mindidjarin @e-dubbc11 @bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms @yarrystyleeza @yanna-banana @stilldreaming666
Just a little list of a few Matt Murdock fics that I have read and enjoyed on tumblr (or read on AO3 but know are on tumblr) since I've joined in the past month-ish. I know there are many wonderful writers on here that I am still discovering as I further figure out tumblr myself. I've recently been trying to take the time to read instead of just constantly writing over here (it's been months of just straight writing about Matt...), so there will definitely be another list of fic recs again! I just wanted to share some love!
Please respect each author's blog rules and read all content warnings for each respective fic, but also definitely check out their other works because most of them have vastly more than what is listed (and I'm still working my way through them, too)! And don't forget to leave them some love if you enjoyed their work!
[And if any of you for some reason want to be removed from the list, please let me know!]
Series/Multiple Parts
Skyfall
@courtforshort15 [action, angst]
Angel of God, My Guardian Dear
@loveroftoomanyfandoms [fluff, smut]
Corruption of Innocence Part 1
@cerridwen007 [smut]
Notre Dame
@theetherealbloom [action, angst] (edited to add in because I'm a dunce and forgot this wonderful series that just started on here!!!)
One-shots
Game On
@stress--relief [smut]
Speak Now
@peterman-spideyparker [angst, hurt/comfort]
A/N: Hello, loves! Have some Mikey content! This does contain spoilers for the new season so beware that! We start off a little angsty then get fluffy then get smutty. So we have a bit of everything here!
Word Count: 2148
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Fem!Reader
When Michael called to ask to come over, you were not expecting him to show up with a six pack dangling from his fingers that already had two beers missing from it.
“Woah. We celebrating something or what?” At Michael’s scoff, your expression softened. “What happened, Mikey?”
“You remember tha’ girl I was seein’?”
“Yeah, Molly right?”
“Yeah. Well, you’ll never guess what she’s off doing.”
“Tell me.”
“She’s getting married.” Your eyes widened and then your heart broke for Michael.
pairing: michael kinsella x (mentions of) f!reader
summary: michael wakes up hard and frustrated after a lucid dream
warnings: wet dream/cum, male masturbation, michael being a dirty lil freak (affectionate)
a/n: oooooooooh boy i've had this one in the bank for a while and let's just say i am driven by lust after seeing each new ep of kin. honestly i cant keep up send help
It’s not the first time Michael has woken up hard and frustrated, courtesy of a lucid dream, but he can't say this happens very often.
“Shit,” he swears, placing a hand on his lower stomach, wincing as it comes away sticky. He can feel it too, between his thighs, splattered on the sheet underneath, long since pulled away from the corners of his mattress.
Groaning, Michael sits up in bed, contemplating what to do next. The obvious answer would be to clean himself up, but his blood thrums, head pounding with the kind of hollowness he knows only you could fill.
He shuffles towards his bedside table for a tissue, suppressing the urge to recall the dream as he cleans himself up.
But his resolve is weak, and reliving the dream is just as indulgent as he hopes it would be.
“M-mikey,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist tighter.
“Mikey,” you say again, your voice hoarse, dangerously close to taking him over the edge with you. Using the wall as an anchor, he uses the leverage of this position to drive further into you, as deep as he can go. He sends himself into a frenzy, wild and lost in your warmth and in your wetness, begging for release…
Shuddering, Michael glances at his phone, biting his lip as he feels himself harden again. His self-control is a tidal wave ready to break, because of the overwhelming urge to send you a text, to call—to do anything to get you over here, into his bed and onto his cock. He grits his jaw, swearing at the mental image of you—writhing on top of him, squirming beneath, gripping his headboard as he fucks you from behind.
The devil on his shoulder, one that looks a little too much like you, grins. C’mon, Michael. You know you want to.
Michael shakes his head, his face becoming vacant. Does she even want t’see me?
That thing—you—on his shoulder winks, turning Michael’s cheeks pink. There’s only one way to find out…
Rubbing his jaw, Michael reaches for his phone, swiping through his contacts to find your number. He taps on the little icon next to your name, which displays his favourite picture of you. As his cock twitches against his stomach, he realises that somehow, your smile makes him even more aroused.
Yeah, he thinks, thrusting into his hand. I should call her.
warnings: little angst, hurt-comfort, mentions of verbal abuse (sort of), protective!Mikey
a/n: SUPER SAIYAN SELF-INDULGENCE GOOO! ( •̀ ω •́ )y Have this small rusty thing before I get swallowed by my 2nd semester at uni
Divider by @firefly-graphics.
Sitting on the steps in front of Michael’s house, the door pressed cold against your back, causing you to shiver. His laughter drifted over to you over the fence as you did your best to fight the lump building back in your throat.
Normally, you’d be happy that he spent the evening over at Jimmy’s - at least he wasn’t cooped up alone. He was in company, surrounded by his family —
Family.
The very word made you choke right now.
The laughter quieted, and after some hushed goodbyes, you heard his footsteps approaching, the gentle rhythm stopping abruptly as he spotted you on his stairs.
“Shit, ’s that you, pet? What happened?”
You wanted to answer but fighting your tears took too much out of you. Hours ago, when you had nowhere else to go, it seemed like a good idea to run crying to Mikey. But when you found out he’s not home, it woke a new, bitter anger in you. So you sat down here, sulking and bathing in self-pity. Probably catching a cold, too.
You turned away from him in shame, remaining silent. The sun was dipping below the rooftops, giving you hope that the growing dusk would hide enough.
Briskly, Michael walked up to you, voice laced with worry as he called out your name once more. Gently, he put a hand under your chin, turning you towards him and you could hear his breath hitch when he saw your tear-stained face and red eyes.
His whole body tensed, eyes darkening dangerously as he drew a deep breath.
“Who did this to you?”
Lips quivering, all you could do was let the tears fall as you closed your eyes. You didn’t need to say anything; he knew the answer already. Cursing, Michael reached over your head, hands trembling with anger as he tried to fit the key into the lock.
You were a useless mess, sniffling and wiping your face with the sleeve of your sweater, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You wanted to apologize. You wanted to explain that it wasn’t that bad, and really, you shouldn’t have come. It’s alright. It happened before.
You’ll live, right?
But then why did you feel so stupid and pathetic. Why couldn’t you say something, anything.
The door creaked open, Michael pushing past you to get inside while you just choked quietly on a sob. There was the familiar click of the light switch, and a curse or two more from Mikey as he hauled you up in his arms.
And all you could say was sorry.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry; you kept repeating as your face pressed to the crook of his neck, drowning in your tears and his scent. The softness of his sweater and his embrace felt like his love was cutting you open, your very being exposed: raw and vulnerable and inflamed and his hand caressing down your back, running along the seams of your soul where the stitches came undone.
And his lips pressed against your forehead, burning your skin, setting you alight.
You weren’t sure how long you two stayed like this. By the time you calmed down, the room was swallowed in darkness, Mikey sitting on the couch and you on his lap, huddling closer for warmth. You broke the silence with a small cough, only now registering the itchy soreness in your throat.
“Wanna tell me what happened?” Michael asked softly.
You shrugged, pressing your face against his chest.
“The usual.” you mumbled quietly. “It just… just got out of hand a bit.”
He took a deep breath, pulling you closer. “’m sorry.”
This wasn’t the first time you came to him for comfort and by now, he was more than familiar with the arguments you had with your family. It made his blood boil just to listen to you talk about the constant, petty quarrels you got caught up in with them, the way they treated you like absolute shit.
Countless times, he offered to talk - or preferably, beat - some sense into them, but you always declined. Sweet you, always hoping, always reassuring him it’ll be fine.
“It’s not your fault.” You continued. “It started small, y’know? I don’t even remember what it was now. Isn’t that crazy?” You let out a weak, unimpressed laugh. “But then something got in me… I-I snapped back at them and we all started yelling, and screaming and it was bad. Like, bad. Just grabbed my phone and…”
Your voice cracked, and it broke his heart to see you so vulnerable and hurt, even if it was such a frequent part of your life. That in a grotesque way, you made it sound natural. But the bastards you called your family could put even a Kinsella to shame.
Mikey rubbed your back, pressing another kiss to your forehead. “Don’t apologize, love. You did good, coming here.”
He was more than ready to help and hell, there wasn’t a thing that he would not do to protect you. Even so, there was one thing that he couldn’t wrap his head around tonight.
“Why didn’t you call me?”
You groaned, pressing against him impossibly tighter. “I dunno. I felt guilty.”
“Guilty?” he asked, taken aback.
“Yeah. Like I expected you to just be here, waiting to fix this for me. But then you weren’t here, and I realized I can’t keep doing this to you. You deserve better.”
“Oh, love.” He said, pulling back from you only to slide a hand to your face, palms warm against your tear-stained face and you couldn’t help but sigh as you leaned into his touch. “There’s not a thing I wouldn’t do for ya’, you hear me? I’ll always be here for you.”
“Michael…” Despite your best efforts, a few more tears rolled down your face, but he was quick to wipe them away.
“Shhh. ‘S okay. You just say the word, and I’ll deal with ‘em.” he said, gaze dark and intense. “Just one word ‘s all you need.”
There was a sincerity in his eyes that should have scared you, but it made you feel safe instead, guarded from any harm. Still, you couldn’t help the breathy laugh at what he was suggesting. “Thank you, but I think I’ll keep them around for a bit more. In spite of everything.”
You put your hand over his, sighing in content, finally truly calm.
“Can I spend the night?” you asked, voice still a little shy.
Michael snorted. “Bold of ‘ya to assume I’d let you go back to them.” He wrapped his arms tighter around you as if driving his point home.
After a bit of comfortable silence, he shifted a bit and took a deep breath before speaking. “Listen pet, I’ve been thinking.”
Oh damn. Your anxiety wasted no time to flare up again, mind going haywire over what he would want to say. Did he suddenly change his mind?
“So I’ve been wonderin’ for a while and, uhh…” He cleared his throat, fidgeting a bit more before blurting it out. “I think you should move in with me.”
Oh.
Oh.
You felt speechless, your heart leaping to your throat. It’s not that you didn’t want it - in fact, it was something you’d be more than happy to do. But still, there were a few things holding you back. The longer you stayed silent, the more worried Michael looked.
“What’s wrong? That not somethin’ you were thinking of?”
“No, it’s… it’s not that. I’d love to, Michael.”
He sighed, a little upset. “But?”
“I just don’t want you to run into this because you feel like you have to. I appreciate it, I really do, but I dealt with my family this long… I can take it a little longer.”
Michael huffed, averting his eyes. “I can’t though.”
“What?”
“I can’t.” He repeated, a bit more sternly. “I can’t keep sitting here, doin’ nothing when I know how they treat you, how they abuse you every day.”
You felt new tears welling up in your eyes, feeling more loved than ever before. “Michael…”
“Listen, let’s just try it, ok? And if it’s not working out or…” he paused, his voice a little weaker. “...if it’s not what you imagined, then we’ll help you find a place, yeah?”
You pondered it over again, lips pressed into a thin line but deep down, you already decided.
“Okay. Yeah, okay, let’s try.”
The way his face lit up warmed your heart, and he pulled you back into his embrace again. “You won’t regret it, pet. Trust me. I’ll keep you safe here.”
Damn him, and damn your tears again. You quickly wiped them away as a new fear making home in the pit of your stomach. “I’ll have a lot of stuff to pack though, and I’m not sure they’ll let me back.”
“Don’t ya’ worry your pretty little head over tha’. I’ll go with you, and we’ll take Jimmy. We’ll help you pack… and nothing else, I promise.” he added, with just a hint of mischief when you gave him a stern look. “Unless you want us to take Eric to scare ‘em.”
You couldn’t help but giggle at that, snuggling up against him, head on his chest and for once, you felt like you had a way out of this. “I love you, you know that?”
“Mmm. Had a hunch.” He leaned down, whispering an ‘I love you too’ against your lips before kissing you, and it felt like nothing ever before. It was gentle, and caring, yet there was a possessiveness set deep in it that let you know he’ll always take care of you.
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