Words: ~1500
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader
Summary: You're on your period and you miss Mikey.
Warning: Period symptoms, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff, pumpkin obsession
Masterlist / A03
Tags: @bellaxgiornata, @shouldbestudying41, @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92
This little story interrupted the writing of "Bound". Guess Mikey wanted a little attention.
Thanks to @shouldbestudying41 for the title suggestion.
Mo Ghrá
You were on the couch, trying to find a position that was comfortable. It was a struggle. Your abdomen was in favor of the fetal position. Your lower back disagreed. Vehemently. Right now you were seeing if on your side, pillows supporting your back and heating pad pressed against your belly, would work.
You hoped so. You were so tired. You had gotten, maybe, two hours of sleep last night. If you added it all up. Yesterday hadn’t been much better. You had called off work, knowing there was no way you were hauling your ass into the office. Not today.
After failing for umpteenth time to find a comfortable position on your bed, you had given up on it. The couch wasn’t much of an improvement. Best thing you could say is that it wasn’t covered in sheets that smelled like stale sweat. You needed to change your bedding but that sounded like far too much work today . . . maybe, if you got lucky, you’d find the energy to fix that before attempting to sleep tonight.
You wished Michael was here. You wanted to bury your face in his chest hair while he rubbed your back with those large, warm hands. You wanted his voice softly murmuring into your hair. But you stayed at your place last night and yesterday night. Like an idiot. You didn’t know what Past You had been thinking. Probably some nonsense about needing to spend some time at your own place since you were still paying rent . . .
But you were also glad that Michael wasn’t here. Because you felt gross. You had scrapped up just enough energy for a shower this morning. But it was the second day of your period. When you had the worst cramps and the heaviest bleeding. So it didn’t take long for the refreshed, clean feeling to disappear.
You whimpered when another cramp ripped through your abdomen. The painkillers were wearing off. Granted, the ibuprofen was barely dulling your cramp pain. And it did absolutely nothing for your headache . . . But it was all you had. In a minute, you would get up and take more. Refill your water bottle while you were up. In a minute . . .
The knock on the door startled you. You weren’t expecting any company. Michael had mentioned something about running errands when you had called him to cancel your lunch date. Another disappointment, you had been looking forward to that date . . . you weren’t going anywhere special. Just the little cafe that you two had discovered that had really good coffee. Really good everything actually. Anna liked it too . . .
Another knock alerted you to that you had gone woolgathering instead of getting up and answering the door. It was tempting to pretend not to be home. But curiosity won out. Reminding yourself that you needed more medicine and water anyway, you wiggled out of your blanket cocoon and stood up.
Your abdomen protested the loss of the heating pad with an enormous cramp. The kind that made you double-up and brought tears to your eyes. It only lasted a few seconds but it felt like an eternity. You slowly straightened back up, then shuffled just as slowly toward the door. You reached it just as a third knock came. Whoever this person was, they were persistent.
You unlocked and opened the door to discover Michael standing here, a soft smile on his handsome, bearded face. “There ya are, pet. I was startin’ to think I had missed ya.”
“Mikey!” you said, torn between delight and embarrassment. You were happy to see him, of course, but you were also a mess. Crazy hair still wet from the shower, wearing old sweats, oversized tee shirt, and one of his hoodies. The one that you had shamelessly stolen from his house the last time you were over there.
Your unattractive messiness felt especially stark today. Michael’s hair and beard was neatly combed. He was wearing jeans, the ones that displayed just how fine that very fine ass of his was. And that sage green sweater that you had bought him, that really brought out those little flecks of green in his eyes, peeked out from under his jacket.
“I thought you were busy today?” You said.
“Just a few things,” he said. “Can I come in, pet? The coffee's gettin’ cold.”
“Coffee?” you repeated, suddenly realizing that one of his hands was occupied. In it was a drink carrier with two coffees in it. Coffees with the name of the little shop written across the cups. You also noticed a small white bag with the same logo dangling from that wrist. A bag that smelled like fresh-baked pumpkin bread.
Your mouth watered. You hadn’t eaten much today. Just lacked the energy and had been vaguely nauseous. You had nibbled on a cereal bar with some tea hoping that it would stay down. It did. But the nausea remained and nothing sounded appealing . . . not until your nose caught a whiff of that pumpkin.
“Pumpkin bread?”
“Yes,” he said, smiling. “And yer pumpkin spice latte.”
“Really?!”
“I know ya love yer pumpkin,” he said.
He was right. You loved pumpkin. Pumpkin bread. Pumpkin pie. Pumpkin cookies. Pumpkin spice coffee. One of your favorite things about autumn was all the pumpkin things you could find. Michael had teased you about it, said it was very American. You had retorted that his snobbiness about whiskey was very Irish of him.
Remembering that he was still standing on your doorstep and it was a rather brisk autumn day, you moved to the side and ushered him inside. You watched him move through your living room. Particularly when he bent down to put the coffees down on the little table. As predicted, his ass looked incredible in those jeans . . . you felt a spark of irritation at the universe. If only you weren’t on your period right now . .
As if to remind you of that little fact, you got another cramp. It wasn’t quite as bad as the last one but it still had you pressing your hands against your abdomen in a vain attempt to stop the pain. A pointed reminder that you needed to take that ibuprofen and put the heating pad back on. While Michael sliced off a few pieces from the loaf of pumpkin bread, you slipped off to the bathroom to take those painkillers.
“How are ya feelin’ pet?” Michael asked as you settled back on the couch.
“I’m grand,” you said. “Why do you ask?”
While his lips did give an amused twitch at your borrowing of his phrasing, his eyes flickered over to the heating pad and the blanket piled on the couch. “Ya were wincin’”
Of course he had noticed. Michael was nothing if not attentive.
You fidgeted. He had never exhibited any disgust for periods. Never made any crude jokes, reacted with calm practicality every time it had come up. Anna had been more embarrassed by her dad buying her tampons than he had been going to shop to buy them. But your period wasn’t something you enjoyed talking about. You really didn’t want to talk about it with Michael.
For some reason, he seemed to think you were beautiful. And you didn’t want anything to destroy that particular delusion of his.
On the other hand, you didn’t want to lie either. You and Mikey were trying to build something solid here. Something that would last. Honest communication was key to that goal. And . . . well, your periods weren’t going to stop anytime soon.
“It’s just my period,” you muttered, staring at your feet. Your socks didn’t match. One was a bright pink. The other was black. You hadn’t even noticed before now. Tears filled your eyes. Couldn’t even dress yourself properly. You really were a disaster.
“Pet?”
His voice was closer than you expected. It startled you into looking up. Seeing your tears, the concerned frown deepened. “Can I sit with ya?”
You nodded. He sat down next to you, then turned so he was mostly facing you. He held his arms open in clear invitation. One you couldn’t resist. You slide into his arms, borrowing your face into his chest. The sweater might not have been the chest hair you had been craving earlier but you still had his strong arms around you. You had his cologne that smelled like a blend of whiskey, coffee, vanilla along with notes that you couldn’t describe as other than Mikey in your nose. Which was pretty damn good.
It got even better when one of those wonderfully warm hands began massaging your lower back while the other helped maneuver the rest of you into a more comfortable snuggling position. Michael was so warm. He was just as good as your heating pad. Better. Because your heating pad couldn’t murmur sweet nothings into your ear.
One of these days you were going to have to ask him what mo ghrá meant. Everyone had refused to tell you. Just smiled and told you to ask Michael.
You did eventually manage to drink your coffee and eat your slice of pumpkin bread, followed by more snuggles with Mikey. You felt your eyes getting heavy as the combination of comfort and warmth lulled you into sleep. The last thing you felt before you drifted off was lips pressing against your forehead with another soft mo ghrá.
🌟Marmalade
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🌟Smallville
🌟Merlin BBC
🌟The Dark Knight Trilogy
🌟MacGyver
🌟Criminal Minds
🌟Hawaii 5-0
🌟Stargate Atlantis
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will you think of me later? (michael kinsella x reader)
an: listen here, mikey kinsella deserves the world, and i intend to give it to him !
summary: the universe fights for souls to be together. mikey kinsella is proof of that fact. soft feelings ensue. (as usual)
warnings: none really, mentions of spiciness if you squint
“Australia’s going to be brilliant, you’ll see.”
Your stomach lurches at the idea of leaving home behind, but you smile regardless.
“I sure hope so.”
Somewhere in the distance, the doorbell sounds. There are enough people in your house tonight that could get it, yet it rings for a third time. You apologize to the friend you’re talking with, and excuse yourself to answer it. You swing open the door, expecting to find a blemished teenager balancing a precarious stack of pizza boxes, or another late arrival, but instead the person standing on the other side is none other than Michael Kinsella.
He's turned away from you initially, as if the idea to bolt at the last minute had crossed his mind, but then he turns around and offers you a breathless, “Ehm, hiya.”
A friend had asked you recently what the most romantic thing someone had ever said to you was, and for some inexplicable reason, Mikey Kinsella came to mind.
“I think I knew you in all of my past lives.”
“Hiya.” You breathe.
His familiar cadence causes a shiver to wrack you, but you’ll blame it on the evening chill if anyone asks. Where the delicate creases next to his hazel eyes are newly acquired features, the way his eyes glitter brightly when he smiles remains the same. He looks different than he did the last time you’d seen him. But then he would. Prison tended to do that to a person.
He gives his head a half-shake and lets out a low laugh.
“God, it’s good to see your face again.”
“You’re out.” Is all you can manage.
Someone’s laughter sparkles in the distance, and Michael’s smile fades.
“You’re having a party, I should go.”
Jesus.
He glances down at his feet and then nods his head.
“Yeah, for about a year now.”
You nod resolutely.
“And… you’re here.”
He scratches awkwardly at a spot behind his neck.
“Ehm, yeah, I realize now that I probably shouldn’t have just shown up out of the blue like this, I’m sorry.”
It’s not enough of an answer, you want more, you feel entitled to more, and yet you’re powerless to do much else than stand behind the door.
“What are you doing here, Mikey?” You ask softly.
“It isn't exactly close.” You murmur.
He clears his throat.
“I needed some fresh air tonight, and I wound up in your neck of the woods.”
“Mm, it's not, is it?” He whispers.
Someone calls your name. Breaks whatever spell being back in his presence cast on you.
“I should go.”
He smiles again, but this time it doesn't quite reach his eyes.
“Yeah, me too.”
He steps off your porch but turns back as if remembering something important.
“Can I ring you tomorrow?”
~
“Course ya can, Mikey.”
Like second nature, it comes out before you’ve even had a chance to process an answer. He’s gone before you can take it back.
It never ceases to amaze you how easy it is for Michael to find his way back into your life. Sometimes all it takes is catching a glimpse of Birdy at the shops, or hearing a favourite song of his on the radio, or walking past a restaurant you'd visited with him one evening ages ago. Though more than just years span the distance between you two, he never lingers far from your thoughts. Sometimes it's enough to drive you mad.
As you approach the pub's entrance, the urge to cut and run is almost too enticing to pass up. You very nearly give in until you spot him though the window, a lone figure at a corner booth, hunched around an untouched beer. Taking a deep breath, you enter the pub, and any trepidation that you might have had seconds ago dissipates entirely when he spots you and smiles.
“Alright?” You ask as you slide into the booth before him.
“Yeah, grand. And you?”
“Grand.” You smile.
It feels awkward from the start; there are so many things you want to say, so many questions you want to ask him, but somehow everything falls short when it comes to sharing space with someone who used to share every aspect of your life. You glance down at the glossy menu and order a bulmers when the waitress passes your table.
“Nice place,” You murmur and glance around the pub. It’s an entirely different atmosphere than the joints you used to frequent with him.
“Not close to you though, if I were to go off where Birdy said you are.”
He cocks his head to the side.
“You’ve seen Birdy, then?”
Though she’d deny it if you brought it up, Birdy definitely had her favourites, and Michael was one.
You nod.
“About six months back. We chatted briefly, and your name came up. It was good to see her, Mikey. I miss her loads.”
A pang of something- it feels remarkably close to heartache, hits you hard and renders you breathless for a few moments. What could you say to someone who used to know you better than yourself? Where do you go from here?
You feel his gaze on you when he shrugs and says, “You could come round any time. I know she’d love to see ya.” He seems to sense he’s stepped into unfamiliar territory and clears his throat.
“How’ve you been getting on? You look really well.”
“Ehm, I’ve been really busy as of late, actually. Da finally passed on about a year ago now, so it’s just me in the house, and trying to get everything sorted from his kip has been… challenging to say the least.”
Michael’s expression grows somber.
“I’m sorry to hear that. He was one hell of a man.”
Your eye roll precedes a laugh.
“You hated that man.”
Michael shakes his head, tips back the rest of his beer.
“Never hated him. But when you willingly choose Bren Kinsella as your best mate…”
His voice trails off, and the silence settles around you like falling snow.
“So what are you going to do now? Do you reckon you’ll stay around here or what?”
You meet his gaze, and it’s on the tip of your tongue to tell him what your next chapter is, but for some reason, the words fizzle in your throat.
“I haven’t entirely decided yet.”
He could easily call you on your bullshit; lord knows he has in the past, but he lets it slide for now.
“I’m really glad you decided to come tonight.”
The way he’s leant across the wooden table from you makes you want to ghost a fingertip down the length of his bearded cheek, but you resist the urge and take a hearty gulp of the amber liquid in your glass instead.
“After the way things went, I wasn’t sure if this was ever in the cards for us.”
You eye the grey button-up shirt he’s wearing, and the thatch of raven chest hair that peeks out from a gap at the top and shrug.
“Yeah well… I guess I’ve always been a bit of a glutton for pain.”
Michael’s lips lift in a smirk.
“Certainly not much has changed then, I see.”
You blame the sudden burst of warmth in your cheeks on the near-empty cider glass wedged within your grasp and not at all on the memories you have of the man before you. Clearing your throat, you swill back the rest of the liquid and level your gaze with us.
“I take it you’ve been well then?”
Your tone is mildly teasing when you sigh and say, “Well, you’re not incarcerated anymore, so really how bad can it be?”
Like last night, the smile he has for you never quite reaches his eyes.
“I’ve been as well as can be, I suppose.”
His laughter is genuine, and it causes gooseflesh to bloom on your arms as you laugh lightly along with him.
“I’ve missed you.” He admits when the dust settles.
And even though you’ve missed him just as much, you cannot bring yourself to say so just yet.
“How’s Anna?” You finally ask.
“Michael,” You murmur, turning to him outside the pub. “I don’t want to go back to mine just yet.”
His beautiful hazel eyes light up at the mere sound of her name.
“Oh, Anna.” He shakes his head as if to say, where do I begin?
“She’s getting on really well right now to tell the truth.”
There’s more he wants to say, but for some reason, he’s playing his cards incredibly close to his chest tonight.
The waitress comes by with the bill, which he covers, and then helps you into your coat.
“Let me walk you home, hm?”
The taxi ride back to his home is silent, save for the muted music emanating from the radio up front. You are keenly aware of him beside you; of his radiating heat, and of how badly you want to rest your suddenly weary head against the curve of his shoulder, like you used to do so many lifetimes ago. If you close your eyes tight enough, you can still make out the feeling of his warm hand as it rests protectively against the top of your thigh.
“I want you to tell me the real reason you showed up at mine last night.” You whisper.
You nod, silently.
The taxi glides to a halt in front of his house before he has time to answer, and he exits it, and goes around to your side to grab the door for you. You wait quietly beside him whilst he fiddles with his keys, and then you follow him down the darkened hallway to his sitting room, where he flicks on a lamp that bathes the room in a soft, golden glow. He clears his throat and turns to you.
“You asked about Anna this evening.”
“She’s actually one of the reasons I came round to yours last night.”
Your eyes widen in surprise.
“How do you mean?”
I think I knew you in all of my past lives…
Michael backs himself against the wall, finally allowing himself to catch your eye.
“Anna got accepted to the University of Melbourne in Australia. Marine biology.”
He wears the look of a man who simply cannot fathom where the time has gone. Neither can you.
“And ehm… I’ve decided to go with her. We leave a week from Friday.”
He nods.
The pieces fall into place almost immediately.
“You were there last night to say goodbye.”
His smile lacks any of the familiar warmth you’re used to, and it’s all the confirmation you need.
“You need this,” Your voice is a glass on the precipice of shattering. “You need a fresh start. Away from Dublin.”
“I’m happy for you, Mikey.”
And you are. A part of you had always known that this path - the one in which the Kinsella’s were so infamously known - would wreck him one day if he never got away from it.
“God, we never could get it right, could we?”
He cocks his head to the side, cocks an eyebrow in inquiry.
“Get what, right?”
He places two fingertips beneath your chin, lifting your face to his, and kisses you. The raw familiarity of it all leaves you breathless and wanting. It physically aches, how much touching him feels like coming home after a long day. You barely make it to the bedroom, your clothing scattered around the confines of his home like symbols of an evening well spent. He takes the utmost care of you when you eventually do get there, moving inside of you with a purposeful delicacy that feels like he’s trying to memorize every aspect of your body, in case you disappear from him completely.
You step closer to him and finally let yourself trace a fingertip down the length of his bearded jaw.
“The whole distance and timing thing,” You press a chaste kiss there. “But maybe somehow we can try again.”
Basking in the afterglow, with the only other sound in the room the soft rainfall outside, you tell him that you meant what you said earlier.
“Which part would that be?”
His voice is heavy with the weight of sleep, and it causes you to shiver into his touch. You’re naked and on your stomach, with his fingertips tracing lazy circles around the dips and valleys of your back.
“Us. Trying again. Having a go at a fresh start together.”
His eyebrows furrow in mild confusion, and you scoot closer to him beneath the covers so that you’re nose-to-nose.
“I wasn’t entirely honest with you this evening.”
“I accepted a job offer with a firm in Canberra, Australia about a month ago. It’s not too far from where you and Anna will be…” You press a kiss to his lips. “I leave in a week, Mikey.”
Michael smirks at you; he’s no stranger to this game.
“I know.”
Realization blooms in the pools of his hazel eyes like fireworks. You aren’t sure of many things, but what you do know to be true, is that the universe fights for souls to be together. Evidence of that fact can be found in the smile that lights Mikey Kinsella’s face from the inside out.
Welp, Kin is officially dead and I’m not happy. Charlie Cox was at his absolute best with this series, and now the sleek, gritty crime drama’s gone because of a licensing mess. After reports stated the show was renewed this past winter, the Daredevil actor gets to the bottom of it with me for Collider.
In an exclusive interview with Collider, Charlie Cox reveals that Kin, the RTÉ and AMC+ series, is not returning after Bron Studios’ bankrup
A collage of some of my Matt Murdock and Michael Kinsella paintings from the last few months. They're all still WORK IN PROGRESS. Traditional art. Acrylics. Full size/refs behind the cut -
