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Day 2 - Forget-Me-Nots

Prompt: 2 - Flower Crowns Character: Frank Castle Pairings: Frank Castle x Reader Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland Warnings: Fluff, original child character, reference canon character death, grief Tuna-Tober Masterlist 2024

Forget-Me-Nots

There was something so adorable about your daughter Sophia making flower crowns. She was so serious about it. Asking for very specific flowers. Brows furrowed, the tip of her tongue sticking out as she painstakingly assembled each crown. No mistaking who her father was. Frank got the same look on his face when he did maintenance on his guns.

But your little one was enjoying herself. That proud, little smile when she finished one said it all. Along with the big, ear-to-ear one when she presented each crown to its intended recipient. So far, everyone had accepted theirs and donned them immediately.

Including Frank. He immediately knelt down so his daughter could place the crown on his head. It should have looked absurd. Big Marine with a delicate flower crown on his head with thin blue ribbons trailing down his back. But it didn’t. It looked sweet.

The ribbon matched the tiny flowers. You wondered if Frank recognized them. Forget-me-nots, symbolizing true love, memories, and remembrance. It was rather apt but it was unlikely Sophia knew just how apt. She probably just thought that flowers would look pretty on her daddy.

Which they did. The sky-blue color was a pleasing contrast against his dark hair.

You’d bet a similar logic governed the hibiscus gracing your crown. That she just thought the colorful flowers were pretty. And familiar since you grow them in the garden. But even though it was just coincidence, it’s meaning of being consumed by love was so true. You had never felt so much love as you did now, in your little home with your husband and your daughter.

There was no mystery behind Sophia’s choice of sweet-peas for her own crown. Frank had been calling her sweet-pea since the day she was born.

On the other hand, Sophia had made other apt choices for flowers. Irises for Karen (your friendship means so much to me), sunflowers for Foggy (constancy and devotion), and chrysanthums for Curtis (you are a wonderful friend). Just to name a few.

The love and devotion of lavender for Matt was rather apt but Sophia seemed to have picked it for its sleep-aid properties. Given that she solemnly told him that he needed more naps when she placed the crown on his head. It had taken all of your willpower not to laugh. You were not alone in that regard.

The pale purple flowers seemed to be working their magic. Your boss was practically dozing on your couch, his head pillowed against Karen’s shoulder. Which was rather amazing considering that was Sophia and her friends had set up shop just feet away in the kitchen. And they weren’t being quiet.

Speaking of Sophia, she was tugging at Frank’s hand, “Daddy, daddy, I need your help!”

“Sure, sweet-pea,” he said, allowing himself to be tugged toward the crown making. You followed the pair, curious. Sophia had been very adamant about making her crowns herself, that she was a big girl.

On the table in front of her chair, you could see the beginnings of another flower crown. This one also featured forget-me-nots.

“What do you need, sweet pea?”

“Lisa’s favorite flower!”

You felt your breathe catch. There wasn’t anyone at this party with that name. There was only one Lisa she could be talking about.

“Lisa’s favorite flower?” Frank repeated. His voice was surprisingly even. Provided that you didn’t know him. You, however, could hear the brittleness. Frank might sound calm but he wasn’t feeling calm. Out of the corner of your eyes, you saw Curtis drift closer.

“Yes, for her crown.”

Frank took a deep breath. “Baby, Lisa’s in Heaven. She can’t wear a flower crown.”

This time he couldn’t keep the pain out of his voice. You put your arm around your husband’s waist, silently offering your support. His body felt like stone under your hands. But he put his arm over your shoulder, pulling you close to him.

“I know,” Sophia said. She looked up at you both with those big brown eyes. Frank’s eyes. Her expression was unusually somber. “But she was my sister. She deserves a crown too.”

“Yeah,” Frank said, his voice thick with unshed tears. “You’re right, sweet-pea. Lisa deserves her crown.”

He looked over the collection of flowers. His hands shook a little when he gathered up the yellow roses, handing them over to Sophia. Who took them with a little smile for her father. Silently she became to weave the roses amongst the forget-me-nots. The same flowers she had gifted Frank.

You weren’t surprised when Frank excused himself, claiming that he had to use the bathroom. Nor that his eyes were red when he returned. But he smiled when Sophia showed him Lisa’s crown. “It’s beautiful, sweet-pea. Lisa would have loved it.”

AUTHOR’S NOTE

Yellow roses mean friendship and remember me.

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I'm Not Good Enough🌧️

this movie was fucking ADORABLE i love it so much

Ship: Charlie Denton x gn!Reader

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 994

Warnings: angst, alcohol, self-doubt, anxiety

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

Chilled beer flowed past your lips as you drank from the green bottle. The fizz tickled at the back of your nose, bitter and biting, before gliding down your throat. Condensation clung to the glass and wetted your palms.

The digital clock on the end table to your left read "10:23pm," almost half an hour since Max had gone to bed. He would undoubtedly still be awake. That little trouble maker was always working on Atom, reading a booklet on robot boxing, or sketching away at his next big project. His mind never seemed to stop swirling inside his 10-year-old head.

You supposed he got that whirlwind of a brain from his father. Charlie was always two steps away from a nervous breakdown. Anxiety riddled his tired mind on an hourly basis. He'd constantly look to you for reassurance, whether it was about his parenting, his career, or simply how he treated you as a partner.

He sat to your right on the brown leather couch. Twin bottle of beer to your own clutched in his hand, body practically melted into the sofa, head resting back on the cushions with his eyes firmly shut. Wrinkles cracked his tanned skin in the corners of his eyes and the space between his furrowed brows.

"Doing okay?" you asked as quietly as you could, scared to break the uneasy silence that had settled ever since Max was sent to bed. The air in the cluttered living room was heavy with an unidentifiable unease.

Charlie shrugged as his hazel eyes fell open, "Usual bullshit. Don't worry 'bout me."

You sighed as you set your beer on the end table. An array of rings were stained into the light wood from countless nights spent drinking on the couch. Leather creaked under the weight of you shifting to face Charlie.

"I'm always worried about you, hon. What's going on?" you insisted with a gentle prod against his shoulder. He grunted at the poke, lazily swatting your hand away.

"Don't wanna bother you. Forget it," he muttered. Further worry lines creased along his face as he took a long drag from his beer bottle. His Adam's apple bobbed with each thick swallow.

A sigh blew from your pursed lips in a thin stream. Dating someone as anxiety-ridden as Charlie had its challenges. You tried your best to navigate through the raging tempest inside his mind, course-correcting his lost ship along the choppy waves, keeping him from sinking to the ocean floor.

Some days were easier than others. That metric ton of stress that weighed on his mind seemed to lighten, his smile wider, more energy spilling from his bright, hazel eyes. He'd be more willing to practice with Atom on the robot's boxing combinations or to guide Max through verbal commands.

Today was not one of those days.

"How about you tell me the first thought that pops in your head and we leave it at that?" you offered with a kind smile. Seeing your partner like this drove a grief-lined spear through your heart every time. Forced to watch as this extraordinary man folded in on himself, reduced to barely half of his size, as he wallowed in his racing heart and clouded brain.

Charlie considered your proposition for a few moments. He tilted his head back and forth, stretching the tense muscles lining his broad neck.

"Alright," he finally said. You sat up straighter amongst the couch cushions. Focus fully fixed on the man beside you, chin resting in your palm and eyes passing between each of his. He sighed, clearly uncomfortable with your undivided attention, then mumbled, "I feel like I'm not good enough. For Max... And for you."

You kept your expression neutral as his words slammed into your stomach like a sack of bricks. Swallowing the lump that'd gathered in your throat, you said, "What makes you think that?"

"I'm always like this. Always caught up in my own head, not giving both of you the attention that you need. That you deserve," Charlie nearly rambled, voice barely above a whisper. The words tumbled from him like stones dipped in sorrow.

"Both Max and I know that you have your quirks," you began in a joking manner, attempting to lighten the dreary mood, "No one's perfect, Charlie. No one expects you to be at 110% every single day. You're not one of our robots, you're a human. And a great father, at that. I see the way Max looks at you. That kid loves you so damn much. He's a smart kid, he understands what you're going through. Guess what? Doesn't make him love you any less."

The brief speech seemed to settle on Charlie's shoulders like thick snow. His breath shuddered, lower lip quivering, as he screwed his eyes shut, "Do you mean that?"

"Of course I do, hon. We both love you," you said softly while running a hand through his buzzed hair. The short strands tickled at the skin between your fingers.

He threw you off kilter as large arms enveloped you in a tight embrace. His pointed nose buried in your hair, beer long forgotten on the floor, arms squeezing you so tight you couldn't even dream of escaping. Not that you wanted to.

You were quick to return the hug, hands locking behind Charlie's back. Gentle hums leaked from your closed lips as you rested your chin on his shoulder. A little off-key, not quite matching the song you and Charlie had claimed as your own, but it comforted him nonetheless. He settled in your arms like a deflated balloon.

Anxiety is not an easy thing to deal with. It wracks one's mind with endless worry and near-paranoia at times. Makes one's heart race, their skin itching like it's on fire, stomach tying itself in knots. One day you'd get Charlie to see a therapist. Until then, you'd continue plotting his course through the hurricane and into your open arms.

screaming crying throwing up etc.

taglist: @just-a-nightdreamer @www-interludeshadow-com @venomqueen2002 @c1eepypas1a @amphitrite-5 @yarrystyleeza @lemurianstarship @theestorm

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Day 4 - Compromise

Prompt: 4 - Sixty-Nine Character: Michael Kinsella Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader Word Count: 755 Warnings: Referenced sex, explicit sex, 69 position, oral sex (male and female receiving), swearing Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @lulukings92, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist

Compromise

One of Michael’s best qualities was that he wasn’t a selfish lover. He loved eating you out until your legs gave out. Even when he was fucking you, he never forgot your orgasm. Ever. Your pleasure seemed to matter more to him than his own.

Which was great. It was wonderful to be with someone so attentive. Especially after so many years of men who only cared about their own pleasure, that thought sex was over once they orgasmed. Not Mikey. He made sure that you orgasmed, more than once if possible, and never skipped aftercare.

Between that and doing his share of the housework without prodding, Michael Kinsella had ruined you for all other men.

The only fly in the ointment was that you weren’t a selfish lover either. As much as you liked receiving pleasure, you also liked giving it. You wanted to make him feel good. But when you expressed a desire to do so, that’s when his tendency to downplay his own needs and wants reared its ugly head.

The very idea of focusing primarily on him and his pleasure just did not compute. The baffled look he gave you when you insisted that you would enjoy sucking his cock would have been cute under any other circumstance. But under this circumstance, it was just frustrating.

After a couple of rounds of irresistible force meets an immovable object, you and Michael came to a compromise. Mutual oral sex aka the sixty-nine. It wasn’t something you had done before but you were willing to give it a try.

Even if it was a little awkward, having your ass in Michael’s face like this.

“I like havin’ yer arse in my face,” he countered. His voice had taken on that deep, smokey quality that went straight to your cunt. As if to emphasize his assertion, he started kneading your ass in his hands. “Ya have the best arse in Ireland.”

“I think you are confusing me for yourself, Mikey,” you said.

He snorted, “Gotta disagree with ya, pet.”

You disagreed but now was not the time to start an argument about who had the better ass (which was obviously Michael). You’d deal with that nonsense later. Right now, you had other things that needed your attention.

Like this pretty cock right in front of you. Flushed bright pink, it was tempting you to lick it. So that’s what you did, running the flat of your tongue across the head. You felt Michael’s body underneath you jolt. You wanted to smirk. He hadn’t been expecting that.

He couldn’t contain a moan when you repeated the action. Or began to lap, chasing every drop of the salty pre-cum leaking out of his cock. But if there was one (more) thing that Michael was good at it, it was reacting quickly. Using his grip on your ass, he tugged you closer to him. You shivered at the prickly sensation of his beard against your inner thigh.

But that was nothing compared to the shudder that wracked your body when his tongue ran through your folds. Once. Twice. Before focusing on his target - your clit. It was your turn to moan when he began doing the same flat licks to the sensitive little nub as you were doing to his cock.

Then he started sucking gently on your clit. You were unable to stop yourself from squirming. Especially when he upped the ante by humming. You cried out. The vibration alone was almost enough to tip you over that edge.

Two can play at that game Kinsella, you thought. You wrapped your lips around the head of his cock and sucked. Then you hummed. This time he was the one who lost control. His hips bucked up, pushing his cock a little further into your mouth. You moaned, your fingers digging into his thighs.

He broke the suction on your clit to groan out, “Fuck, pet, ya killin’ me”

You rewarded him by moaning around him again. 

But as before, Michael wasn’t left flat-footed for long. With rumble that almost a growl, his mouth latched back into your clit. His hands dug into your ass, holding you in place with a grip almost hard enough to bruise. You didn’t care if it did. All you cared about was the pleasure coursing through your veins . . . the obscenely loud slurping and grunting noises filling the bedroom . . . the heavy cock filling your mouth . . . the salty taste of him on your tongue . . . the building tremors in Michael’s body as you hurdled together toward that sweet, sweet peak . . . 

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A Second Pillow (Frank Castle x Fem!Reader)

Hello!! Please pretend I'm not 3 days late lmaooo...here's my first addition to the lovely Tuna-Tober!

Tuna-Tober Day 1: Falling Asleep In A Hospital Room

Pairing: Frank Castle x Fem!Reader

Warnings: hospital, mention of injuries, a little bit of angst with fluff

Word Count: 600

“Frank,” you said quietly, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. He hadn’t let go of you since he got here, hadn’t taken his eyes off you, hadn’t stopped making sure you were safe. “You can go home. I’m okay.”

“Not a chance, sweetheart,” he responded, his voice even lower than usual with how he was fighting to stay awake. It was past three in the morning, and you’d both been here since noon when he had rushed you to the emergency room. “If they wanna discharge you tomorrow morning, I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”

You smile fondly, your thumb rubbing back and forth on his hand. “I appreciate the chivalry, but you look like you’re going to pass out. At least go get some coffee.”

He just shakes his head, shifting slightly in his seat. “I'm fine. You warm enough? Need another pillow?”

Frank, to most, seemed like an impassive man. His set jaw, his furrowed brows, his constant attempts to keep this expression blank, it all pointed to the conclusion he wasn’t bothered in the slightest. But you knew him. You knew his insistence on staying put, his frequent scans of the room, and the periodic twitching of his index finger meant he was worried out of his mind. He knew you were safe. Logically, he knew you were going to be fine. But the sight of you in a hospital bed had him on edge. He felt compelled to find the threat, something he could put down to keep you alive and well. 

“Frank,” you said softly. “I’m okay. It’s just a broken bone.”

“Two broken bones.” he corrected gruffly.

You gave him a nonchalant shrug. “One broken bone, two broken bones…the only difference is gonna be my hospital bill.” you tried for a laugh but only got a grimace. You sat up and put your other hand below your joined ones, bringing them up to kiss his.

“I’m okay. I’m safe. I’m with you. Alright?”

He just stared at you for a moment, his eyes unconvinced and wavering. 

With a small grunt you move yourself to the right and pat the open spot next to you. “C’mon, big guy. You need some sleep.”

“I’m fine—“

“If you’re not gonna listen to me when I say I’m fine, I won’t listen to you when you say it. Come on.” you pat the spot again. When he doesn’t move, you cross your arms and raise an eyebrow. “Really? You would deny a woman cuddles?”

That cracked his shell, a twitch in his lips making him smile, just a little bit. It was the world to you. 

“There’s barely enough room on that mattress for you by yourself--”

You sighed, shaking your head and feigning offense. “No, no, I see how it is. I guess I’ll just have to sleep in here all by myself. Alone. Cold. Wounded--”

“Oh hell--”

You beamed as he climbed in next to you, moving close to him to rest your head on his chest.

“Easy, easy, be careful, honey.” he grumbled, enveloping your body in his arms, careful to not bump into your injuries. 

Once you were both settled and comfortable you sighed, letting your eyes drift shut. His fingers trailed back and forth on your forearm in a soothing motion, pressing a kiss to the top of your head every now and then. It wasn’t long before you both fell asleep, the sound of each other’s breathing a soothing lullaby.

@tunatober

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✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: "Why? Why do you love me?" + Flower Crowns 🐟✨

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You’re My Red Rose

Description: After years of hiding his feelings, Slash admits them to Axl with the help of flower crowns.

Relationship: Axl Rose x Slash

Prompt: “Why? Why do you love me?”, Flower Crowns (Day 2)

(Axl and Slash are both 18 years old in this fic and seniors in high school)

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1980

Axl was lying his head on Slash’s lap, smoothing his hand through the wet grass of the meadow. The sun was starting to set. He admired Slash’s strong jawlines and sweet, brown eyes while Slash was doing something with the flowers they had picked earlier.

Life was getting hard to live. Slash’s kindness and beauty ade it worth living. He wouldn’t be able to handle a universe where he would be without his chocolate eyes, his sweet voice, or his smooth skin. From the very first day they met two years before in the 10th grade, Slash always made him feel at peace.

“Look what I made you,” Slash announced, lifting his creation up to show him.

Axl sat up. It was a flower crown made with twigs tied together and bits of daisies, roses, dandelions, and lilies. Slash placed it on top of Axl’s head. It was a perfect fit.

“How do I look?” Axl asked.

It didn’t take long for Slash to answer. “Cute.”

“Cute?” Axl furrowed his eyebrows.

Axl’s face went hot. He always thought Slash was attractive, but he didn’t know if the feelings were mutual. During school hours, Slash and Axl barely saw each other due to their conflicting class schedules. Whenever he did, a girl was always hanging from his arms. He was a ladies’ man. The girls loved him and he never rejected them, so calling him cute surprised and confused him greatly.

“Yes, cute. Beautiful actually.” He caressed his cheek. “From the first time I saw you, I always thought that. It’s probably way too early to say these very strong words, but I don’t care. Life is short to dwell. I love you.”

Axl’s heart pounded in his chest. “Why? Why do you love me? What about all those girls you were drooling over?”

“I was putting on a show because I was still figuring out who I was. I love you because you brought out the real me. I love you because you’re not afraid to be you around me. I love you because you’re Axl. Do you love me? You can say no. I won’t be upset if you do.”

Axl pulled him close, bringing him into a kiss. Before pulling away, Slash licked his lips.

“I do love you, Slash. I don’t have that many words to show it, but I do.”

Axl straddled his legs around Slash’s waist. They pressed their foreheads together, enjoying this moment between them. There was this weird feeling that someone was watching them. Axl moved back and looked in the distance. A dark and tall silhouette was standing next to a tree about 30 feet away from where he and Slash were.

It was his older stepbrother, Andrew.

His heart dropped into his stomach. His stepbrother most definitely saw everything that just happened.

“I-I have to go. My parents would be worried.” Axl stood in a hurry.

“See you tomorrow.”

Axl nodded. He didn’t want to go home. Their stepfather was there. Andrew would tell him what he saw without any consideration for what would happen. But he had to go. Axl met up with Andrew, who stared at him with a smirk.

“Is that your little boyfriend?” Andrew asked in a teasing tone.

“No, he’s just my friend.” Axl kept his head down as they walked to their trailer.

“That’s not what I saw. You know Dad will blow a gasket when he hears about this.”

“Please, don’t tell him. I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Nah, Dad doesn’t like when we keep secrets.”

Tears streamed down his face as they walked home. There was no convincing him. Andrew was a miniature version of his father. He loved seeing him in pain.

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I had plans to doodle a Tuna-Tober Prompt every day of October, but life kinda got in the way and I’ve been really busy. So I’ve only managed Day 1 - Falling Asleep in A Hospital Room so far! I used that yummy photo of Matt falling asleep in his apartment bare-chested for reference, but added a disheveled suit because he’s been sitting beside Reader’s hospital bedside for a long time, bless him! It’s very rough and scribbly, and his anatomy isn’t perfect. 

Traditional art. A4. 4B pencil. Photo ref -

Uncropped version -

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"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)

Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!

Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader

Wordcount: 2k

Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)

It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you to sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed. 

“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.” 

Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had wanted this. But he was a loyal man, endlessly devoted to family, something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of. 

You had thoughts on that, too, but that would also have to wait. 

 “We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said ta him, and…”

Some nights, though, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath that weight—the weight of expectation and a grim responsibility he shouldered without complaint, even as he began to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met this beautiful, quiet man in that small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form. Over time, as he gradually began to let you in, you’d discovered the far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done, had only opened that door further, until he began to seek you out as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits were brought closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inevitably in the pull of each other’s gravity.   

Neither of you had named what this was. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it. 

 “Just… be gentle with him, dear.” 

Somehow, even the knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the rain and a gust of chilled wind. 

“Oh, Michael,” you whispered. 

He was soaked to the bone, dark hair plastered down against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and hands, more of it leaking steadily from a split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he seemed to realize you didn’t buy it, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and exhausted. 

“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for humor and missing by miles.

“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his arm and tugged him forward until you could quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness. 

“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, stripped of all energy, as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head, staring down at the growing puddle on the floor, his face twisting through something unreadable. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”

“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was standing shivering in the hall as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”

He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”

He clenched his jaw, still refusing to look at you. Some of the blood on him had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a rusty pink. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”

You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the door. He went stiff the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops, making it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of whiskey and leather, of gun oil and rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder as his breath hitched. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”

He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his hands tentatively finding their way around your waist, as if he were still half-convinced it would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ ta give ya. Ta give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”

“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands beginning to fist in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath from him, more of his tears falling against your throat as he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I let you in because I just need you. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.” 

That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked sobs. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, soothing whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and through his hair as he let go of every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world. 

It took time for that wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, taking the time to clean him up. He accepted the care silently, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready, so you let the quiet have its place, though every now and then you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.

You left him alone just long enough for him to change. You were glad he now kept a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, the knowledge that this place was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed, you tipped your head before heading towards the bedroom. He hesitated, just for a moment, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.

It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. Just on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed each other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against grief or hurt. Until now, however, it had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed. That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge. Somehow you knew there’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply friends.

And after a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow. 

The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you. 

Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him. 

“I don’t know what I’d do without ya’,” he sighed, his breath slowly easing. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them took your breath away, filled with a tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the end and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am, yer’ there ta bring me back. I feel… I feel real when I’m with ya’. I…” 

His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair as his lips met yours. 

The kiss was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a hesitance that swiftly gave way to confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed down as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he lay his forehead against yours, his eyes falling closed. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, eyes crinkling, even if they stayed closed. “Wanted ta do that for a long time, now,” he admitted. “Not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing. 

“Can I take ya ta breakfast tomorrow?”

You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for. 

“I’d love that.”

And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.

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✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: "Are you blushing?"🐟✨

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"Are You Blushing?"

love me some drover :)

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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: BEGGING🐟✨

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Begging🔥

this one is STEAMY y'all

Ship: Logan Howlett x f!Reader

Rating: 18+

Wordcount: 801

Warnings: orgasm denial, edging, begging, unprotected PiV, cigars, bruising, dom!logan/sub!reader, biting, bloodplay ish?, kind of mean!logan, dumbification

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

It was hard to breathe with how close you were. Dangling on the precipice of euphoria, sweet release nipping at your heels from where you clawed at the cliff face. Tendrils slithered around your heels and tugged. Pulling you further and further into the vast pit below.

"Logan, p-please," you whined, voice strained. Sweat dripped down your furrowed brow in thick bullets. The muscles in your thighs screamed from under your overheated skin. Despite your need for release, you inwardly cringed at how needy you sounded.

A cruel chuckle rumbled from the man beneath you. Large hands gripped at your hips, the callused fingers pressing dark bruises into your skin. His arms flexed as he dragged you back and forth along his lap. Clouds of smoke hung heavily around your head in a grey halo.

"I think you can ask nicer than that, doll," Logan sneered around the lit cigar between his teeth. His lips were pulled into a taunting grin.

He'd been edging you for close to an hour now. Dragging you towards the cliff, your nails digging into the dirt, and holding you just over the precipice. Luring you towards your release with the slick slide of your bodies, his cock hitting every ridge inside of you, before he'd pull you off of him and halt your orgasm in its ascent.

You gasped as thick fingers tugged at your hair. Strings of expletives spilled from your kiss-swollen lips, your neck straining, as Logan tugged your head back. His sharp canines left blossoms of crimson along the thin skin under your jaw.

"Ask again. Maybe I'll let you come this time," he huffed against the shell of your ear. He must have put his cigar on the nightstand as he kissed and licked at your skin with reckless abandon.

"Please, Lo. Please let me come," you begged with the sour tinge of desperation. Your swollen clit dragged along the crisp hair at the base of Logan's cock. A breathless moan kicked through your clenched teeth.

He hummed, the sound making his lips buzz against your skin. You shivered as puffs of whiskey-scented breath coasted across your damp skin. The developing bruises along your hips twinged when Logan's grip tightened, "I guess I'll let ya. Just this once."

Breathing was a thing of the past with the new, brutal pace Logan set. Deep, quick, making explosions of color burst in your vision every time he buried himself to the hilt. Shaking fingers scrabbled along his toned chest as you sought for purchase. Frantic in the way you grasped at that cliff's edge.

It wouldn't be long now. Your fingers were pried, one by one, from the edge by Logan's intensity. That deep pit of swirling pleasure beckoned with its wide mouth. Flames licked up your skin in long ribbons of fuckyesdon'tstop with every brush of his cock on your cervix. Your eyes rolled back beneath your lashes.

"Look at ya," Logan rasped, words cutting through the slew of low grunts leaving his chest with every thrust, "All fucked out. I bet there ain't a thought in that pretty head of yours."

The best you could reply with was a high moan. You were one swift push away from toppling over the edge. Just needed that last bit, that last breeze along your bare skin, before you'd plunge into the inky depths below you.

A single glance of Logan's thumb on your clit and you were gone. Mind washed in wave after wave of blessed rapture. Sending a shudder down your spine as your orgasm flooded your veins. Boiling, liquid heat pumped through your blood with every rapid beat of your heart. You convulsed. Body shaking, limbs going numb, head thrown back as your labors were finally rewarded.

"There ya go. There ya fucking go," Logan uttered like a quiet prayer. His pounding into your wet cunt continued in its ferocity as he chased his own release. Groans bit through the air, heated palms pulling you flush to his slick chest, pointed nose burying in your tangled hair.

"L-Logan," you stuttered mindlessly. Your blunt nails dug into the skin across his shoulders. Red divots scraped through dark hair, making Logan bark out a gruff moan.

"Shi-it!" he gasped, hips snapping up into yours. One last thrust and he stilled, chest heaving with every gulped breath, Logan's eyes screwed shut as his orgasm wiped every trace of dominance from his body.

The two of you were a mess of sweaty limbs and traces of both your orgasms. Logan held you to his chest like you'd disintegrate before his eyes. Face nestled in the crook of your neck, arms looped around your waist, cock softening inside your painted walls. You were as limp as a ragdoll in his embrace.

Maybe begging wasn't so bad.

hooo boy i need a cold shower

taglist: @ripleyswife

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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: READING TO EACH OTHER🐟✨

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Day 1 - Reading to Each Other

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Word Count: 827 Content: Fluff!! Long distance relationship (but like not really), no use of y/n, gender neutral reader Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist <- check out the other fics posted this month!

A/N: And so we begin. . . five days late but it's alright! I cheated the prompt a lil bit; it's for a good cause, trust me. Be sure to like and reblog if you enjoy and let me know if you want to be a part of a taglist!

“One whole week?!” Foggy cries out, “How will you ever survive without them?”

Matt shakes his head and goes back to feeling the braille for the newest case they’re working on. “I’ll be fine.”

“Right.” Foggy stretches the word out and looks over to you. You’re standing by the entrance of Nelson, Murdock and Page arms crossed and giving the both of them a knowing look. 

“It’ll go by faster than you think,” 

Foggy laughs and walks over to the kitchen. “Are you reassuring me or Foggy?” Matt asks.

“Yes.”

“Ha!”

You glance behind you and stick your tongue out at Foggy, he reciprocates.

“But really, it will be okay Matt,” You walk over to him and hug his shoulders. He smiles up towards you and sighs. “I do have a surprise, but you gotta promise me you won’t listen to it unless you miss me.”

Matt raises an eyebrow, “Oh? And what would it be?”

You roll your eyes at him, “It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?”

You reach into your pocket and pull out a beat-up mp3 player. You flip it around in your hand, trying to calm your nerves before holding it out in front of Matt. 

His smile increases as you gently take his hand and put the mp3 player in it. He wants to laugh at how nervous you are, your heartbeat absolutely pounding out of control, it’s so cute.

“Don’t laugh!” You bring a hand up to cover your embarrassment. Maybe a small chuckle did escape, it’s worth it to feel your blood rushing towards your face. You shake your head, trying to clear your head. You glance at the clock on the wall and your breathing increases.

“Oh god, I’m going to be late for the Amtrak.” You mumble. You give Matt a quick peck on his lips before rushing out the front door. 

“I’ll call you once I get to the hotel, or if I get bored on the train.” You wave goodbye and before Matt could say goodbye back you’re gone.

The rest of the day passes by so slowly for Matt that by the time he gets back into his apartment he just wants to hold you in his arms. . .but you’re not home.

He tries his best to shake off the lonely feeling slowly creeping into his chest. It’s been months since you and Matt have been apart for more than a day and he already feels like he’s losing it. 

Matt takes a deep breath, trying to calm his nerves. You were simply going away for work and would be home soon. His phone buzzes and he reaches into his pocket. Opening it up he hears the automated voice tell him, “One new message: Arrived at the hotel and already missing you. Be careful tonight, I love you; heart emoji, devil emoji.”

He smirks and sends an audio message back. “I miss you too Sweetheart. I’ll be sure to give you a call in the morning before I head to court. I love you.”

“Message sent.” The automated voice informs.

Surprisingly while the Devil patrols there isn’t a whole lot of activity that he needs to deal with. A few carjackings here and there as well as a couple of muggers, but thankfully nothing big. Once he gets back to his apartment, Matt starts removing his suit and tries to meditate, but his mind is clouded with thoughts of you though.

Words cannot describe how much he misses your gentle hands grounding him and helping him release the stress from patrolling. He misses the way you would read out whatever story you’re reading that night while he rests his head on your chest, helping him drift off to sleep.

Wait. . . what was on that mp3 player?

He walks over to his bedroom and reaches for his jacket laying on the ground. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out the mp3 you gave him earlier in the day. He finds a pair of spare earbuds and sits on the edge of the bed.

Unsure of what he’s going to hear he tentatively presses play and waits.

“Hello Matty! I know I’m going to be gone for a while so I thought to make a couple recordings of what I’m currently reading. If you want I made a recording for 6 chapters that way you can listen to one each night that I’m gone.”

He smiles. He can feel a warm feeling grow in his chest; a reassurance that you will be there to help him no matter what. Your voice rings out starting to read aloud the chapter you were currently reading for your book and as you read aloud you sometimes pause and give your opinions on what’s happening to Matt before getting back into character and reading the story again.

He finished all 6 recordings that night, which you scolded him for once you got back home.