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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: BROKEN + SELF-LOATHING + SCARS🐟✨

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Day 3 - Broken

Prompt: 3 - Broken + 5 - Self-Loathing + 18 - Scars Character: Sam Winchester Pairing: Sam Winchester x Reader Word Count: 505 Warnings: Self-loathing, negative self-talk, referenced injury Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland Tuna-Tober Masterlist 2024

Broken

Sam Winchester slipped out of the bed, careful not to wake you. Just because he was too broken to sleep properly didn’t mean you should be deprived of sleep. Especially not for him. You had already given up too much for him.

He still didn’t understand it. Why had you give up your safe, normal life for him? To risk your life hunting monsters for people who would never know or understand your sacrififce. Who would deny all the blood shed in their name. To endure the estrangement of your family and old friends just to join him and Dean on this cursed road. Why?

He understood why Dean did it. He was just as cursed as Sam. There was no escaping this road. Not for them. They had both tried. And Dean was his big brother. He had always tried to protect him. No matter how tired or angry with him that Dean was - and times he had been very much both of those things - he’d never leave Sam to face the world’s evil alone.

Not you. You could have that apple pie life. You could live in a beautiful little house filled with the books and plants that you loved. Not a musty old bunker between a series of cheap hotels. You could have a boyfriend who wasn’t broken. Someone with a real job that could take you out on nice dates. Not a monster who dragged you into the shadows and made you bleed.

It might not be his own two hands that hurt you but it was his fault. You’d never gotten those scars if you had never met him. The obvious ones like the claw marks across your back. But also the invisible ones, the wounds left in the soul by fear and devastating loss.

Without him . . . you’d be safe. Whole. Happy. In love with someone who could put a pretty ring on your finger without fear. Instead of someone who feared putting an even bigger target on your back. Who couldn’t even ask you if you wanted children because he was too terrified of the answer.

You deserved better. Someone worthy of your love. Not a tattered patchwork of a man covered in scars visible and invisible.

But one of his numerous flaws that he was selfish. So when your arms wrapped around him, he couldn’t push you away. He was too greedy to reject the comfort of your body against his. He craved your affection, the pretty words you told him (I’m here . . . I’ve got you, Sammy . . .  I love you . . . you’re a good man, Sam Winchester. I know you don’t want to believe me but you are . . .)

He wanted you to be right. He wished he had your faith that one day, he’d believe those words. He wanted that so badly. It would be so easy to give in.

But Sam was done lying to himself. You deserved better than him. And while he was too selfish to give you up, he was never going to forget that.

Author's Note

This is my first time writing Sam so please let me know what you think.

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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: Self-Loathing + “Shh, I’ve got you now. I’m here.” + Nightmare + Shaking + “You can sleep here tonight” 🐟✨

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Help Me

Description: John had overstepped. He runs to Slash and his family to safety.

Relationships: Axl Rose x Slash

Prompts: Self-Loathing (Day 5), “Shh, I’ve got you now. I’m here.” (Day 6), Nightmare (Day 7), Shaking, “You can sleep here tonight” (Day 8)

Part 4 of “You’re My Red Rose”

⚠️WARNING⚠️: MENTIONS OF PHYSICAL ABUSE, MENTIONS OF CHILD SEXUAL ABUSE

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Axl ran, holding Mia in his arms. John was not far behind him. He had came home drunker than a skunk. In an intoxicated haze, he started touching on Mia while they were sleeping. Axl had woken up before he had gotten too far thankfully. After a short fight, he grabbed Mia and stormed out of the door. His target was to go for the woods behind the trailer to attempt to lose him. It worked. John had slowed down when he had gotten deeper into the wall of trees.

He adjusted Mia in his arms, not wanting to put her down on the grass because she was barefoot. Axl pressed his forehead against the little girl’s forehead, relieved they’re safe for now. He had no idea where he was going to go. In need of a break, he sat on a large rock with Mia on his lap.

“Please don’t take me back, Billy,” Mia begged, tearing up.

Axl kissed her cheek. “I won’t. I just need to figure out where to go. We can’t stay here all night.”

They didn’t have any nearby family members as pretty much his mother’s entire family disowned her after she got pregnant with him. Axl dug in his pocket. He only had $25. That was not enough for a room at a hotel or motel. It’d be different if it was just him, but it wasn’t. There was no way he was going to let Mia sleep on the streets.

The only other person who he thought would take them in was Slash. He didn’t want to bother him and his family this late at night, but there was no choice. This was an emergency.

Surprisingly, music blared through the walls of Slash’s and his parents’ house. He hesitated a little before knocking on the door. A woman with dark skin answered the door. It was his mother, Kadejah, . This was a really bad first impression.

“Axl? What are you doing here so late at night?” She asked, placing her hand over chest in concern. “Aren’t your parents going to be worried?”

“My family is who I’m running from. My stepfather was assaulting her while we slept so I took her and ran,” Axl explained.

Kadejah let them in. His father, Jerry, was sitting on the couch, smoking a cigarette. She quickly explained the situation to him. It took some convincing, but he eventually agreed to let them stay. Axl set Mia down on the hardwood floor. Kadejah ordered Jerry to go wake up Slash. Mia squeezed onto his leg.

“Are y’all hungry? I still have some leftovers from dinner?” Kadejah asked.

“No, ma’am,” Axl responded. He looked down at Mia. “Are you hungry, Dimples?”

Mia shook her head no.

Jerry returned with a tired Slash. His eyes widened at the sight of Axl and his little sister.

“Something went down at Axl’s home so him and his little sister will be staying here until the meantime if that’s alright with you?” said Kadejah.

Slash nodded. “Sure, sure. He can stay here.”

“Okay. I’ll get the extra bedroom ready for Mia. Axl can sleep in the room with you.”

Slash held his hand as he guided him to his bedroom. When he closed the door behind them, Axl felt his knees buckle. Before his knees could hit the floor, Slash caught him. Axl cried into his shirt. Having to fend for himself and Mia all the time, it was tiring. He wished he lived a normal life. He wanted to go to prom. He wanted to have birthday parties. He wanted to go on vacations. Instead, he was fighting uphill battles everyday to survive.

It made him feel insignificant. Why did he have to be so damn scary? He could go to the police. There was enough evidence on both his and Mia’s bodies that could send John to jail for years.

“I couldn’t protect her. I let him touch her.” Axl cried, holding onto Slash tightly.

Slash brushed his ginger hair. “Shh, I’ve got you now. I’m here. Mia’s safe. You’re safe.”

They got into Slash’s bed. Axl was still holding onto him. Slash hummed soothingly. He fought to go to sleep. It took him an hour to achieve that.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Slash was in a deep sleep when loud cries woke him up. He looked to the right of him where the cries were coming from. Axl had his arms crossed around his torso. His whole body was shaking and his face was scrunched up.

“Please don’t hurt me. I-I didn’t do anything.” Axl began to kick the air with his feet.

He was having a nightmare. Slash shook him awake while reminding him that he was okay. Axl woke up, struggling to catch his breath. Sweat covered every inch of his body. Slash pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around him. Axl breathed a sigh of relief when he realized where he was.

“I won’t let that bastard hurt you again,” he whispered, kissing the top of his head.

Axl lifted up out of the embrace. He caressed his cheek and kissed him passionately on the lips.

“Thank you, Slash. I-I love you,” Axl said.

Slash pecked his nose. “I love you, too.”

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✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: FALLING ASLEEP AT THE HOSPITAL🐟✨

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Tuna-Tober Day 1

Hello everyone! As the title suggests, this is Day 1 of Tuna-tober! We're starting the month off with a new character! I hope you all enjoy!

Tuna-tober prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room

Word count: ~850

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader

It all happened so fast. The fight breaking out, Logan unsheathing his claws to scare them, you seeing a man with a gun pointed at Logan. In the moment, you panicked. You forgot about Logan's healing factor and you just moved. You tried wrestling the gun from the man but then it went off and that was really the last thing you remembered. 

Now, you're slowly joining the realm of consciousness. You hear a steady beeping and the sound of someone's soft breathing. Opening your eyes, it takes you a second to recognize where you were. 

The hospital. Being shot. So much blood. A fuzzy face above you. Logan! 

You immediately try to sit up but pain lances through you at the motion. You hiss out in pain and it causes the person beside you to shift. It catches your attention and you turn your head to see who it is. A smile immediately grows on your face as you realize it's Logan asleep in the chair next to your bed. He looks a little rough, his beard grown out and bags under his eyes. He's in sweatpants and a hoodie and his massive form barely seems to fit in the little hospital chair they've given him.

“Oh, Lo.” You whisper, aching to reach out and touch him. But he'd made it clear to you in the past that he wasn't to be touched in his sleep. He didn't want to risk hurting you. So you leaned back in the bed and watched him for several minutes. You knew he would've wanted you to wake him up but you couldn't resist getting to see him so at peace.

But your time watching him was short lived as the door to your hospital room opened, waking Logan and startling you. Charles rolled through the door and he smiled when he saw you awake.

“It's good to see you awake, my dear. You gave us quite the scare.” He told you. You felt your cheeks warm and you looked down at your lap.

“I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make anyone worry. Is everyone else okay?” You asked. You hadn't been out with just Logan, after all. Jean, Scott, and Ororo had been there too.

“Everyone is fine. Don't you worry about them. For now, your concern should lie with yourself.” You nodded slowly. You could feel Logan's stare burning into the side of your skull, but you steadfastly ignored him for the moment. 

“Right. Am I okay? I know I was shot but things get fuzzy after that.” You tell Charles. He nods and moves a little closer.

“You're going to be just fine. The bullet didn't hit anything vital, thankfully. You'll just be spending a few days here in the hospital so you can heal.”

Charles looked between you and Logan and smiled.

“I'll leave you two be. We'll see you soon.” And with that Charles wheeled himself out of the room. Now, you couldn't ignore Logan's angry stare any longer and so you slowly turned your head to face him.

“Lo-”

“What the hell were you thinking? Huh? Have you lost your mind? Is that it?” Oh, he was seething. You looked down at your lap again and tried to ignore the stinging in your eyes.

“Hey, look at me when I'm talking to you. This is important. You don't ever do something like that again. Do you hear me?” 

“I can't promise that.” You tell him. 

“Why the hell not?” He stands, towering over you. It's as if he's trying to intimidate you into doing what he wants and that's what finally pisses you off. You whip your head up to glare at him, tears stinging in your eyes again.

“Because I care about you, Logan! Fuck. You're right, I wasn't thinking. I just saw the gun pointed at you and I panicked, okay?!” 

“Not okay. What if you'd been hit somewhere vital? You don't heal like I do! You could have been seriously hurt. Or killed. You think I want that to happen?” 

“Of course I don't think you want me to die. But Logan, I don't want anything happening to you either. Logically, I know you can take a bullet and be fine, but that doesn't mean I want you too.” You tell him. His face softens a little at that and he sighs, sitting back down and scooting the chair close to your bed. 

“Just don't scare me like that again, okay? I can't take it.” He tells you. You reach for his hand and you're pleasantly surprised when he gives it to you. You lace your fingers together and give him a squeeze. 

“I'll try not to. I didn't exactly enjoy being shot.” You tease and are happy when he smiles. 

“All the more reason not to do it again.” He tells you. You two stay like that for a while, bantering back and forth. Something you were more than happy with. He may not have confessed his feelings to you, but he did admit he cared. And that was enough for you.

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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: SIXTY-NINE 🐟✨

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Day 4 - Compromise

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

Compromise

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You rewarded him by moaning around him again. 

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

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

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Compliments

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: "Are you blushing?"

Warnings/tags: 18+; mentions of sex, sheer fluff, making Mikey blush, naked cuddling in bed

Summary: You notice the way Michael always reacts when given a compliment and you quickly wonder what would happen if you showered him with multiple at once.

a/n: Mikey deserves to be showered with compliments on the daily and you cannot change my mind. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Shivering beneath the sheets, your eyelids slowly opened. Soft, faint morning light was seeping past the plain navy blue curtains as you lay along the bed, your body partially curled in along itself. Goosebumps had already begun to dot your skin just before you’d fully stirred awake, the chill of Michael’s bedroom the most likely culprit for you waking just as the sun had begun to rise. Craving his body heat, you nestled a little further backwards into his body behind you.

Last night had been the first night he’d ever asked you to stay over at his place, but you had not anticipated just how needy Michael would become when he awoke in the middle of the night with you in his bed. You weren’t going to complain about the pleasant ache that you could now feel between your thighs, smiling at the memory of Michael half-awake as he buried himself into you over and over, but as another involuntary shudder raced through your body, you regretted not dressing before falling back asleep last night. 

A hand cautiously smoothed its way over your bare hip and your body startled beneath the touch, jumping slightly in surprise. Head rolling along the pillow, you spotted Michael’s shy smile greeting you from where he lay along his own pillow behind you. His eyes were half-lidded and creased at the corners, that lone dimple in his cheek present on his tired face.

“G’morning, pet,” he greeted groggily. “How’d ya sleep?”

“Good,” you answered, rolling over in bed to face him. “Even better thanks to that midnight interruption.”

“Mmm,” he happily hummed out, his sleepy grin growing. “I'd have to agree with ya, that definitely helped me sleep better. And now it's a perfect mornin’ wakin’ with ya here.”

“It is,” you agreed. “Except I am absolutely freezing in here,” you told him, playfully pouting as you inched a bit closer to his naked body. “I will never get used to the constant chill in the air here.”

Michael’s expression shifted from sleepy to concerned as his dark brows furrowed together. “I'm sorry, pet. I didn't realize ya were cold. C'mere,” he said, his hand on your hip tugging you closer to the front of himself. “Let me help ya with that.”

Allowing him to draw you right up against his body, you reveled in the heat radiating off of him and seeping into the front of yourself. Wrapping your arms around him beneath the sheets, you smiled back at him as he slipped one of his large, warm thighs between your own. His body heat alone was quickly chasing the chill straight out of you and it had you further relaxing against him.

“How's that?” he asked. “Better?”

“Mmm,” you hummed pleasantly, one hand tracing absent patterns along his back. “Much. You're like a furnace, you know that? Or a giant space heater.”

“Oh I am, am I?” he questioned with a grin. 

You nodded, your fingers still brushing the tips of your nails affectionately back and forth across his back. You swore you saw him shudder a few times when your fingertips passed alongside his spine.

“A really handsome, really sexy space heater,” you teased, shooting him a wink. 

Michael chuckled lightly, his gaze briefly averting from you as he glanced just over your shoulder. Biting your lip, you'd caught on once more to the way he usually seemed to react to your compliments. Always with a soft, nervous laugh and sometimes a deflecting comment before he looked anywhere but at you. You quickly found yourself wondering what would happen if you suddenly complimented him repeatedly.

“With a very skilled mouth,” you mischievously added on. “A beautiful, talented mouth.”

“Oh, is that so?” he replied, his eyes hesitantly meeting yours again. “So I take it yer first night stayin’ over was grand then?”

“More than grand,” you answered, noting the way he changed the subject. “I never realized you were such a great cook. And you even clean dishes despite my insistence to let me take care of them. Ever the gentleman, Mikey.”

Michael shrugged sheepishly, the sheets slipping down his shoulder at the movement. “‘M not sure if I'd say I'm a great cook, but I'm glad ya enjoyed dinner last night. And o'course I wasn't goin’ to have ya clean up after.” He cleared his throat, his eyes once more darting away from your own. “If yer…not in a rush this mornin’ I'd happily cook ya some breakfast.”

You caught the nervous tinge to his tone when he'd asked you to stay longer this morning. As if he expected you to want to wake and immediately dart out the door instead of lingering and spending more time with him.

“I'd love to have breakfast with you, Mikey,” you told him, watching as his face brightened at your answer. “Though after how you repeatedly took care of me last night, maybe I should be the one making you breakfast this morning. You know, as a thank you for dinner and the multiple orgasms that followed.”

Grinning coyly back at Michael, you teasingly waggled your brows at him before shooting him another wink. Michael huffed out a laugh, his eyes once more flying to land somewhere just past where you lay. You were about to say something more, but then you noticed a slight tinge of color in his cheeks beginning to peek through his beard.

“Michael Kinsella, are you blushing right now?” you asked in surprise. 

Another little nervous chuckle fell from his lips as he ducked his head, entirely averting his gaze. Unable to resist how sweet his reaction was, you tugged him tighter to yourself and Michael quickly buried his face against your neck in an attempt to hide, his beard pleasantly tickling your skin.

“Yer bein’ so nice,” he mumbled. “‘M’not used to it.”

“Well get used to it, Michael,” you told him, leaning forward to plant a kiss to the top of his head. “Because I'm going to tell you how amazing, intelligent, sweet, handsome, and brilliant you are all of the time. Because clearly you haven't been told all of that remotely enough and I have a responsibility to change that.”

“Ya do, d'ya?” he asked, his voice muffled against your skin.

“Mhmm,” you hummed back, your hands still soothingly brushing up and down his bare back beneath the bed sheets. “Until you believe it. And then even after that.”

Michael made a noise that sounded like something mixed between a sigh and huff. You giggled before placing another kiss into the mess of his dark hair.

“Yer too good for me, pet,” he said, lips brushing your neck as he spoke. “Don't know how I found ya.”

“Yes you do,” you countered with a laugh. “You saved the poor tourist struggling to find a coffee shop and now you're stuck with me.”

“Best damn decision I ever made, too,” he replied with a chuckle, face still hidden against your neck. “Ya just looked so damn cute wanderin’ ‘round Dublin confused, but I couldn't let ya continue on strugglin’.” 

“And now you're giving me mind-blowing orgasms,” you teased. 

A burst of deep laughter came from Michael, his body shaking against yours. You smiled at the sound, one of your hands reaching up to affectionately play with his hair.

“Dunno ‘bout that, pet,” he said once his laughter had subsided. He withdrew his face from your neck, his eyes finally meeting yours again. “But how ‘bout I make us some breakfast? How d'ya like yer eggs?”

Your bottom lip rolled between your teeth as you bit back a smile at him trying to change the subject once again. “Fertilized,” you joked.

Michael rolled his eyes, but the smile grew on his own mouth. “Ya goin’ to be like this all mornin’?” he asked.

“Yes,” you answered. “Because I love seeing the beautiful smile on your face where it belongs.”

Another bit of red tinged Michael’s cheeks at the compliment before he loosed another chuckle and glanced away. Smiling triumphantly to yourself, you settled in for a morning of complimenting him at every opportunity that presented itself.

Michael Kinsella One Shot Tag List: @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @shiorimakibawrites @wkndwlff @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @sunflower-tia @kezibear @loves0phelia @millennial-birkin @steve-chandler @flowher

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✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: ROLE REVERSAL🐟✨

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Tuna-tober Day 3

Here's day 3!

Prompt: Role Reversal

Pairing: Matt Murdock x reader

Word count: 428

Matt was usually the one in charge. It worked well for the two of you. You were timid and so taking control was not something you usually did. 

But seeing him around Elektra did something to you. Maybe it was the way she pushed boundaries. Maybe it was the way Matt was spending more time with her lately. You knew it was strictly work, that Matt would never cheat on you. But that didn't stop the little seed of jealousy from growing into thick, thorny vines around your heart.

So you decided that tonight, you would take control. Provided Matt even made it home. But still you dressed in a red and black corset with matching underwear and thigh high stocking. You completed the look with a pair of black high heels and a black silk mask that covered the upper half of your face. As you slipped on the mask, you let yourself slip into a more dominant headspace. Then, you waited. 

When you heard the key turn in the lock, you nearly sighed. But instead you stood and turned to face the hallway. You heard Matt pause then take his shoes off and set his cane aside before heading down the hallway. He shuffled into view and took a deep breath. 

“Sweetheart…”

“Don't sweetheart me. It's nearly midnight. You're still in your lawyer clothes so where have you been?”

“I'm sorry, we got busy in the office and-”

“Bullshit. You were with Elektra, weren't you?” By the way he stiffened, you knew you were right.

“Sweet-”

“Get on your knees.” He froze, glasses glinting in the light of the billboard. When he didn't move, you took a step towards him.

“I said, Get. On. Your. Knees.” He didn't need to be told a third time, thankfully. The sight of him sinking to his knees was beautiful but you forced yourself to stay on track.

“For weeks now, you've been abandoning me and your friends for Elektra. I know you say it's just work but work has never made you lie to me before. I've had enough. That being said, I'm willing to let you make it up to me. Do you think you can do that, Matthew?” You purposefully called him by his full name, just like she did. Matt licked his lips and nodded slowly.

“I am sorry. I'll do anything you want, sweetheart.”

“You'll start by calling me ma'am. I'm not your sweetheart tonight.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good boy.”

He was in for a long night but damn, if he didn't put in the work.

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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: "You don't need to do that.” "I want to." 🐟✨

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"You don't need to do that." "I want to."🪻

leo is just the perfect vessel for fluff. I DON'T MAKE THE RULES

Ship: Duke Leopold Mountbatten x f!Reader

Rating: 13+

Wordcount: 774

Warnings: periods, possible endometriosis, cursing, nausea

Series: Leg's Tuna Tober

You ached all over.

Not just your abdomen, where your willful uterus throbbed with every breath and sent shocks of agony down your spine, but everywhere else. Your breasts were sensitive to the touch, your back was stiffer than a board, and the muscles in your hips gave out a few hours ago.

All you could do was bury yourself in the couch cushions and groan occasionally. Waves of nausea emanated from your stomach, coursing through your body in violent bursts. You couldn't get up and get water because your head hadn't stopped spinning since you woke up.

Periods. Fucking. Suck.

The ice pack you'd grabbed before your symptoms truly set in had long since melted. A puddle of water cradled the ice pack tauntingly where it sat on the rug. You stared at the blue plastic through half-lidded eyes. If looks could kill, the room-temperature ice pack would be nothing but ash.

Jingling keys in the apartment's door drew your ire from the hunk of plastic. You watched the brass knob turn, the hinges catching a bit, as Leo forced his way through the troublesome door. A large plastic bag crinkled where it was gripped in his large hand. Bulging boxes stretched at the thin material.

"Darling?" he called as the door swung shut behind him. One of your loose sweatshirts hung from his broad shoulders. What seemed monstrous on you just barely fit Leopold. The green of the cotton made his bright, hazel eyes gleam in the apartment's ceiling lights.

"In here," you grumbled tiredly. Another throb centered in your abdomen made you wince. You ground your teeth, eyes screwing shut, as you tried to work through the pain.

"Oh, my love. How bad is it?" Leo asked, voice growing closer as he approached what felt like your death bed. Well, death couch. You peered at him through squinted eyes.

"Bad," you answered with a groan. The plastic bag crinkled as Leo set it next to the couch. You just barely caught a glimpse of the pads and tampons he'd bought while he was out.

"How ba- Lord!" he exclaimed. It seemed he'd found the puddle. Your giggle at his misfortune quickly shifted to a strained sigh as the muscles in your back creaked. Leo adjusted where he knelt by your head, "Damned ice. How's your nausea? Any better than before I left?"

You gingerly shook your head, "Nope."

"When was the last time you drank some water?" he asked. A warm palm rested on your oversensitive shoulder. It was soft, strong, the fingers massaging circles into your sore muscles. An involuntary sigh escaped your chapped lips.

"Can't remember. Been a while," you replied, eyes falling closed as Leo smoothed his hand up and down your arm. He always had a way of calming the turmoil inside you. Like a lighthouse guiding a battered ship to shore.

"How about I get you some water, hm? You can rifle through what I've bought while I do that," he suggested with a kind smile. You couldn't help but mirror the expression.

"You didn't need to do all that, hon. I could've ordered it," you said.

Feigned offense washed over Leo's face. His eyebrows furrowed, nose scrunched near the bridge, as a forced frown tugged at his mouth, "I'm shocked that you'd even consider using your telly-phone over your perfectly good me!"

The laugh that shook your chest felt revitalizing in a way. Like the first rays of sunshine after a violent storm. It was easy to forget your pains for a moment.

Leo's charade didn't last. His furious expression broke as he laughed with you, saying "Besides, I wanted to. I like caring for you."

Warmth blossomed in your chest. Petals of kindness and utter devotion floated across your lungs with every breath you took. This man. This out-of-time man, the one who'd completely won your heart, was as infatuated with you as you were with him. The thought helped ease the aches slithering up your spine.

"Pilfer the bag, I'll get your water," Leo uttered quietly. He pressed a gentle kiss to your hairline. You couldn't help the way your pulse involuntarily kicked up at the action. He always had a way of making your heart race.

Having your period was never easy. It fucking sucked. From the agonizing ache rooted in your uterus to the full-body shakes you'd get, that time of the month could be an utter nightmare. But, as you pulled several bars of chocolate out of the plastic bag, the nightmare was starting to look more like a domestic dream. One you never would've expected with Duke Leopold Mountbatten.

Y'ALL I'M IN LOVE WITH A FAKE PERSON

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Day 7 - Distant

Prompt: 7: Honest Apology + Alt: “I’m in love with you, and that scares me.” Character: Frank Castle Pairing: Frank Castle x Reader Word Count: 2318 Warnings: Break-up fears, referenced near-fatal injury, referenced canon character death, fear of death, fear of loss. Taglist: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist

Companion piece to Day 27 - You Are To Me, Day 1 - Why?, and Day 11 - Proof of Life

Distant

You put down your phone. You took a deep breath, shallowing the lump in your throat. You weren’t going to cry. Not here at the coffee shop. You hated crying in public.

Frank hadn’t answered your call. He hadn’t been answering any of your calls. Or your texts. And he hadn’t tried to call back. Not a single word out of him. And you hadn’t seen him either.

You knew he wasn’t dead. Someone would have told you. They wouldn’t let you just sit and worry.

And you didn’t think he had his phone. Or otherwise couldn’t communicate. None of your mutual friends had called or come to see you, asking if you had heard from Frank. Which they would have if he hadn’t contacted any of them for a week.

You didn’t understand. Frank had never done this. While he did have a tendency to slink off to nurse his wounds or illnesses in private, he had always responded to you. Always called or texted back. Likewise he had done some missions where it was too dangerous to contact you until it was over. But he had always warned you about that before he left. This time he hadn’t. He had just left.

Just walked out of the door of the place you shared like it was ordinary morning. With the exception that he hadn’t kissed you good-bye like he usually did . . . and then nothing. You hadn’t see him. You hadn’t hear from him. He had just walked out. Without a single backwards glance. Like you meant nothing.

Tears burned your eyes. You tried to fight them. You weren’t going to cry  . . . you weren’t . . . you weren’t . . .

Something thumped onto the table, startling you. It was a coffee. And sliding into the booth across from you was Karen. She looked concerned.

“Hi Karen,” you said, trying to conjure a smile.

Her worried frown deepened. Apparently your efforts failed to pass muster. Seemed to be pattern.

“What’s wrong? You look like you’re trying not to cry.”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Everything is fine.”

“Lie,” Karen said.

“Is Matt contagious?” You asked. “Should I watch out for signs of ninja syndrome? Are you experiencing the sudden urge to jump out of random windows?”

Your attempt at humor fell as flat as your smile. Karen just looked at you, skeptism mixed with concern. “I don’t need Matt’s ninja skills to know you were lying. But while we were on the topic of Matt, he said you smelled like stress and like you had been crying yesterday.”

Thinking back on it, Matt had seemed more concerned than usual when he asked how you were doing . . . kept asking if you were sure that you were fine. If his recess hadn’t been ending, he probably would have pushed . . . 

You startled again when you were touched. Just Karen again, her hand resting ontop of yours. Her blue eyes full of sympathy and concern. “You know you can tell me. What’s wrong?”

Maybe it was the sympathy in her voice. Maybe it was the geniune worry. Maybe you just really needed someone to talk to. But soon, the whole story came spilling out. About how, about a week after you had gotten out of the hospital, Frank had been . . . different. Quieter, more distant. Obviously stressed about something. He had nightmares. Something had been bothering him but he refused to tell you. Not entirely unusual. Getting Frank to open up sometimes was like pulling teeth. From the mouth of a particularly angry tiger. So you hadn’t thought it worrying, thought that he would talk to you when he was ready. Just like he had before.

Only this time he didn’t. And then he left.

By the time you reached the end of your explanation, you had lost the battle with the tears. Karen had moved to sit next to you, so she could give you a hug. It was one-armed hug because of the booth but you’d take it.

“I’m so sorry,” Karen said, her voice a mixture of sympathy and anger. “I thought something was up with Frank. But I didn’t realize he was pulling this shit.”

“I just don’t understand,” you said. “Why?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “My best guess is that it has something with you getting shot. That really scared him.”

“I know,” you said. You remembered the look on his face just before you lost consciousness. The look when you woke up in the hospital. And when the doctor came in to explain just how lucky you were to you and your ‘husband.’ But he had been so attentive when you first got home . . . then it was like a switch had flipped. And all that warmth had disappeared.

“Did anything out of ordinary happen?”

“No,” you said. “The nightmares were bad just before he left but that’s happened before. And he didn’t take off. Might have slept on the couch until they settled down but he stayed.”

You shallowed. “Until now. Only other difference between then and now was that I told him I loved him.”

Karen smiled. It was a sad, little smile. “Finally told him? When?”

“The hospital,” you said. “He wanted to know what the hell I was thinking, pushing him out of the way like that. And I wasn’t . . . There was a gun pointing at the back of the man I love and I just . . . reacted.”

Karen made a thoughtful humming sound. “I’m guessing he didn’t say it back.”

“No,” you said. “Maybe because he doesn’t feel the same way.”

There it was. The truth that you had been trying to avoid. That Frank didn’t feel the same. Oh, he obviously cared about you. He liked you. Found you attractive. But none of that meant he loved you.

“Maybe,” Karen said but she didn’t sound convinced.

You felt a surge of rage. “The fucking coward could at least tell me to my face. Instead of just . . . ghosting me.”

“I agree,” Karen said. “It’s a shitty thing to do . . .”

Then she got that ‘eureka’ look on her face, like all of the puzzle pieces had just clicked together. “I think I know what’s going on. And how to get it fixed.”

“I don’t know if this can be fixed,” you said morosely, feeling very tired. That surge of anger had used up what was left of your energy.

“You’d rather he stay gone?”

“No,” you said. “I love him. I want to be with him forever. Guess he just doesn’t feel that way. I just wish . . . if he doesn’t want to be part of my life anymore, that he’d just say so. It will break my heart even more than it already is but at least I’d know. I deserve that much.”

“You’re absolutely right,” Karen said. “Now let’s get you back home. I’m going to fix this.”

You didn’t mean to doubt Karen. Normally you had every confidence in her brilliant mind and determination to achieve whatever she set out to accomplish. But you weren’t feeling particularly optimistic today.

She must have seen the skepticial look on your face. “Trust me. I’m an expert of getting stupidly stubborn men to remove their heads from their asses.”

***

You should have never doubted Karen. Because two days later, there he was. Standing by your front door with a bakery box in his hand. He at least had the grace to look sheepish and awkward.

“Frank,” you greeted, managing to keep your voice cool and even.

“Sweetheart,” he returned

“Am I?” you asked, a hint of your anger entering your voice. “Because you could have fucking fooled me.”

“You are,” he said, grimacing. “Through I can see why you’d think otherwise.”

He took a deep breath. “May I come in?”

At least he didn’t think he had the right to just waltz right in like nothing had happened. And while the angry, hurt parts of your heart want to shout no, go away before you hurt me again . . . the larger part of your heart, the part that loved Frank enough to take a bullet for him, won. “You may.”

You moved to unlock the door, drawing his attention to the grocery sacks in your hands. He scowled and said, “The docs said no lifting anything above a couple pounds.”

For some reason, this made your blood boil. You glared at him. “That I’m not supposed to pick up the milk jug right now didn’t seem to concern you when you fucking walked out without a goddamn word!”

He grimaced. “You can be pissed at me. You should be. But please, sweetheart, don’t hurt yourself. Let me carry the damn groceries.”

You wanted to argue. The angry, hurt part wanted to insist that you could carry them yourself. That you were fine on your own. That you didn’t help. Especially not from him. But good sense won out. Your injured shoulder was screaming at you, the dull ache growing into something sharp and throbbing over the course of the grocery run.

“Fine,” you said, allowing him to take the bags. You were given the bakery box in exchange. Holding it in your good hand, you let him into your apartment. He refused to let you put anything away, pointing out that even as individual pieces, some of it was still too heavy. You decided not to argue. The idea of raising your arm above your head right now made you want to cry.

Watching him move through your kitchen - the kitchen that you had hoped that he would one day think of as ‘ours’ instead of just ‘yours’ - made the tears prick at your eyes. But you refused to let them fall. Frank had gotten enough tears from you this week.

To distract yourself, you looked into the bakery box he had brought. Inside were two small cakes. One was a blackout cake and the other was chantilly cake with fresh raspberries. You felt your heart skip a beat. You had mentioned that you weren’t sure which cake you wanted for your birthday. You loved both so much. Made a joke about that as soon as you picked one, you’d get a craving for the other one.

An off-hand mention in a conversation from months ago. And he remembered. 

More tears pricked at your eyes, torn on what to feel. He remembered. But he had also abandoned you without a word . . .

“I’m sorry.”

You looked up from the cake, startled. “What?”

He was standing by your counter, his shoulders slumped. Regardless, when he realized that you were looking at him, he meet your eyes. You knew him well enough to see the regret, the remorse on his face. In those big brown eyes. “I’ve been an asshole. Leaving you without sayin’ anything - you’re right. That was the coward’s way and it was a rotten thing to do. You didn’t deserve that. I’m so sorry.”

“Why?” you asked. “Why did you do that? I thought we had a good thing going here.”

He took a deep breath. “Because I’m in love with you, and that scares me.”

You could have been knocked over by a feather. He loved you? Truly? “You love me?”

“Yeah,” he said, fidgeting with a can of peas. “Realized it when you were in the hospital.”

“And this scared you?” You said. “Why?”

“Because I almost lost you!” He shouted, his hand squeezing the can of peas. He took a deep breath, visibly regained control of himself. Put down the now-dented can. “You almost died, sweetheart. I felt your pulse getting weaker and weaker . . . You almost died.”

He swallowed thickly, then added, “You noticed the nightmares?”

“Yeah.”

“In my dreams, the ambulance didn’t make it in time. Or you died in surgery. I could see your body, cold and lifeless, along side . . . . Maria. Over and over again.”

He ducked his head. “You almost died. Because of me. Just sheer dumb luck that you didn’t . . .  like . . . my family. Baby, I can’t do that again. I can’t. I’m not that strong.”

He might be hiding his face but you could hear the tears in his voice. “I can’t lose you too. I can’t. There’s not enough left of my heart to survive that.”

You couldn’t take it anymore. No matter how angry you were, you couldn’t ignore his pain. You walked over and wrapped your good arm around his waist. He wrapped his arms around you and buried his face in your hair. This close, you could feel him shaking. The rapid pulse in his neck. He really was terrified. Truly terrified. “I’m not dead, Frank. I’m alive.”

“This time,” he muttered in your hair. “Next time-”

“There’s no next time. You wouldn’t lose me.”

“You can’t promise me that,” he said. “I wish to God that you could. But you can’t.”

He was right. You hated that he was right. “Then I’ll be more careful. We’ll both be more careful.”

This time, you shallowed hard. Fighting the lump that wanted to lodge in your throat, “Unless you’d rather not risk it. If you want to leave . . .”

It would break your heart in itty, bitty pieces but you’d let him go if you had to. You couldn’t make someone stay who did not want to stay. Not without destroying everything good between you.

His arms tightened.

“No,” he said, his voice thick. “I don’t want to leave you. I love you. I’m terrified. But I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you said. “I accept your apology.”

You more felt than heard the sigh of relief. “I’m still hurt. We’re going to have a very long talk about it. But I love you and I forgive you.”

“Got some groveling to do, don’t I?” You could hear the smile.

“Yes, you do. But that cake is a good start.”

He laughed. It was watery but genuine.

Things were by no means perfect. But as you said, it was a good start.

Author’s Notes

A blackout cake or Brooklyn Blackout cake is a layer chocolate cake filled with chocolate pudding, frosted in chocolate frost, and topped with chocolate cake crumbs.

A Chantilly cake is a layer cake filled with berries and chantilly cream (a type of sweetened whipped cream), frosted win the same cream and topped with fresh berries in a pretty pattern.  In this particular case raspberries but it can be any berries so feel free to imagine different berries.

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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: Playing with their hair🐟✨

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Fingertips

Pairing - Michael Kinsella x fem!reader Tuna Tober Prompt - Day 25 - Playing with their Hair Summary - you discover that Mikey loves it when you play with his beard.

Author's Notes - Just a quickie. Hasn't had much editing so might be a tad wordy and have the odd mistake!

“That feels so good, pet…so fuckin’ good…don’t ya stop…please don’t stop.”

Usually, when Michael Kinsella was nestled between your thighs, it was you whimpering the majority of those words. You, groaning, moaning, begging those words, as he buried himself in your heat like a man possessed. He was normally facing you too. Not zoning out staring up at the ceiling, like he was doing now, heavy eyes closing gratefully.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you softly reassured him. “I’ll do it for as long as you like. Until you want me to stop.”

“Never gonna want ya to stop,” he warned, letting out a little gasp of pleasure when you tugged fractionally harder.

You bit back an affectionate grin. “Not even for dinner? I'm making your favourite tonight.”

“Ah, ya so good. So good to me,” he sighed placidly. “Don’t know what I did to deserve ya, pet.”

Your fingertips immediately stilled. You had lost count of the number of times he had declared himself unworthy of your love. Not only verbally. You would often see it in his face, in the tightening of his handsome features, or feel it palpably in the air.

“Now what have I told you about saying things like that?” 

He let out a playful little whine, peering up at you imploringly from those beautiful, soulful, puppy-dog eyes. You tried to remain unimpressed as you frowned down at him, but it was hard when he looked so damn cute.

"Darlin'...c'mon...please...I need those magic fingertips..."

Finally admitting defeat with a click of your tongue (but laughter in your eyes), your fingers resumed their lazy circling and you felt the twitch of his smug smile as his eyes closed again.

You had discovered Mikey's adorable little quirk a few weeks ago. Something surprisingly and delightfully innocent. That could reduce the notorious Michael Kinsella to putty in your hands within seconds. Have him purring for a very different reason while down south.

He had returned home, angry and irritable, after a long unproductive day with Jimmy and Amanda, but rather than flop down beside you on the sofa and pull you close, like he usually did, he had lowered himself to the floor, scooted between your legs, and rested the side of his head against your knee. The action had been so submissive, so stoical, so very bone-weary, that it had taken you aback as much as it had made your chest tighten. Your hands had instinctively swept forward to cradle his head in your arms, urging him back against the warmth and softness of your parted thighs. 

As much as you had wanted him to turn around and pleasure you, you'd been overwhelmed with a greater desire to comfort him instead. Give him some form of pleasure that wasn’t necessarily sexual. You loved it when he drowsily tickled your back after sex. It made you tingle and bliss out, but didn’t turn you on. It was about affection and closeness. You wanted him to feel that too.

And that’s when it happened. When your fingers had idly trailed into the soft coarseness of his beard.  

His mouth had dropped limply open, expelling his frustrations in a long drawn out sigh. It was almost as if your touch had activated a pressure release valve inside him. You had watched his slackening features in surprise. While you did run your fingers through his beard during love making, it was always fleeting, the two of you far too preoccupied with more carnal activities.

Spurred on by his reactions, you lightly cupped his face and continued your tentative exploration, biting your lip hesitantly.

"You like that?"

“Aye…” he had breathed encouragingly. “Aye, love…”

As he had relaxed deeper into your touch, you had settled back against the sofa cushions, closing your own tired eyes, your hands lovingly caressing his beard, teasing the hairs, dragging them languidly through your fingers, pulling ever so slightly, enjoying their pleasant coarseness against your skin. The fact that they were slightly more bristly than the hairs on his head made it all the more pleasurable somehow. The grooves between your fingers were particularly sensitive to the sensation. And going by Michael’s clipped whimpers as you lightly raked your nails along his jawline and swirled patterns through the thicker hair there, he was loving every second of it too.

It became a daily ritual. The first thing you did to unwind at the end of a long tedious day. You were usually home before Mikey, so would wait patiently for him on the sofa, reading a book and sipping at your tea until you heard his key turn in the lock. He’d walk into the room with that harried look on his face and you’d immediately stop what you were doing and gesture for him to sit on the comfy pillow at your feet.

“Love ya, pet,” he murmured, promptly returning you to the present as he clasped your hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. “Want ya to still be doin’ this when I’m old an’ grey.”

Praying that you would see him live to be an endearingly grumpy old man, that he would finally break free from his destructive family, you leaned down and returned a kiss to his forehead. “Love you too, Mikey.” A mischievous smile shivered across your lips. “Though do you think you’ll be able to get down on the floor when you’re old and grey?" You ribbed lightly. "You might have bad knees, you know.”

“Not me,” he threw back amused, and it gave you so much joy - and relief - to see him calm and unruffled again. “I’ll make sure to keep m’self limber ‘specially for it.” He met your gaze wickedly, suddenly reviving. “An’ other things.”

“Other things?” You feigned innocence as you grazed through his beard a little more zealously, his heated eyes igniting a fire inside you. You gave him a coy look. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"

His deep chuckle vibrated up through your fingers, sending a delicious shiver running along your spine. “Then get ya straight up those stairs an’ I’ll show ya exactly what I mean.” 

He turned slowly, predatory, no longer putty beneath your fingertips, and your heart skipped a beat. "I'm givin' ya a ten second start..."

Squealing your excitement, you scrambled from the sofa, and bolted for the bedroom.

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Tuna-Tober Prompt Challenge 2024

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