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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: ""Are you blushing?" + 69🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
"Sharing is Caring" (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic, 🔥)
Time for the next prompt for my Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! This is for day 4 (Matt very much did not like this only being a drabble so now it's 5600 words, fuck me), I chose to combine the kink and fluff prompts (69 and 'Are you blushing?'). 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: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Wordcount: 5.6k, Matt fought me and won
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: smutty smut smut, 69 position so oral for both plus face riding, overstimulation, lil bit of prostate stim, multiple orgasms, panty tearing, matt is a MENACE
LOOK AT THIS SMUG MOTHERFUCKER, I HAD A NEAT AND ORDERLY TIMELINE AND A DRABBLE OUTLINE, INSTEAD HE THREW THAT OUT THE WINDOW AND HE HAS FILLED THIS FIC WITH SIN, THE AUDACITY, WHAT TIME IS IT, MATT THIS IS YOUR FAULT
Matt was a giving lover. That much you knew.
No round of sex with Matt ended without at least one orgasm for you, and often more if he had his way, which he often did, the audacity of that man. It wasn’t unusual for him to spend hours with his head buried between your thighs, skilled tongue lapping hungrily at your sex in a way that made you see stars, and had also led to you tearing a hole in the sheets on more than one occasion. He’d bent you over every last surface in the apartment, and some of the surfaces outside it too. Somehow he always managed to sink himself so deeply inside you that you’d have sworn you felt him in your throat, and that feeling was always followed by him fucking into you with a practiced athleticism that never failed to leave you a melted, howling mess.
In other words, if sex with you was an artform, your climax was the masterpiece Matt lovingly devoted himself to creating. You’d never been with someone who took such joy in giving you pleasure. But sometimes he was… too giving.
Like now, when what you wanted was to get that thick cock of his into your mouth.
“Oh, but sweetheart, I’m so hungry,” he purred, a warm, distracting light in his eyes. He was all heat and hungry fire where he stood in the bedroom doorway, a slow, lazy lick of his lips that admittedly had your cunt clenching around nothing. That look meant he had no intention of letting you out of bed for at least the next three hours. The growing outline of his hardening cock against his slacks only confirmed your suspicion as his voice dropped into something low and tempting. “I’ve been thinking about tasting you all day. It’s the only reason I got through work. Let me get my mouth on you, just for a little while. I’ll make it good for you, you know I will. Don’t you want that?”
It was a good offer. A very good offer, and one he was more than capable of fulfilling. You both knew it. But damn it, you also knew what you wanted.
“No,” you said stubbornly, crossing your arms. “I don’t want that.” “Lie,” he murmured. His head cocked, his sightless gaze dropping to your chest, and then lower until they landed somewhere around your hips. His lips slowly curled up into a smirk. “Mm, big lie.” “...Alright, so maybe I always want that,” you admitted reluctantly, biting your lip as you stared down at the outline of your prize, heavy and thick even through the cloth. It was enough to make your mouth water. “But right now I want to suck you off more.”
And god, did you ever. It was rare for him to let you go down on him, but those memories had become regulars in your fantasies. There was just something about his soft moans and hitched whines when you took him in your mouth, the way he threw his head back and his mouth hung slack, his spine arching when you let the tip of your tongue gently brush that spot below the head of his cock until he fucking begged for you to swallow him down. And if you kept going after he’d already come, kept sucking at his softening cock and pressed your knuckle just right behind his balls, drove his trembling, writhing body carefully into overstimulation, you could even drag something like a second orgasm out of him in short succession. He’d been a melted, purring, barely coherent puddle for a good hour when you'd last managed it and you had every intention of seeing if you couldn’t do it again.
His brows shot up, as if he were genuinely surprised at just how truthful you’d been, or maybe surprised at just aroused the thought of your mouth on him made you. But those same brows quickly furrowed in open confusion. “You…” His head shifted back and forth, checking again that you were telling the truth. “You want that? Over me going down on you?” “Why is it so hard to believe I want you like you want me?” You snorted, wandering over to him until you could lean in and kiss him playfully. He still seemed puzzled, but he made a little huff of amusement when you did it again, dragging your nails down the front of his shirt. His chest rumbled beneath your touch, a quiet groan of pleasure. “Come on. Share, Matt. Let me have a taste this time.”
He tipped his head down slowly towards you, clearly tempted. You leaned into him, another rumble leaving him when your lips brushed tantalizingly against the corner of his mouth. You almost had him now. The blatant note of your arousal in the air would only help your case now that you were up close. There was a flush on his cheeks now, and his nostrils flared, taking your scent in when you not-so-subtly rubbed your thighs together. You slowly hooked one finger in his belt, giving it a tug. “Please?” Your desire left you almost breathless, the word hushed and pleading. You weren’t above begging if you needed to. “I need you in my mouth, Matt. You can have me after, can’t you?” “Or…” He drew his lower lip between his teeth for a moment, sucking lightly before letting it go, his mouth parted and wet. “Or we can both get what we want, with a few adjustments.” Oh.
Your breath caught, and you went still, something thick and rich as molten honey rolling through your veins. “Why, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head until he could feather his lips over your ear. One of his fingers brushed over your sternum, so light you almost didn’t feel it, before it traced its way gradually up your throat to your cheek, stirring all the tiny hairs in its wake. “Are you blushing?” “No,” you whispered, caught up in visions of what that might look like, feel like, to have his tongue licking its way hungrily into your cunt, all while you took his cock in your mouth and tried your best to make him lose his mind. Would he grow sloppy then, clumsy when you toyed with the head of him? Or would he tap into that focus of his, the two of you in a blatant competition to see who broke first? You wouldn’t deny just how wet the idea made you, but that would also be a lot of sensation for him, especially when you both knew he could come from the taste of your cunt alone. “Or… yes, I… Would that be… too much? Your senses—”
“I’ll be fine. I may have…” He let out a low chuckle, his own cheeks now the lightest bit pink as he cleared his throat. “I may have gone into the office bathroom before I left work, and… taken care of myself. I’d been thinking about my head between your thighs all day. I had to make sure I could get home.”
The visual slammed into you with the force of a truck: Matt with one scarred hand pressed tight over his mouth to stifle his moans while he frantically stroked at his cock. And it was all because he’d spent hours thinking about how he was going to go home, throw you into bed, and find his way right down to your cunt. Your low moan was quickly swallowed up as he caught your chin and tipped your head up so his lips could find yours. The kiss was all teeth and burning heat, fire and fierce need, his stubble rasping against your skin until you felt like you were on fire. One of his hands swept down and behind you, fingers spread wide as he groped roughly, greedily against your ass. He used that same grip to haul you forward into him, making you whine when his hips ground into yours, letting you feel exactly what you’d done to him. “Fuck,” he breathed. “I can smell you, how wet you are. Tell me you want that, sweetheart. Tell me—” “God yes, please, please, Matt.”
You didn’t bother to keep track of where your clothes fell as you both stumbled your way into the bedroom, neither of you willing to pull your hands and mouths off each other long enough to figure that out. You managed to get everything off but your panties by the time you neared the bed, and you fully intended to slide those off, too, but you were distracted by the pleasure of Matt’s mouth as he determinedly nipped and licked at the skin of your throat, blatantly drinking the pheromones from your skin. Fortunately, Matt was a bit less distracted.
The tearing of fabric rang out, and then Matt’s fingers slipped between your soaked folds, stroking three fingers eagerly along your slit until you gasped out his name.
“Oops,” he said with a smirk.
“You’re paying for those,” you grumbled. “Happily.” He side stepped around you, and by the time you’d turned he was already on the bed, rolling onto his back and tipping his head back in clear expectation. Then he brought his wet, gleaming fingers up to his mouth, inhaling intently as he rubbed his fingers together. The reaction was immediate: a fierce groan, his other hand shooting down to wrap tightly around his cock as his hips bucked.
“Shit,” you whispered, absolutely mesmerized as he took another greedy breath, a creeping flush spreading across his pale skin. He may have come an hour or so ago, but his cock already looked achingly hard, the whole of it flushed dark and red, a decadent droplet of precum beading at the tip. He was an absolute vision, all of that strength and power, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen laid out like a meal for you, this affected just by the thought, the scent of your arousal. It lit a fire in you, and Matt must have sensed it, because he let out a growl before giving in and shoving his fingers into his mouth. His eyes snapped shut, a loud moan tearing through him. His other hand started to stroke quickly at his cock, firm drives up with a smooth sweep of his palm over the head before sliding back down, all as he sucked the taste of you eagerly from his fingers, unwilling to lose even a single drop. It was one of the hottest things you’d ever seen. “Holy shit, you’re trying to kill me.” “Get up here and ride my face, sweetheart,” he grit out, shifting to let his thumb rub against the wet head of his cock. A delicious shiver ran through him, and he rolled his head on the pillow to face you. There was something far darker in his eyes, then, whispers of the Devil, of merciless rain on hard city streets. “Do it before I drag you up here myself, because I’m not going to fucking care if you can reach my cock when I do.”
It was the only invitation you needed, and you scrambled up onto the bed before he could change his mind. You had no intention of missing the opportunity he’d given you.
You hit another brief snag, however, once you’d crawled over to him. You’d ridden his face before, but that had always been with you facing the headboard or the arm of the couch. This required the opposite angle. After a moment’s consideration, one that ended quickly when Matt growled a warning, you muttered a quiet, “fuck it,” and did a half turn, throwing your leg quickly over him so you had a knee on either side of his shoulders. Then you walked back a step or two on your knees, Matt’s free hand taking the meat of your thigh in his grip. It was difficult to figure out just where you needed to be to get the angle right. All you could see from this angle was his body stretched out like a long, open road before you, his other hand still stroking roughly at his cock, his knees bent, feet braced so he could rut lazily up into his grip. You didn’t really know where to put your hands, so you settled for placing them against the broad line of his chest, using them to brace yourself as you tentatively adjusted.
Matt, however, had lost his patience.
With a snarl, he let go of his cock. Both his hands caught your hips, and with one hard yank he wrenched you down, burying his mouth against your pussy as if he hadn’t eaten in days.
You both let out a sharp moan, Matt’s far more muffled than yours. There was no gentleness now, no parting you with his fingers to tease you with the tip of his tongue before settling in. Instead, it was something ravenous and filthy, animalistic, Matt’s mouth open wide as he licked and sucked at your folds and slit, greedily drinking up every last drop of your arousal he could find. For a moment you forgot what your plan had been. Your head fell to rest against his abdomen, your lips parted on a whine as Matt devoured your slick with heavy grunts and rumbles of approval, your hips starting to rock against his mouth. He was eating at you with everything in him, no thought given to things like air, based on his hitched breathing and muffled groans. He’d told you once, lips curled into a smirk, his chin still wet with your arousal, that if he died between your thighs, well, he’d consider that death a victorious one.
“Mm—Matt, oh god, please,” you whimpered, your fingers curling against his skin, red lines left in your wake.
Apparently satisfied that he’d taken in everything he could get, Matt tipped his head down just a hair, using his grip on your hips to adjust you until his tongue found your clit. With a purr, he began to lap warmly, steadily at it, over and over and over again, every now and then pursing his lips to kiss at it with a fond affection that was almost tender. The attention to your clit made your eyes flutter shut, quiet whimpers escaping you with each pass of his tongue, your body clenching in want. At the fresh trickle of wetness, Matt groaned in delight. “Taste so good, sweetheart, all mine,” he slurred warmly, syllables thick and sounding almost drugged, before his tongue found you again, falling right back into his aphrodisiac of choice. As he did, his body began to shift beneath you, before settling into a steady rocking. Startled, your eyes fluttered open, and you glanced down his body. What you saw made your mouth fall slack.
Matt had begun to roll his hips, rutting up in lazy waves. At first you thought it might be an invitation, a reminder, but as you watched you quickly realized what he was doing. With every flex and buck of his hips, he managed to rub his cock against his abdomen, just a little. You could already see the smears of precum pooling in the lines and grooves of flexing muscle, and that only made each successful contact smoother, Matt’s moans against your cunt growing stuttered and hoarse. It likely wouldn’t have been enough sensation for anyone else, but for Matt and his senses, it was just enough to drive him further upwards, his thick thighs starting to tremble. Hell, he was probably enjoying it, considering how he liked to tease himself.
Fortunately, it was also a reminder of what you’d wanted to do.
You quickly stretched out above him, headed for your goal. Your hips shifted just a little as you did, and Matt let out a low, possessive growl, his hands tightening on your hips in a warning. He didn’t like the idea that you might pull away before he was done, you had a feeling.
“Relax.” You choked out a shaky laugh, lowering your head to kiss fondly at the crest of his hip. Your affection softened his growl to a gentler, contented groan. “Just-just trying to get to you.” He seemed soothed by that, at least. Then again, maybe he just wasn’t listening, far too focused on your cunt to really hear you. Either way it didn’t matter, because you’d finally maneuvered yourself to where you’d wanted to be. You braced one hand shakily on his thigh, some of your weight settling down on top of him. His chest rose and fell on a happy sigh beneath you, more than happy to have you sprawled out over him. It also meant his cock was now in range of your mouth.
It was even more tantalizing up close, flushed, wet, and practically begging for your attention even if Matt’s mouth was otherwise occupied. You eagerly caught the base of it, wrapping your fingers tight around it. Beneath you he let out a grunt, his tongue faltering against your clit. You had no interest in waiting any longer, so without a second’s hesitation you dipped your head and stuck out your tongue, catching one of the drops of precum rolling down the shaft. From there you rose with one long drag along his length, following that damp trail back up to his tip like you might a melting drop of ice cream. The moment your tongue swept over the head of Matt’s cock, he let out a startled moan, one that morphed into a hoarse cry when you lapped warmly at his slit, chasing the taste of him, taking in every fresh drop that welled up beneath your attention. It had been far too long since you’d gotten to taste him like this, bitter and salty in equal measure, the scent of musk and sex so much stronger here.
“God,” he choked out, squirming beneath you, his hands practically clawing at your hips. His head dropped back and away from your cunt as he gasped up to the ceiling, breath hitching on a high moan as the strokes of your tongue grew more firm. “Ah-ah! Your mouth, sweetheart, I need it, just—”
Time to see if you could break him before he broke you.
You dropped your mouth open wide before starting to slide him into your mouth, using your hand at his base to angle him and make it a little easier. But easier was… relative.
Shit, you thought with a low moan, one that had Matt crying out behind you. He was so fucking thick, broad enough that you felt a faint ache in your jaw, saliva already leaking out past the corners of your mouth to drip down his length. There was no graceful way to swallow him down, but the sensation of your saliva rolling down his shaft, your stifled huffs through your nose as you slowly worked your way down his cock had him absolutely wrecked. His body trembled beneath you, his hips jerking in an only barely aborted attempt to thrust up into the warm, wet cavern of your mouth. He actually whined when you gave him your first little suck, and those whines only grew in number as you did it again, his panting music to your ears, so wet you were practically dripping down onto him. And maybe you really had, because before you could blink, he’d yanked your hips back down. This time, however, he brought his hands around so he could use his thumbs to part your body for him. With a wild moan, he’d buried his mouth against your slit, licking hotly at your opening over and over until he’d managed to worm his tongue inside you.
Your eyes rolled back at the feel of his tongue lapping eagerly at your inner walls, his chin grinding roughly against your clit. He’d burrowed in so hard against you it was if were intent on drowning, on latching onto you and never letting go. The angle was perfect, and you found yourself grinding down instinctively against his face, riding his tongue inside you and the stubbled texture of his chin, chasing your pleasure just as you were seeking his. His delighted moan as you started to use him the way he wanted was so muffled you swore he shouldn’t have been able to breathe, but still you couldn’t bring yourself to stop, whining around the length of him in your mouth as he slurped deeper, your thighs locking up around his head, his skin slick with you. He was dangerously close to coming based on the way his cock had started to throb against your tongue, and you weren’t much further behind, but he was clearly aiming to get you there first.
No.
No, you wanted to ruin him too. Focus, just a little more. You clumsily lifted your head halfway up before skating back down to meet your hand around his base. Neither of you were coordinated enough to make this last much longer, too distracted by the rising waves of pleasure, but that didn’t matter. You knew his body. You could outlast him, by a few seconds at least. But to do that, you’d need one more thing. So, determined to win, you quickly worked your free hand down past his cock, pausing to knead briefly at his sac just for the way it made him moan roughly against your cunt before you drifted past it. You didn’t slide your fingers inside him—something you both hadn’t tried quite yet—but you did curl one finger and press your knuckle up gently just behind his balls, indirect pressure against that spot deep inside him.
His back arched so sharply and suddenly beneath you he almost managed to throw you off, and his choked gasp hit air as he threw his head back. With a shaky whine, he ground down desperately against your finger before snapping his hips up, clearly torn between the wet suction of your mouth around his cock and the firm pressure against his prostate. But unlike last time he’d thrown his head back, this time you followed his mouth with your hips. You were too close to that edge now to go without it, especially not with the noises he was making—whimpers and broken moans, slurred pleas—so you tried desperately to find his lips again, grinding down against his face. And though you were reluctant to let him go, you still managed to tear your mouth off his cock just long enough to gasp out, “Fuck, Matt, please!”
Your begging managed to drag him up out of his haze just enough that he began to sloppily hunt for your clit, licking at your cunt until he finally found it, closing his lips around it just as you did the same to the head of his cock. Two warm pulls of your mouth to match his, and then with one more shove of your finger against that spot inside him, he cried out and came hard into your mouth in salty, bitter waves that tasted like fucking satisfaction. His hoarse moans, desperate and so very needy pushed you the rest of the way. Matt’s tongue lapped warmly against your clit, and just like that you joined him in falling over the edge, your body tightening and releasing in a rolling tide of pleasure that left you floating. He quickly shoved his mouth against your slit, grunting as he greedily drank down everything your body gave him.
You thought you were done, then, your chest heaving, your thighs shaking as the waves began to ease into aftershocks. But then Matt nuzzled roughly at your clit, his tongue brushing over it almost curiously. Then he moaned, dragging your hips back down. “Don’t stop,” he rasped hoarsely, yanking your hips back down. Just like that, his mouth was on your clit again, which was great except that you still hadn’t quite finished the last orgasm. The sudden rush of overstimulation before you could fully come down left you shaking, clawing wildly at him, but your squirming got you nowhere, your hips firmly held in an iron grip.
Don’t stop.
There wasn’t much you could do but follow the instruction.
You moaned and began to suck clumsily at him, the softness of his cock cradled gently on your tongue. The noise he let out was strangled and hoarse, almost pained, because this had to be too much for him, it had to be, and yet… he couldn’t resist starting to rock up instinctively against your mouth, a broken whimper breathed against your cunt when you managed to probe your tongue against the tip of him. You knew, distantly, remembered that you’d had this plan: if you did this fast enough, did this just right, using his senses to your benefit, you could make him come again. And, well, it had helped before, so you shifted and rolled your finger, grinding hard against that spot inside him in steady waves, sucking harder at his cock just for the way it made him writhe. His head fell back once again, his hands dropping away from you to fist in the sheets, but you didn’t care, your goal in sight. One of these days you were going to get your fingers inside him to see what noises he made then, and just to taunt him, you hooked and curled your fingers against his soft skin, your message clear.
You weren’t sure who was more startled when he came—you, or him—but either way, he did, his cock only half-hard at best as he snapped his hips up, his body locking up as he spilled into your mouth. He made a sound you’d never heard from him before, one part shout and one part a high, hitching moan, the sounds ebbing and flowing with each jagged wave of pleasure you dragged him through, almost enough to hide the sound of tearing fabric. There wasn’t much left for his body to give, granted, but you still accepted those few drops anyway, swallowing them down with a satisfied moan as you milked him dry, massaging your fingers against him to drag it out. You didn’t stop until his sounds began to sound pained, and even then it was a struggle. You had to force yourself to lift your head, sitting back against his chest. But even that much pressure against your clit made you whimper, your body shaking, because despite the overstimulation, as predicted he’d managed to shove you up far enough again that you were hanging right on the edge again, orgasm just a breath away.
“Matt,” you choked out, not even sure what it was you needed—his hand maybe, or even just for him to hold still so you could ride some part of him. One glance over your shoulder, however, let you unsure of what he might be able to give.
Matt’s head was still thrown back on the pillow, his mouth hanging open as he panted, hair damp and sticking up in every direction. His eyes were glazed over and dark, absent any real awareness or thought. You knew that look, one he got when you’d really managed to fuck him senseless or leave him wrecked. He was out of it, his senses momentarily overloaded, out of order, come back later. You quickly pulled yourself off of him, just in case your weight over him had been unpleasant. He’d need some time, but fortunately, sitting here and staring at what you’d done—Matt Murdock, fucked out and drunk off your body—would be just the sort of visual you needed as you took care of yourself. You dropped one hand, sliding it between your legs until you could circle your clit with your fingertips, your lips parting on a satisfied moan. It wasn’t as good as Matt, but it was good enough.
Or… that’s what you thought you’d do, until Matt’s head snapped in your direction. His hand darted up, grabbing for you.
Except that he missed, his hand snatching at the empty air about two inches to your left.
“Matt,” you huffed shakily, using your other hand to take his. He probably just wanted to stay close, he usually did when you got him like this. “I’m-I’m fine, just, unh, gonna fini—Matt!”
Your hand brushing against his had apparently been the compass he needed, because you abruptly found yourself shoved back onto the bed on your back with a grunt. He was on his hands and knees before you could blink, scrambling and groping around the bed to feel out how you’d fallen, his eyes burning. The moment he made contact with you again, he shoved his head forward with a growl, mouthing at you, licking, biting at whatever skin he could find, which happened to be your ribs, the nip of his teeth sharp enough to make you cry out. You knew that you knew you’d have a mark there tomorrow, one to join the bruises on your hip. But it clearly wasn’t the part of you he’d been aiming for, and he snarled in clear frustration, swinging his head back and forth in a failed attempt to orient before he managed to find your hips with his hands. Your own hands wound up tangled in his hair as he dragged himself roughly over your legs, and fuck, if he was offering, you were happy to take it. You lifted up your hips, tugging at his hair to direct him. “Here!” you gasped, pushing his head down between your thighs. “Here, Matt, right—”
He buried his face sloppily against your cunt again, not a hint of shame or hesitation in him. And his furious, rough lapping at your clit was exactly what you needed. The sound you made was raw and torn, almost a shriek as you suddenly got the stimulation you’d been looking for, your body tightening in rapid waves beneath his mouth. He caught your clit between his lips, growled, and sucked hard enough to have you seeing stars. That was it for you, your back arching as you fisted your hands tightly in his hair and came across his tongue, a flood of wetness drenching his face. With every pulsing wave of pleasure, he let out a satisfied little rumble, sucking in time with the rhythm of your body, dragging your orgasm out until the world burned white. The moment those waves began to ebb, he switched to broad flat licks along the entire length of your cunt, mindlessly drinking up every last drop, his eyes falling half closed in apparent bliss.
Which was nice. Until your body started to request a break.
“Matt,” you choked out, trying to shift away. He instinctively followed, blearily keeping his mouth latched onto your cunt, the pressure on your clit almost painful now. “Matt, that’s—fuck—I need a break, sweetheart, please! Matt!”
The sharp call of his name seemed to snap him out of it, and he finally let you go with a groan. He didn’t get very far, though, immediately tipping his head sideways until it landed on your thigh with a soft thump.
You let yourself breathe for a minute, twitching now and then when an aftershock rolled through you. When you were feeling a little more able to breathe, you finally lifted your head to glance at him. “That,” you wheezed, “was… we need to do that again. But in… in a while.”
He blinked slowly at you, blissed out and lazy as a lion who’d just had a meal. He hadn’t moved from your thigh, his face still absolutely drenched. Then he grinned, and the expression was so absolutely, drunkenly smug that you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “I take it you’re ok, then?” You snorted, reaching down to stroke your fingers down his wet cheek.
He blinked at you again, and there was a brief delay before his head turned and he nudged affectionately at your hand. Sometimes when his senses got too overloaded after sex, he needed a few minutes without touch to come down. This time, however, it seemed like touch was what he needed.
“You wanna come up here and listen to my heartbeat until your senses are all back online?”
He seemed to think that over for a minute before he slowly started to drag himself up your body. He didn’t even bother to lift his head from you, simply dragging it along your skin as if he were loathe to lose the sensation of you against him. He only ran into a slight hiccup when he bumped into your breasts. He nosed around for a second, huffing briefly, before he found the space between them and continued on. “You’re drunk as hell,” you choked out a laugh, as he rubbed his ear fondly back and forth over your sternum, hunting for whatever spot sounded best. “You’re pussy drunk. God, I love you.” He finally selected his spot on your chest, his head dropping. The rest of his body followed, as he settled down on top of you with a groan of satisfaction. Then he rumbled out a contented sigh as you got your fingers in his hair, stroking through the sweat-soaked strands. One of his hands fumbled its way down to your hip, where he began to knead clumsily at it, your affections very much returned. “Mhm. Love you, too.”
“Little more coherent?” “Mm. You taste good.” “So do you. Don’t make me wait so long to get my mouth on you again.”
“Mhm,” he sighed. He absently licked his lips, before purring quietly, his eyes falling shut. “I promise. We’ll share.”
More Posts from Tunatober and Others
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: INSOMNIA 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Insomnia🩸🌧️
some lore for vampire!!!
Ship: Logan Howlett x Mutant!Fem!Reader🩸
Rating: 16+
Wordcount: 2.0k
Warnings: angst, nightmares, PTSD struggles, cursing, alcohol mention, Logan is a Flirt (i guess?)
Series: Leg's Tuna Tober
You woke with a start. Heart pounding against your ribs so hard you swore they would crack. Sweat dripped down your forehead and the back of your neck. The pale blue sheets draped across your bed were tangled with every limb they could wrap around.
Wooden walls and antique furniture met your frantic gaze as your eyes darted around the room. Your room. In Charles Xavier's mansion. Where you'd lived for several decades at this point.
The concrete walls of your cell in Washington, DC were a thing of the past. Rust-colored blood stains splashed across the floors, slivers of light leaking through the metal door, spiders making a home in the upper corners. You were free of that life.
So why did you still dream of it?
The muscles in your neck groaned as you sat up against your headboard. You were tense, anxiety oozing into your blood. Your head made a thunk when you let it fall back against the headboard.
Nightmares weren't a foreign concept to you. Almost every night, your mind would be filled with your past. Flashes of pain and terror and blood. Scenes replaying over and over, night after night, tormenting you with long claws digging into your mind and scratching your sanity away.
You needed to walk. To clear your head, to calm your pulse.
Unwinding your legs from the sheets was like pulling the limbs from a nest of angry snakes. You tugged at the fabric in near desperation. It clung to your clammy skin, restricting you, restraining you, keeping you captive.
Breathe.
The memory of Charles's calming voice gave you pause. Your eyes fell closed, a deep breath filling your strained lungs. Air blew from your pursed lips as you released the tension from your shoulders.
You were safe. Nothing could hurt you here. Your friends were here, your kids were here, the life you'd built with bloodied fingernails was here. Scott, Jean, Ororo, and Charles would never let anything happen to you.
Now that the shaking in your fingers had subsided, it was quick work to pull your sheets away. The damp fabric fell away like clouds on a windy day. You pushed yourself to your feet. A tremble ran up your legs, unsteady feet finding purchase on the hardwood floor. You gave yourself a few moments to find your balance.
The cold of the untouched floor seeped into the balls of your feet, grounding you. Bringing you back to the present. You were in the mansion. You were safe. The mantra repeated in your mind as you scooped up your sweatshirt from the end of your bed.
Grey cotton filled your hands. Soft, comfortable, familiar. You wore this sweatshirt nearly every day. Finding solace among the plush fabric that shielded you from your own mind. The fleece interior tickled along your arms as you pulled it on. Like securing a piece of armor, you tugged at the zipper until you were completely encompassed.
You made for the bedroom door as you pulled up the hood. Fabric cradled your head, acting like horse blinders and centering your focus, while your fingers wrapped around the brass knob. Cold metal caressed your palm like a frozen kiss.
Another strained breath forced itself through your lips as you pulled open the door. Empty halls decorated in plush carpets, large vases, and dimmed sconces met your tired eyes. All of the wooden doors lining the hall were shut tight. Made sense, given it was the middle of the night.
Bare feet padded along the patterned carpet as you walked. You kept your focus zeroed in on the design woven into the fibers. Spiraling leaves and floating flowers chased each other across the artwork. Faded reds and golds braided amongst one another. You remembered buying this particular rug. In spring of 1983, when you and Charles had been decorating the mansion together.
The fond memory of your shopping spree with your closest friend kept your thoughts comfortable. You clung to the feeling, holding it close to your chest, as you followed the routine path to your destination. Framed paintings of stretched landscapes passed in your periphery not covered by your sweatshirt's hood.
Moonlight shone in gentle rays through the balcony's glass doors. Silver bounced off the polished hardwood and gave the surrounding space a comforting glow. You grabbed one of the iron door handles and pushed out into the night air.
It was cold. Nearly biting, the breeze blowing across your face in brief nips over your sensitive skin. Barren trees spotted along the vast lawns of the mansion. Just barely green grass flowed in an ocean of waving blades under the moonlight. The empty duck pond was still, the water calm, where it sat far off to your right.
Directly beneath the balcony was the dried-up vegetable garden Jean liked to maintain. The tomato plants had withered earlier in the month, with the green beans and peas following closely after. Winters in New York were not to be trifled with when it came to gardening.
You leaned against the metal railing. Chilled metal dug into the fabric of your sweatshirt and leeched the cold into your skin. Though, it wasn't uncomfortable. It was grounding. A reminder of where you called home now.
There was a special sort of peace to be found on this balcony. Especially since during the colder months, it often went untouched. The small table and chair off to your left remained vacant for the vast majority of fall and winter. Not many students preferred the view from the balcony over the comfort of the common areas.
Crisp air filled your lungs as you took in your first deep breath. It poured down your throat like cool water, pooling in your chest and spreading through your body. Tendrils of gentle water ran under your skin. Telling you that you were safe, that you were home, that you were loved. The night air often was the exact thing you'd needed to calm your mind.
It seemed easy to forget your past, now that the comforting chill coursed through your body. Days spent locked away from the world were distant memories. Like glimpses of another life through a thick fog. Flashes of chains and blood were tucked safely away behind a wall of moonlight.
"Mind if I join you?"
You spun on your heel to face this intrusion. This brutal slash through the comforting silence you'd so carefully cultivated.
Logan stood in the open doorway. Sweatshirt that matched yours clinging to his chest, jeans hung low on his waist, dark hair styled in those two points that reminded you of cat ears. A playful smirk tugged at his lips.
"Why?" was all that could escape your throat in your startled state. Your palms dug into the rail as you squeezed at the metal behind you.
The smirk remained firmly in place as Logan sauntered through the doorway. His hands were clutched behind his back, the top of his sweatshirt unzipped to expose his bare chest, hazel eyes catching in the moonlight as he looked at you with faint curiosity.
"Figured you could use some company, seeing's as you're out here on your own an' all," he replied easily. He kept a healthy distance from you as he approached. Long fingers trailed over the table's surface, dragging freshly-formed drops of dew in their wake.
You chuckled lightly in an attempt to mask your wariness, "Trying to make friends on your first day?"
"Something like that," he said softly, stepping up next to you near the railing. Thick arms rested on the iron as Logan mimicked your earlier position. One leg crossed over the other, chest leaning on bent elbows, half-lidded eyes surveying the landscape.
Mirroring him, you turned back to the vegetable garden. Wooden stakes jutted up from the earth like small saplings. Dry brush and long-rotted vegetables lay strewn inside the dirt beds.
An easy silence rested between you, disturbed only by the wind rustling the barren branches of nearby trees. Undeniable warmth spread from the man next to you. Like he was a furnace placed on the balcony to make anyone taking in the view nice and cozy. You could nearly feel the heat spreading from his arms and into the railing beneath you.
"You get nightmares too, huh?" Logan finally asked after several quiet minutes. It wasn't unkind, they way he phrased the question. It was more curious. An offering of relation between the two of you.
"Most nights," you answered simply. A low hum of recognition rumbled deep in his chest.
"Every night, for me. Can never remember them, though," he said with a sigh. You noticed the repetitive tap of his pointer finger on the back of his hand. Nervous tick, maybe.
"Seems we're both pretty fucked up," you joked in an attempt to lighten the mood. Logan barked a quiet laugh.
"You could say that again."
The kinship you felt with him was like nothing you'd ever felt before. From what Jean had discovered earlier, Logan couldn't age. Neither could you. Logan had a troubled past he couldn't fully remember. You had a troubled past, but one you remembered all too well. Logan was the product of experimentation and years of heartache. You were the result of decades under the thumb of the U.S. government, forced to torture POWs during WWII.
Maybe there was finally someone who could understand you. Understand what you've been through.
Charles did the best he could. He was the only one in the mansion anywhere near as old as you. Unfortunately, you still had 27 years on the great Professor X.
"Do they have alcohol in this place?" Logan grumbled with a tired groan. His head fell to rest on his forearms. You couldn't help but laugh.
"Not readily available to newcomers, bud. Play your cards right and you may be shown the secret stash," you said with a dramatic whisper. Logan's shoulders shook with a chuckle, shaking his head where it laid on his arms.
"And what cards would those be? We talkin' blackjack, poker, or go fish?" he replied as he straightened his back. Hazel eyes connected with your own. A spark of familiarity flashed in your mind.
Conversation flowed so damn easily with Logan. It was like talking to your reflection. A male, ruggedly handsome, 6'2" without shoes reflection. The sense of relaxation you felt around this man you'd met this morning wasn't a fact to be taken lightly.
Was this part of his mutation? Getting others to trust him? It wouldn't be too far out of left field. Hell, you could pop people like balloons with your mutation. Manipulating others' emotions wasn't that strange of an idea.
"Y'alright, doll? Suddenly got quiet," Logan asked softly, breaking you away from your swirling thoughts.
"Yeah. I'm fine. Sorry, I just... Zone out sometimes," you explained quickly in one breath.
You jumped as a warm hand landed on your shoulder. Strong, heat bleeding from the large palm into your skin. An involuntary shiver rocketed up your spine.
"Seems like I ain't the only one needing a drink," Logan said with a small smile. The effortless kinship that emanated from him was nearly intoxicating. Reeling you in on an invisible fishing line. Clouding your judgement with a haze of quickly developing trust.
You should pull away. Nothing good could come from falling into friendship this fast. Decades of being a mutant had taught you that intentions weren't always what they'd seemed. A person could be offering you a hand only to shove you into oncoming traffic.
"Know what? A drink sounds great right now," you murmured as you stepped back. Logan's hand fell from your shoulder like a dead weight. You turned on your heel to lead him inside.
Maybe if you pumped this guy full of liquor, you'd be able to tell where his head was at. Why was he being so nice to you? Especially after you'd heard how he'd acted around Scott? You hugged your rapidly chilling sweatshirt closer to your body.
Logan Howlett. "The Wolverine." You'd get to the heart of what made him tick soon enough.
and she doooooes >:) i LOVE my babies so much. exploring their relationship in its entirety is SO FUCKING FUN!!!
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✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: Self-Loathing🐟✨
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I WILL ALWAYS LOVE YOU
Hey everyone, hope you’re having a great spooky season time, for me it’s been great but I got a little busy so I didn’t have a lot of time to write, but I’ll try to catch up, for now I hope you like this little blurb and if you have any idea or a request don’t doubt to send me an ask! Have a great day, lots of loves!
Prompt: Self-loathing- tuna_tober prompts challenge
—————
You remember the first time you met Taron, you it was your second year on RADA, he was always making him notice, You were on the same acting class, but you never thought you’ll have to do scene together, you were a little shy at first, you practice your scene together but when you were done you barely saw his face. That day you were getting ready to leave the classroom when Taron calls you.
-Hey, wait- he said as you turn around -so next week is the big test with the scene- you nod- I was thinking about maybe we can practice together before the big day.
-Sounds good, do you want to do it at lunch or…
-You really hard to asked for a date, you know?
-What?- you asked confused.
-I want to go on a date with you, but I’m not sure if you’re interesting in me or maybe your not and I’m just waisting your time- he said as he was about to walk away but you took his arm.
-I’m interesting, is just that, I’m not like you, I can’t express it so easy, but I’m interesting- Taron smiled at you.
-So dinner? Tonight?- he asked you again, his smiled grew bigger when you nodded.
You been together since that day, even thought he prefer to work on movies and you prefer the theatre but you always manage to be together, he took you to his red carpets, he was in every opening of your shows, he help you with your lines just as you help him with his lines and he love to take you to the sets. Just like that day, as he was filming you usually took time to walk around the set but this time you decide to watch him work, you were fascinate with his acting, but there were something in the way he sees at his costar, you haven’t notice her before, sure he introduced you to her but it was until now that you notice how pretty she was.
-I bet he is dating her- you heard one member of the crew said, you paid attention -I don’t buy it, that the girl he brought today is his girlfriend, and if that’s true I bet he is cheating her, I mean look at the way he looks at her, you can’t act that.
Before you knew it you were in Taron’s trailer, the only thing that was on your mind was Taron’s scene and what that crew guy said. You were so absorb in your thoughts that you didn’t notice that Taron was in the trailer until he touch your shoulder, his smile fade when he look at your face.
-Hey, are you ok? What happened?
-I… are you cheating on me?- your question took him by surprise.
-What?
-Come on Taron, I’m not naive, I see how women stare at you, I’ve seen your costars and all of them are beautiful, with the perfect body, the skinny legs, with great boobs and then is me, I’m totally different, I’m not like them the only thing I can do is sing and if you don’t want to be with me is ok but…
-Hey hey hey slowed down- he said when he notices the tears coming from your eyes -where is this coming from? You were fine when I left you- you bite your lip.
-One of the crew members said that you were in love with Anne- you said -for the way you look at her and it was impossible that I was your girlfriend and… he’s right…
-Not his not, he’s an ass and he should be talking about us- he said a little angry before he kneel in front of you -I love you since that first day of Mr. Robbins’s class, I love all of you, your body, for me is perfect, perfect face, perfect ass, perfect legs and perfect boobs, which I’m conveniently in the perfect sight- you rolled your eyes as you giggles -for me you’re everything, Yn.
-but…
-but you want to know what am I thinking to see Anne like that?- he asked you.
-What?- you asked a little afraid of the answer.
-You, on that firs date, with that amazing dress you wore even with that stain of wine- you laughed -It’s real when I say that I love you Yn, and I love you with all my heart, I can sing you I will always love right now so you can believe me- you laughed before you kiss him.
-And I- you start to sing softly -will always love you.
-fuck I love you sing.
-I love you Egerton- you said.
-I love you too YLN- he said -Fore ever and ever.
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: FLOWER CROWNS🐟✨
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Tuna-tober Day 2
Here's day 2 of Tuna-tober.
Prompt: Flower Crowns
Pairing: Logan Howlett x Reader
Word Count: ~1k
You and Logan were complete opposites. He was dark and gloomy, grumpy most of the time. While you were sunshine and rainbows, happy as can be.
Your powers dealt with nature. You could grow flowers from nothing, cause minor earthquakes, and create remedies from herbs. It was helpful sometimes and useless others. But you got by. Teaching at Professor Xavier's school helped. Being around Logan, despite his grumpy nature, helped. And boy, did you enjoy being around him.
Alright, so you had a crush on the man. It was hard not to. Beneath his gruff exterior laid a heart of gold. Plus, Logan was different around you. He was more playful, more kind. He picked on you but not maliciously. And you did the same. The two of you had a back and forth banter that just worked.
What you loved most, however, was when the students got involved. They loved to see just how far Logan would go for you. Which is how you found yourself in your current situation.
You stood outside Logan's classroom door and carefully played with the item in your hands. You were patiently waiting for him to finish talking to his students so that you could pull him aside. As he wrapped up, you hid your hands behind your back and smiled at the students as they left, greeting the ones who spoke to you. Once everyone had left, you turned to face Logan and grinned. His eyebrow immediately rose and he crossed his arms across his broad chest.
“What are you up to?” He asked, voice deep and warm.
“Me? I'm not up to anything. I just wanted to see you!”
“Well, you've seen me. Now what?” You walked into the room, keeping your hands behind your back. Logan grew wary as you approached and you giggled. You stopped a couple feet in front of him and smiled.
“I made you something, Logan.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I worked on it for a long time too. So you better like it.” The corner of his lips twitched in amusement but otherwise, he kept a straight face.
“Is that so?”
“Yep!”
“Well, what is it?” He asked. You brought your hands out in front of you with a flourish and watched as Logan tried not to laugh. In your hands was a beautiful flower crown. It was full of reds, yellows, and oranges interwoven with the greens and browns of the leaves and stems.
“You've got to be joking.” He said, fighting a smile.
“Nope! I made it just for you. It reminds me of a sunset. I tried not to make it too girly. But flower crowns are inherently girly. Do you like it?” You sounded and looked so hopeful that Logan found he couldn't possibly crush your dreams. He sighed and tilted his head.
“Yeah, darling. I like it.” You squealed in happiness.
“Does that mean you'll wear it?”
“...what?”
“The flower crown, silly! Will you wear it? Pleaseeee?” You put your hands together and looked up at him innocently. If you didn't know better, you'd say Logan was blushing. He seemed to have an internal battle before he eventually let out a long suffering sigh. He tilted his head down in your direction.
“Go ahead, darling. But only for a minute.” He said gruffly. You very gently placed the crown upon his head, making sure it was straight, before you pulled your hands back and clapped.
“Perfect! It looks good on you, Logan.” You grinned, giggling between words.
“Alright. Come on now. Take it off.” He rumbled. You pouted then, putting the next part of your plan into action.
“Aw, come on, Logan. Don't you want to wear it for a little while. I did work pretty hard on it.” You told him, batting your eyelashes. Logan playfully rolled his eyes and shook his head.
“I know you did. Don't you want to keep it safe? If I'm wearing it, I'm liable to mess it up.”
“It is safe. I sprayed it with something that will keep it together. You'd have to get hit pretty hard to mess it up. It's a gift, Logan, accept it.”
“So that's what I'm smelling.” At that, you raised a brow. But then it hit you. With Logan's heightened sense of smell, he could likely still smell the glue that was holding everything together. You smacked your forehead then held your hand out, your shoulders drooping.
“I'm so sorry, I didn't even think about that. I'll take it back so it doesn't bother you anymore.” You told him. Logan regarded you for a long second before he suddenly shook his head and stepped back out of your reach.
“No.”
“What?”
“No, you can't have it back. You said it was a gift right? Well then it'd be pretty rude to take it back.” He told you smugly. You gawked at him for a minute then smiled.
“Well, if you're certain…”
“I am.”
“Okay, then. I'm glad you like it.” You tell him. He nods but before he can say anything, the kids start entering the room. His next class is about to start and so you simply smile at him and turn to leave. You're almost out the door when you hear one of the kids gasp.
“I want a flower crown like that!” You stifle your giggles as the rest of the students catch on. You stop in the doorway and turn to see Logan looking at you with a look you can't quite distinguish. The students are all clamoring around him as they ooh and ahh over his flower crown. You can't resist adding fuel to the fire so you call out.
“I'll see you later, Logan.” Then you left the room, hearing his students start asking if the two of you are dating and if he likes his flower crown. You laugh the whole way back to your room. You know you're in for it when Logan gets done with class.
You wouldn't have it any other way.
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: OVERSTIM🐟✨
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Tuna Tober Tricks Day 1:
Overstimulation - Logan Howlett. 
Warnings: Riding, power bottom!reader, fellatio, overstimulation, orgasm torture, use of Daddy.
Let’s goooo! Kicking this off with a bang. Make sure to check out my fellow Tunas who are posting for Tuna Tober!
MDNI I AM DEAD SERIOUS
“Fuck, baby, that’s it.” Logan groaned, head tipping back to hit the headboard with a dull thud as you continued to grind in slow circles on his cock, both of his hands were occupied with your nipples, twisting and tweaking the stiff peaks like he was fidgeting with his keys. “Just like that, pretty girl.” He was cut off with another throaty groan as your hips twisted just the right way and a white hot bolt of pleasure shot up his spine.
“Feels so good, Logan.” You moaned breathily, torso undulating languidly while you worked yourself on his cock. The soft caress of curly hairs on your inner thighs when you ground down on him left a sweet tingle on your skin, goosebumps raising on your arms as you got closer to your orgasm. “Fuck, you feel so good.” Logan was damn-near transfixed, eyes flitting over your body on his. The sheen of sweat dusting your chest and shoulders, the flush in your face that he could just see in the dim light. Shit-
“Oh, fuck-” The sound that came from his mouth was nothing short of pornographic, and you felt the tensing in his abdomen and the twitch in his cock as he finally succumbed to his orgasm, his hands trying but not really trying to slow your hips as you continued to grind on him, milking every last drop of him into your body, mouth dropped open on a soft moan at the feeling. “Fuck, baby, it’s too much.” Logan protested gruffly, nudging a little more insistently at you as he got more and more sensitive.
“But I’m not done yet, baby.” You teased, dipping your head to press chaste kisses across his cheek down to his neck, continuing your slow rolling pace even as Logan started to gasp and stutter beneath you, bucking into your hips and squirming… You couldn’t tell if he was trying to get closer or trying to push away. “Don’t you wanna make me feel good?” He moaned at your words, rolling his neck to give you room for your kitten kisses, the soft breeze of your lips suddenly felt like heavy blows on his sensitive skin… But still he didn’t push you off.
Surprisingly, he let you continue to ride him, the tingles bordering on pain the longer he spent inside you. He could feel his cum leaking out of you and smearing on his balls with every roll of your hips, a soft smacking sound coming from between your bodies as you sought your own release. “Baby, cum please.” He whined, hips twitching at every sweet twist of your hips on him. “Can’t take it doll, shit.” He gripped your hips tighter, fingers digging into the soft flesh as you moaned, teetering on the edge of your orgasm as Logan was almost blind from the stimulation. “Come on, honey, cum.” Logan was practically begging, slipping one of his hands over your hip to run circles around your clit, driving you over the edge as you cried out, continuing to ride him through your orgasm as Logan grunted and bucked at the continued pulsing of your walls around his poor cock. Clenching and squeezing and, shit-
He was cumming again, cock alight with lightning as he screwed his eyes shut, moaning lowly as you took and took and took until he was shivering under you, pupils blown out and mouth slack, watching as you slipped off of him and leaned down to kiss him roughly. When you left his mouth he choked on a gasp and a moan, a moan that deepened as you kissed down his chest to his stomach, still further, the feeling of your hair tickling his skin was nearly unbearable.
“Baby, please, I can’t.” He protested half-heartedly, pushing a hand over your hair to hold it gently, shouting a curse as your head dipped between his legs, licking around the base of his softening cock with the flat of your tongue. The heat was like lava, and needle-like pinpricks of pleasure dotted his skin as you mouthed your way up his length. Licking the prominent vein underneath until you reached the head, cruelly sucking the tortured, purple tip into your mouth only to release it with a harsh pop. “Fuck, honey, its too much-”
“Come on, daddy.” You murmured against the little raised edge on the underside of his cockhead, pulling it between your lips to tickle it with the tip of your tongue. “You got one more for me?” You smiled innocently as you swallowed the head again, laving at the underside where it met the shaft as you moaned around him, the vibrations jolting through his cock as he buckled underneath you, nearly shouting at the pleasure-laced pain.
You paid his noises no mind as you continued to mouth on his cock, squeezing the base with your hand and holding his balls with the other, coaxing another orgasm from his body. He was almost screaming now, gripping your hair tightly as you suckled on the tip of his cock, pulling the sweet reward from his skin with every deep pull. Logan howled as he came a third time, hips bucking into your mouth as you gently squeezed his balls, closing your eyes in a moan around him as you felt a spare few droplets of his orgasm land on your tongue. You continued your ministrations, suckling gently until he was long past the orgasm and his cock was soft and bloodless in your mouth. With one last kiss to the head of his cock, which made him jump at the touch, you crawled over his body with a smug smile, taking in his drunk expression and heaving chest.
“Thank you, baby.” You brushed a hand over his forehead, pushing the stray strands of hair out of the way. Your voice was sickly sweet when you bent to gently kiss his lips, the taste of his final orgasm still lingering on your lips. You rolled off of him with a soft sigh, tucking into his side to bask in the afterglow before you inevitably had to rise and clean up.
“You fucking monster.” Logan breathed, somewhere between a chuckle and a groan. You laughed, pressing a kiss to his shoulder with a pleased smile.
“Only for you, baby.”
Thanks for reading! Make sure to check back tomorrow for the next day! You can take a peek at what the prompt will be here! A special thanks to my fellow Tunas, in particular @bellaxgiornata @sunflowersandsapphires @madschiavelique @a-leg-without-fear @millennial-birkin @vigilxnte-shit @yarrystyleeza @pastafossa and everybody else in the server you guys are incredible and thank you for indulging in my insanity.
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✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: THREESOME 🐟✨
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Threesome🔥
going a bit off script on day 2 because i'm a HEATHEN anyway enjoy
Ship: Worst!Logan Howlett x f!Reader x Wade Wilson
Rating: 18+
Wordcount: 776
Warnings: cursing, smut, threesome, Wade Wilson is his own warning, unprotected PiV, anal (f!receiving), use of petnames, kissing, cocaine mention
Series: Leg's Tuna Tober
Your mind was fucking shattered.
Deep, guttural grunts rumbled from Logan beneath you with every deliberate thrust. Sharp canines scraped along your overheated skin. Whispers of "you're doing so good, baby" filtered from between his clenched teeth. His sweat-drenched skin was nearly sticking to yours due to your proximity. Barely a centimeter of space was left between the two of you.
It didn't help that Wade was on top of you, thrusting into you from behind, bearing his full weight on you as his hands fisted in the sheets. His wet tongue traced down your spine. Shivers erupted across your back in brutal waves.
"That's a good girl. Taking us so well. Isn't she, Wolvie?" Wade mused, voice muffled from where his lips connected with your skin. You gasped as a quick hitch in Wade's thrust nearly jostled Logan out of you.
"Watch it, red," Logan growled quietly. His large palms clung to your hips in near desperation. Gripping at your skin so tight you knew there'd be bruises in the morning. Not that you minded.
A light laugh rumbled against your back, "Feeling possessive, are we, Lo? Afraid I'll take our sunflower away from you?"
"Just shut up and fuck her, will you?" Logan said over your shoulder. He pressed a quick "sorry" behind your ear with a gentle kiss. You couldn't help the quiet moan that leaked from your throat.
"Let's make a game of it, shall we?" was all the warning Wade gave before he suddenly pulled out. You whined at how empty you now felt, craving both of them inside you every waking moment of your life. Wade ran a gentle hand down your back, "Shh, it's alright, angel cakes. I just wanna see if Lo-Lo's up to the task."
"The fuck is wrong with you, Wade?" Logan asked, propping himself up on his elbows to throw the merc a heavy glare. Now no one was focused on fucking you. You muttered obscenities under your breath as you buried your nose in Logan's shoulder. These two couldn't stop bickering for five minutes, let alone a whole night with just the three of you.
"I just wanted to challenge you, Mr.Not-a-Duke. Which of us do you think can make our sunbeam here come the fastest?" Wade offered with a cocky grin you could hear.
Logan scoffed, shaking his head, "I think you already know the answer to that."
"Yeah, and it'd be me," Wade returned.
"You must've taken some brain damage, because you know it'd be me," Logan bit back.
You groaned against Logan's neck, then nipped at the thin skin under his jaw, "Will someone please just fuck me?"
A shudder rolled over Logan's shoulders. He peered down at you through narrowed eyes. You could practically feel the seconds tick by as he remained still, just staring at you. Unease settled around your ribs. Logan was an impossible man to read, even at the best of times. When his pupils were blown, chest rising and falling with heavy breaths, and his cock was inside you, it was even more difficult to gauge what he was thinking.
"Start a timer," he instructed Wade, gaze never leaving you. Arousal reignited in your abdomen like a stoked bonfire.
"Yes sir," Wade said with a wide smile. You heard rustling behind you as Wade grabbed one of the three phones on the nightstand.
The world spun without warning as you were flipped on your back. A gust of air shot from your lungs at the impact with the bed. Soft lips brushed along the skin under the hinge of your jaw.
"Go easy on me, huh? Wanna prove Wade wrong," Logan whispered in your ear. Flames licked at your skin, goosebumps rising in the wake of the Wolverine's gentle touch. Callused fingers grazed over you as light as feathers.
"I haven't started the timer yet, cheater! Any more unsportsmanlike behavior and I'll lock you out," Wade groused loudly. Logan breathed a chuckle along your collarbone.
"I'll just break the door down," he said as he threw you a wink. It took every bone in your body to keep your eyes from rolling back in your head.
"Break another door and Blind Al'll hide the cocaine again. When she hides shit, that stuff stays gone," Wade mumbled indignantly. Logan ignored the merc, fingers trailing ever-so slowly down your sensitive skin. A choked moan kicked out of your chest when Logan's thigh brushed against your swollen clit. Wade's wrinkled hand entered your periphery as he tapped on Logan's cheek, "Did you hear me, resident senior citizen? No cheating!"
It was going to be a long, long night.
may need to continue this in a future fic...
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: FALLING ASLEEP IN A HOSPITAL ROOM🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Up All Night
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.7k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]
Tuna-Tober Prompt: Falling asleep in a hospital room
Warnings/tags: Mentions of violence/canon-typical violence, confession of feelings, light angst, hurt/comfort
Summary: You wake up in a hospital bed wondering how you got there.
a/n: Because Mikey always needs more love, I had him on my brain to kick off Tuna-tober. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
A muted, burning pain tore its way up through your abdomen. The feeling had first started off dull–almost like a faint tickle–but gradually the sensation grew sharp and searing, quickly becoming impossible to ignore the further you groggily returned to consciousness. Gritting your teeth together, your eyes squeezed tighter shut as the pain coursed its way up your left side in shuddering waves. Steadily becoming aware of your entire body starting with your partially numb toes, you whimpered softly to yourself. But that persistent dull pain near your stomach easily overshadowed the stiffness in your legs and the uncomfortable ache in your back.
Why did you hurt so much?
Something light brushed along the back of your hand and you startled at the touch. Eyes flying open at the soft contrast to the piercing burn in your gut, you were desperate to see who was here with you–wherever here was. Though your eyes immediately snapped shut again as an unexpected bright light blinded you. That's when you felt a similar sharp, searing sensation in the palms of your hands, too.
“Mmmph,” you groaned. “Hurts.”
“I should think so,” the unmistakable voice of Birdy met your ears. “Ya did try to stop a knife with yer bare hands, dear.”
Your brows knitted together as her words slowly registered in your ears. Attempting to open your eyes again, you squinted up at Birdy's face where she towered above you. There was a solemn expression there as she gazed back down at you.
“What?” you croaked out, voice thick from disuse.
“Ya jumped in front of a knife unarmed, love,” she repeated. “The asshole managed to stab ya in the stomach after slicin’ yer hands up. But he wasn't breathin’ much longer past that, or so I'm told.”
Listening to Birdy’s explanation carefully, you tried to recall any of what she'd said. The last thing you could remember was being called to meet Frank, Jimmy, and Michael down at the pub. After that, you could only recall brief flashes–a black hooded sweatshirt, cigarette smoke, panicked screams, and a blinding white hot burst of pain.
A frown settled onto your mouth as you lightly shook your head. “Why…why would I do that?” you asked her. “I don’t–don’t exactly remember what happened.”
Birdy’s lips gradually curved upwards into a warm smile before she took a pointed step back from the hospital bed you’d soon realized you were lying in. Her head turned over her shoulder and your eyes followed to where hers had focused. Slumped in half in a chair across the room was Michael. He looked uncomfortable passed out in the tiny seat, his body awkwardly hunched in on itself. There was a deep frown drawing his mouth downwards, a slight crease between his brows. His dark hair was tousled and sticking up in places as if he'd been running his hands through it for awhile.
“Because ya saved Mikey's life,” Birdy explained softly. “That asshole came outta nowhere outside the pub. He was lookin’ for Mikey, but it was you who spotted him first. Placed yerself between him and Michael. Tried to take the knife with yer bare hands. Unfortunately he got ya once before Mikey took care o’ him.”
Eyes growing wide, they returned to Birdy. Slowly her own gaze focused back on you, one brow quirking up onto her forehead as her smile grew wider.
“Michael did what?” you asked in shock.
“He saw to it that the asshole got what was comin’ to him,” she answered. “No one hurts one o’ our own. Ya should know that by now, dear.”
There was something more to the look on Birdy’s face, something hiding just beneath the surface, but it felt like there was a fog in your head making it hard to concentrate. Whatever more she might’ve meant, it was too much for you to piece together.
“One of…yer own?” you repeated, the crease between your knitted brows growing. “But ‘m'not a Kinsella.”
“Mmm,” Birdy hummed out, one hand patting the space beside your leg. “Should probably wake our poor Michael,” she said, your clouded mind noticing that she'd intentionally changed the topic. “Been here all night waitin’ for ya to finally wake up.”
“He–he was?” you asked.
“Think hospital staff were a wee bit scared o’ him,” she continued in amusement, her heels clicking along the floor as she made her way towards him in the chair across the room. “Guests aren't s'posed to stay o'ernight. Yet Mikey here stayed awake all night with ya.” She came to a stop in front of him, a sympathetic look on her face as she fondly gazed down at him. “Poor man only fell asleep a bit ago.”
Your attention shifted back down to Michael still asleep in the chair. The thought of him staying here all night in your hospital room had something warm and hesitant settling into your chest. You'd always had feelings for him, ever since that day he'd been released from prison and you’d actually met him. He wasn’t like the rest of his family, which had drawn you right towards him, but he'd never seemed to notice you more than he needed to, contacting you only when he needed help with something for a job.
“Mikey, love,” Birdy said, shaking his shoulder gently. “She's finally awake, pet.”
Michael's eyes flew open at the sound of her voice, his head darting straight up almost instantly. He looked completely alert, his attention quickly shifting from Birdy before over to where you lay. When his eyes met yours from across the room, you felt your breath catch. You hoped the heart monitor you were connected to hadn't given away the jolt you'd just felt in your chest as a nervous energy washed over you.
Michael pushed himself up and out of the chair, one of his hands running through his hair as he continued to stare back at you without a word. Beside him, Birdy’s eyes swept back and forth between you both with a growing grin.
“I'll come check in on ya later, dear,” she said to you.
Michael stood rooted to the floor, unmoving even as Birdy reached up to plant a quick peck to his cheek. You saw her lips move beside his ear, but she spoke so softly that you couldn't quite catch whatever she'd said to him. She patted his shoulder afterwards before making her way towards the exit without a backwards glance.
And then it was just you and Michael.
He didn't speak for a long time, his silence only increasing the tension in the air of your hospital room. The nerves in your stomach swirled uncomfortably as you chewed the inside of your cheek. One of your bandaged hands began toying with the stiff hospital sheets as you waited for him to say absolutely anything.
“Why'd ya do that?” he finally asked, breaking the silence.
“Do what?” you cautiously questioned back.
“Try to stop a goddamn knife with yer damn hands?” he snapped.
You recoiled on the bed in surprise at his angry outburst. Michael had lost his temper before, but in all the time you’d known him, he'd never lost it with you. You weren’t entirely sure how to respond as you lay there beneath the growing fire in his beautiful eyes.
Michael began to stalk his way towards the side of your hospital bed and you stiffened along the hard mattress, the pain in your abdomen sending another jolt through you at the movement. His hands had clenched into tight fists at his sides as he moved with a fury you'd rarely personally witnessed in him.
“That was reckless and so fuckin’ stupid o’ ya,” he snarled. “Ya coulda been killed last night. D’ya realize that? And for what?”
Swallowing hard, you held his heated stare. As terrifying as he was standing there tense and furious, you couldn't help but grow curious as to why Michael Kinsella himself had stayed the entire night in your hospital room. Part of you was beginning to hopefully suspect it was the same reason you'd done what you'd done.
“For you,” you quietly admitted.
He'd opened his mouth, clearly about to continue shouting and scolding you, but your answer had appeared to surprise him straight into a momentary silence. His dark brows drew even tighter together, his lips still parted in shock. A flutter of nerves tore through your sore body next.
“What?” he asked, the edge completely fading from his voice.
“The night remains a bit fuzzy,” you explained quietly, watching the hard lines of his features soften, “but that guy was comin’ for ya. So I…did it to protect ya.”
The tension continued to visibly ease out of his body. His shoulders gradually relaxed, his hands beginning to unclench from the fists they'd been curled in. The expression on his face switched to one of confusion now as he gazed down at you.
“Why?” he asked.
You shrugged lightly, wincing a little. “I suspect for the same reason ya stayed here awake all night,” you answered. “Because ya…matter to me.”
Michael blinked rapidly, as if the idea that he meant something to you seemed too ludicrous to believe. Your heart twisted at the sight.
“But–but I'm not worth riskin’ bein’ killed over,” he countered.
“Well, Michael Kinsella,” you murmured softly, reaching your injured hand out towards him, “I happen to disagree.”
Michael visibly swallowed hard, the fire in his eyes melting into something hard to decipher. The corner of his lips began to twitch so minutely you almost hadn't caught the movement. And then slowly, his large hand reached out and gently wrapped around your bandaged one very carefully. You smiled up at him, squeezing his fingers despite the searing pain that shot through your hand.
“How long?” you whispered.
Shyly, he smiled back down at you with tears welling in his eyes. “Since that God awful party Amanda threw when I was released from prison,” he whispered back. “The second I first saw ya standin’ quietly at the back o’ the group.”
You laughed lightly, but the pain in your mid-section quickly cut the sound off. “What a coincidence,” you told him, trying to smile despite the pain. “‘Cause that was the same moment I knew.”
Michael’s smile briefly slipped, concern returning to his features. “But don’t think I’m done scoldin’ ya for what ya did. ‘Cause I’m not.”
“‘Course yer not,” you said with a grin.
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
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: SOMNOPHILIA 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
"Poor thing." (Matt Murdock x F!Reader, Fic) 🔥
So as promised, I'm taking part in the October Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day One I had three prompts to choose from, and I wound up going for the kink prompt of somnophilia cause, well, I'd hinted at it in TRT as being something Matt liked, but never actually sat down and wrote anything out for it. 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, but for now, please enjoy Day One! This is not specifically written as any fem!Reader in particular, although any readers of TRT can choose to see this as TRT's reader!
Ship: Matt Murdock x F!Reader
Chapter Summary:
You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck. But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he?
Wordcount: 3.3k words
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: consensual somnophilia (they talked about this being fine, don't worry), oral f-receiving, grinding, PiV sex, some dirty talk. 18 and up only please!
Oh and we're black suiting this cause fuck yeah.
Your arousal hit him the second he opened the rooftop door.
The scent of it stopped him dead in his tracks, threads of heat winding through him as he drew in a long, slow inhale, savoring it. Another inhale, and he let out a low rumble of pleasure, his mouth already watering, cock stirring.
Well, that was one way to be welcomed home.
Not that he was complaining. His night had gone well enough—the fights visceral and satisfying, with multiple people he’d ensured would make it home safely. But your skin against his, fucking his way lazily inside you while you moaned loudly into his ear, dragging your nails down his back, would only make a good night better. However, as he eagerly stepped through the door and closed it behind him, it quickly became clear that your body’s call to him wasn’t exactly intentional.
He directed his senses down the stairs and into the bedroom, hunting through sensory information, through the fire of the world until he found you in bed. You were laying on your side and tucked under the blankets, one of your arms thrown over his pillow to hold it up against your chest. And despite the tempting scent of you in the air, you weren’t moving. Not really, anyway. At most, every now and then your fingers would twitch or curl, your heartbeat uneven and a little restless.
Asleep.
You were dreaming, then.
Maybe even dreaming of him.
He slowly dragged his tongue over his lips, considering his options.
You’d had a long week. He remembered you telling him that the night before. You wouldn’t mind if he woke you up—you never did—but odds were good you needed your rest far more than you needed him dragging you up out of the haze of sleep for a sloppy, indulgent midnight fuck.
But then… he didn’t have to wake you up, did he?
Just like that, he settled on a course of action.
He crept silently down the stairs, stripping out of his gloves and black mask as he went, tossing them aside without care for where they fell. The bottom step was carefully avoided, thanks to its tendency to creak and alert you to his presence. He stopped only long enough to kneel and quietly unlace his boots, tugging them and his socks off so that he could slip barefoot into the bedroom, weaving through the shadows, navigating around any floorboards that might give him away. He did it all without a sound, his senses so focused now he could hear the faint whisper of the dust motes in the air stirred by his passage, hear the tiniest shift of your skin against the sheets as you breathed, hear the blood flowing hot beneath your skin where you’d grown flushed and aroused.
The scent of your arousal was even stronger here in the bedroom, more than enough to thicken the heat inside him, an instinctive little purr halted in his throat before it could stir the air with sound. His body knew just as well as he did what that scent meant, what always followed, and his nostrils flared as he got closer to you, taking in how your pheromones had mixed with his in bed. It stirred some possessive, lazy satisfaction in him to take in the way you’d curled up with his pillow, chasing his scent, and you were even wearing—
Oh.
You were wearing his shirt.
It was like you were begging for this, for him, for what he had planned.
He crept up onto the bed on his hands and knees, each shift of the mattress followed by a pause, a confirmation from your heartbeat and breathing that you were still asleep. He had to be careful if he didn’t want to wake you. It wasn’t that you’d be angry, of course—you’d both agreed that this sort of thing was alright, though he’d had a far easier time making use of that agreement than you had thanks to his senses. No, this was about ensuring you still had a chance to rest.
Though, if he were honest, the challenge of this was a thrill all its own. It was a delicate balancing act to give you the sensations you needed, allow himself access to your body, all without waking you. It was as if he were hunting you, gradually gaining ground from the shadows until at last he could take hold of his prize. Fortunately, this prize was one that would leave you both satisfied.
The moment he found himself over your hips, he shifted to catch the blankets and slowly, ever so slowly began to edge them down.
Gentle.
Inch by inch, he bared your body to the air. You didn’t so much as stir, well and truly asleep, and presumably still caught up in your dream. Even so, he held his breath, listening closely to the beating of your heart and your shallow breathing. But he’d been careful enough, and besides, you were used to him climbing into bed in the middle of the night, shifting the blankets around as he crawled under them to join you.
The scent of you that rose up as the blanket slid down was so much richer now that it wasn’t stifled and trapped by thick fabric. It made him shiver, his cock already so hard he could feel a damp spot growing on the silk of his boxers. He needed more of that scent, and to taste it, too, but the angle was all wrong with you on your side. So he gently traced one fingertip up the side of your thigh, applying the barest hint of pressure. You were normally fairly responsive to him even in sleep.
“Roll over for me, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaning down to brush his lips, light as a feather, against your hip. “You smell so good. I need a taste.”
He wasn’t sure if it was his touch or his voice that made it past whatever dream you were lost in, but either way, some part of you heard him. You breathed out a soft sigh, twitching a little until he helped you roll slowly onto your back beneath him. You made a soft sound that might have been his name, and he couldn’t resist letting out a reassuring little croon as he pressed your slack thighs outwards, gradually parting your legs. There wasn’t so much as a hint of resistance as your legs fell open, baring the wet heat of your pussy to him.
God, your scent.
He quickly backed up a few inches before dropping to his hands and his knees, lowering his head just over your hips to quietly inhale the scent of your cunt. The rich, musky tang of your arousal—all pheromones and slick warmth—left him half mad, his eyes rolling back. His hips instinctively snapped forward against nothing but air, his body curving as if he were already fucking his way into you.
It only got worse, got better when he let his head fall further, hungry for just a taste. He slipped his tongue out until he could use the tip for the barest little lick at the line of your slit where your arousal had gathered, your body twitching as he did. Even that small taste hit him like a drug, and he swallowed down a ragged moan, his chest hitching as he kept the sound from reaching the air. He’d told himself he’d just have a taste, just one, but one quickly became two became three, hungry, quickening laps at your slit until he finally whined softly in want and dropped the rest of his body down, burying his face desperately against your cunt.
Your hips twitched, rocking against him just slightly, and you let out the softest little whimper as he grunted and slurped quietly at your slit, wetness smearing across his chin and mouth. Only once he’d thoroughly tasted what you’d made for him did he slide up to your clit, tongue extended to lap at it with little kitten licks, ones designed to encourage your body to give him more of your slick wetness, your body jerking with every pass. He tried to remind himself to be gentle, to take things soft and slow so you didn’t wake, but that was so hard when you whimpered again, whimpered as he pursed his lips to suck lightly at your clit, drawing it into his mouth to work with his tongue. Your fingers curled and released against the sheets, and you tasted so good that he found himself fucking against the mattress, humping mindlessly at the folds in the blankets like an animal.
“M… Matt.”
His eyes fluttered lazily open, his gaze drifting up around the sensory shape of you. You were all flowing air currents and sounds and scents, twisting tongues of flame fed by the growing heat of both your bodies. Your heartbeat was still too slow to signal you’d woken up, but your breathing had picked up, your eyes fluttering more rapidly behind your eyelids.
If you hadn’t been dreaming of him before, you were now. And if you were still dreaming, he was safe.
He rumbled a low noise of satisfaction, using his fingers to part your folds before dipping down to your entrance. Once there, he began to lick firmly at you, pressing deeper and deeper until at last your body opened to him and he slipped inside. You let out a sleep little mewl, one of your legs shifting restlessly in your sleep, your head rolling on your pillow as he moaned quietly, curling his tongue inside you to drag against the silken heat of your clenching walls, his nose grinding gently against your clit.
Did you know, somewhere deep down, what he was doing? That he’d spread you open like this and worked his tongue inside you? Or did all your dream self know was that you suddenly felt so, so good?
The very idea that you might not know, that you’d left yourself so vulnerable to him, had him dangerously close to coming, his motions growing just a hint more frantic. Wetness smeared across his face as he kissed sloppily at your slit, kissed at it like he might your mouth, snaking his tongue out to slide inside you with every pass of his lips.
He listened carefully to the quickening pace of your heart, your breathing, taking in the faint sheen of sweat forming on your skin. Every time your heartrate rose too high, he’d slow just a little, or shift his mouth over to your folds or the inside of your thighs. It was there he left you a mark or two, sucking gently at thin, delicate skin. Even if he managed to do this without waking you, you’d know tomorrow what he’d done when you saw the little love bites and bruises between your thighs. The very idea made him purr warmly against you, and he quickly worked his hand down beneath himself until he could undo his pants, pushing the fabric down until he could pull his hard cock free. He took a moment to grind slowly, deliciously against the sheets, presing his mouth to the skin of your thigh to muffle his hitched moan. And that reminded him of what he’d planned on from the start, before he’d become distracted by the taste of you.
He was close, and he needed you. Fortunately, based on the way your body had begun to tighten in increasing waves, you were close, too.
He let his head roll to the side to rest against your thigh as he panted, still grinding himself against the sheets. “Do you want my cock, sweetheart?” he whispered, his lips curling up into a delicious little smirk when your body clenched at the sound of his voice. “I think you do. Even when you’re asleep, you need me inside you, don’t you?”
There was no verbal response, but the growing heat of your skin was enough for him. He rocked himself up as gently as he could, stopping just long enough to strip the rest of his clothes off before climbing slowly up your body. As he went, he caught the hem of your shirt, slowly dragging it up your body with him. He couldn’t take it off you—even he wouldn’t be able to mange something like that—but he had no desire to. The idea of fucking you while you were sleep, while you were wearing his shirt, was a fantasy he’d used more than once while taking himself in hand. He did, however, tug your shirt up just enough to bare your breasts to him.
Obscene, something inside him whispered in delight, a wave of throbbing heat flooding through him. Here you were asleep, shirt pushed up over your breasts, your naked cunt practically dripping onto the sheets. He balanced his weight on one arm as he hovered over you, indulging himself as he palmed gently at one of your breasts, dragging his thumb slowly against your nipple. That won him another soft moan in your sleep, your cunt clenching, body tightening around nothing. Your next moan was even louder when he dropped his head to drag his tongue hotly against your other nipple, drawing it into his mouth to catch it gently between his teeth, sucking lazily until you let out an even louder moan, one of your hands curling as if to claw at the sheets before relaxing. “Poor thing,” he crooned quietly, reluctantly leaving your breasts to climb the rest of the way up your body. “Listen to you, so needy.”
And it would only be right to help with that, wouldn’t it?
Once his hips were level with yours, he settled in, rocking and grinding his cock gently against your slit, slicking himself up with your warmth and the saliva he’d left behind. The sudden sensation of your burning heat against the underside of his cock made his mouth fall slack, and he started to pant at the little shocks of pleasure that washed over him every time he caught the head of his cock against your clit. You weren’t much better even asleep, whining as your hips jerked, eyes rolling frantically beneath your lids. It took everything in him to keep his motions gentle and slow, no matter how much his body demanded he grind and rut, fuck his way desperately inside you even if it woke you. No. No, not when he was so close, his cock now slick and ready for you. He let out a shaky breath, burying his face against your warm throat, huffing in the scent of you as he shifted the angle and began to slide inside you, centimeter by warm, delicious centimeter.
“Fuck,” he whispered shakily, one of his hands fisting desperately in the sheets beside your head. “Fuck, sweetheart. You feel so good.”
God, you were tight, so close to coming that you were already clenching tight around him. That tightness forced him to move gradually, his progress slowed to a sinfully dangerous crawl, one that allowed him to feel every last twitch and shift of your body around his cock. It seemed designed to make him lose his mind when he was already this worked up. In a blink, he’d caught the fabric of your shirt in his teeth, stifling his hoarse, shaky moan, your shallow, hitched breathing a tantalizing whisper of sensation in his ear. It felt like it took hours, ages before he’d finally hilted himself inside you, buried in your slick heat.
He forced himself to still there for a long moment, his chest heaving as he scanned over you with his senses again.
Stuttered breathing, each breath hiding a faint moan.
The fluttering clip of your heart, just slow enough to indicate you hadn’t woken.
Your fingers clenching and releasing, spread thighs shifting in minute, restless movements against the sheets.
It wouldn’t take much more for him to come, he knew that much—the taste of you still lingered on his tongue, filled his nose, and the drag of your skin against his with every breath only left him burning. But he wasn’t a selfish lover, even when you weren’t awake to beg and plead with him for release. No, he’d make sure you got what you needed, too: his sweetheart, so tender and soft and welcoming to the Devil even in sleep.
He slowly, gradually settled his weight onto one arm, sliding his free hand down between your bodies. Even that much shifting around had him swallowing down a groan, and he couldn’t resist grinding just a little inside you. It made you twitch and whimper, hushed and breathless in his ear as he pressed his cock against that spot inside you. Once he was sure that hadn’t been enough to wake you, he quickly dragged two fingers through your folds, raking gently to gather up your wetness before he brought them back up to your clit. The rhythm he started was slow and easy, a gentle grind and loop over your clit that matched the rolling waves of his hips as he began to gently fuck you, barely retreating at all before sliding smoothly back to fill you once more.
It took him no time at all to work your body up that final hill, your breathing growing shorter, your heart rate climbing as you began to tighten around him. It helped that he knew what you needed—each retreat was slow and gentle, and he never left you more than halfway before rolling lazily back forward, ensuring your warm cunt stayed achingly full as he brought you just up to the edge. This time it was your mouth that moved, not a word but a soft whisper of skin as you parted your lips, your head tipping back. And he knew that motion, even as slack and lazy as it was in your sleep.
He purred quietly at the unconscious request that he fill you there, too, lifting his head to seek out your mouth. One soft lick against your lips and you parted them for him on pure instinct, allowing him to slide his tongue filthily into your slack mouth, dragging his tongue against yours, granting you what you’d asked for. You let out a soft sigh, your throat working beneath him as you sucked at the taste of him, of yourself, of you both.
All it took from there was one more finger grinding against your clit, a gentle buck of his hips as he moaned into your mouth, and you crested, your body tightening and releasing around him in rippling waves. Your head rolled back in your sleep, a soft gasp shuddering up your throat as you twitched and shook, eyes rolling back beneath your lids. You let out what might have been a moan of his name, hot and sweet, a sound that seared its way across his mind like a brand. That was more than enough for him, and he let himself go. He groaned softly against your lips, snapping his hips gently against you as he spilled himself near-silently inside you, filling your cunt with a spreading heat that you wouldn’t notice until morning. He kissed you through it as gently as he could, rubbing lightly, quickly at your clit to drag your orgasm out along with his, pleasure rolling through him in gentle waves. Even once you both began to come down, he wasn’t quite done, rumbling a low, possessive growl as he ground himself inside you further, ensuring he’d coated every last inch of your warm cunt, his, you were his, even in sleep. He toyed with that overstimulation just long enough for his toes to curl, for his spent, softening cock to twitch inside you, spilling a few more drops, giving you everything he had as you drifted back down into a deep sleep.
Satisfied with what he’d given you.
He got one arm down and around your hip, gently, carefully rolling the both of you until you were both on your sides, his cock still buried deep inside you. He rumbled a low noise to reassure your sleeping mind, burying his nose in your hair as you sleepily curled into him, one arm draping itself over his waist.
“Love you,” he murmured. “My good girl.” “Mm.”
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✨🐟PROMPT FILLED!🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
A House That Isn’t A Home
Description: A look into Axl’s home life
Prompt: Broken (day 3)
Part 2 of “You’re My Red Rose”
⚠️WARNINGS ⚠️: PHYSICAL ABUSE, SUICIDAL IDEATION
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Andrew unlocked the door with the extra key his father, John, had made for him. They entered to see Mia, his little half-sister, sitting on the couch, hugging her pink teddy bear. John was seated at the table with his head resting in the palm of his hand. Empty beer bottles and cans surrounded him. His mother, Maude, was at work, not getting off until 10 o’clock that night, which meant John was drinking to pass the time. He turned his head to look at the two boys standing at the door. Andrew pushed Axl towards. Axl stepped back. He was now less than an inch away from Andrew
“What he done did, Drew?” John asked in his strong country accent.
Axl could hear Andrew chuckle. “Kissing boys, Pops.”
You could hear a pin drop in the room with how silent it was in there.The first person to move after a period where they all stood still was John. He started to undo his belt. Axl knew what that meant. As if a trigger was pulled, Mia covered her ears and looked at the wall behind her. John charged at him. He tried to run, but Andrew held him down. John swatted the belt at him, striking the outer part of his leg. It stung.
Axl kicked and kicked and kicked in an attempt to break from Andrew’s hold. He failed. Andrew had a tight grip on him. John struck him again on the arm, leaving behind a red mark.
“I’m sorry! I won’t do it again! I’m sorry!” Axl pleaded, tasting the salt of his tears.
“You better be sorry,” John grumbled.
He finally stopped swinging. Andrew let him go. Axl immediately ran to his and Mia’s room, falling onto his bed. He buried his face into his pillow, letting the tears run wild. The sting from the seats lingered on his skin. Loud footsteps could be heard approaching him. He quickly jumped up, afraid his father had returned to continue. However, he was met with Mia’s terrified eyes. He apologized for scaring her. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around. He pulled her into his lap, resting his head on top of hers as they snuggled. She looked up at him with tears in his eyes.
“Don’t cry, Mia.” Axl soothed, brushing back her brown hair.
She sniffed. “I thought-I thought-I thought he was going to kill you, Billy.”
She cried harder, hugging herself tightly against his chest. Axl didn’t know what to say. He thought he was going to kill him, too.
“It’s going to be okay, Mia” was all he could come up with.
Axl wasn’t going to make that a promise. John was getting more violent by the day. He was sure that one day he was going to snap and…do despicable things. John and Andrew went to the gun range almost every weekend. They had a passion for weapons of different kinds. That was the one thing they bonded over as father and son. Axl knew John wasn’t afraid to use it. He could recall the day he came home from school to witness John threatening his mother with a pistol against her head. His finger inches from pulling the trigger. Axl sat there and watched as John threatened to shoot her if he dared to call the police.
From that day forward, he tried to stay on John’s good side, if there was even one, to keep Mia safe. The pressures of school and being basically the only caregiver of his little sister was becoming too much for him. Some days he wanted to end it. To take John's gun and put a bullet into his own head, but he knew if he did, there would be nobody to give Mia the care she deserved. He would rather live with this feeling than see her get hurt whilst his soul is free.
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: BROKEN + SELF-LOATHING + SCARS🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Day 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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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPT FILLED: SLEEPOVER 🐟✨
✨🐟Find the rest of the Tuna-Tober prompts here, and remember to follow to see what other prompt fics these writers might drop this October!🐟 ✨
Day 1 - Sleepover
Prompts: 18 - Pillow Fort Character: Matt Murdock Word Count: ~800 Warnings: Warm and fuzzy feelings, Matt's childhood Tags: @loves0phelia, @nowheredreamer, @beezusvreeland, @yarrystyleeza Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist
Sleepover
“What do you mean, you’ve never had a sleepover?”
The sheer disbelief in that question . . . it was hard not to flinch. Matt hunched his shoulders. “What don’t you understand?”
“I mean, your friends have never invited over to their house for the night? Or came over to your place?”
“Nooo,” Matt answered slowly. He had never had many friends. The few he had made as a child never expended such an invitation prior to the accident. And after the accident, when he returned to regular school, they ignored him entirely. Or joined others in trying to bully him by stealing his cane. He kept his distance from other children after that.
Told himself that he didn’t need friends. He didn’t want friends. Until Foggy had breached those particular walls, worming his way into Matt’s heart.
“Never?” Foggy asked. “Like, never never?”
“Yes . . . wait, does Nelson Christmas count?”
“Well, you do sleep in my room in a sleeping bag,” Foggy said thoughtfully. “So yeah, I suppose so.”
An irritated huff, then he continued, “But it just doesn’t seem right. That you’re first sleepover was Nelson Christmas at my grandma’s upstate.”
Matt shrugged. “It is what it is.”
“I suppose.”
He should have known that Foggy wasn’t letting it go. That wasn’t what Foggy did when he discovered something that he felt Matt had ‘missed out’ on.
And yet, when Foggy asked if he wanted to do a movie night on Thursday, Matt didn’t suspect anything was afoot. He simply agreed. And gave it no further thought than some curiosity about which films Foggy would pick out this time.
Needless to say, Matt was a little surprised when he returned to their dorm after class that Thursday to discover a new . . . structure? Stretched out between the twin beds and made of bedding? Mostly the bedding from both of their respective beds but some smelled like it had come from the Nelson’s . . .
“Hey buddy,” Foggy greeted as he came in. Accompanying him was the unmistakeable smell of pizza.
“Hey Fogs,” Matt said, as Foggy sat down the pizza boxes on one of the desks. “Is that The Pizza Pleaser?”
“It is,” Foggy said. “How’d you know?”
“Their red sauce doesn’t smell like any of the chains,” Matt answered. Which wasn’t the only way he knew which pizzeria but that was the safest answer. “I thought you were stuck with ramen this week?”
“I thought so too,” Foggy said, “But I found some cash hidden in my sock drawer. So tonight, we eat like kings.”
Matt tried to keep the frown off his face. Foggy wasn’t lying. Not exactly. There was truth in that statement but his heart betrayed that it wasn’t the entire truth. But there was no way to call Foggy on it without explaining how he knew so Matt let it go.
Besides, pizza sounded like a nice change from ramen.
“What’s this?” Matt asked, poking at the structure with his cane. “Feels like there is something between our beds.”
“There is. Tonight we are watching movies from the safety of Fort Murdock-Nelson.”
“Fort Murdock-Nelson?” Matt repeated.
“Yep! Made from our finest pillows and blankets.”
“Why?”
“Because sleeping in a pillow fort is something you do at a sleepover.”
“It is?” Matt said. “Is that we are doing tonight? A sleepover?”
“Yep,” Foggy popping the ‘p’. “We’re going to do all the sleepover things. Well minus Mom in her robe telling us to it’s 3 am, go to fucking sleep. Through the RA might do that if we get loud enough.”
“Let’s not,” Matt said. The poor RA had enough to deal with. Some of the student really weren’t used to certain aspects of communal living. Like shared bathrooms. “What movie are we watching?”
“Alien franchise,” Foggy said. “You seen any of them before?”
“No, Dad thought it was too scary for me,” Matt said.
“And I’m guessing the nuns weren’t fans?”
Matt shrugged. “Maybe? I think they were more worried about the littles seeing it and having nightmares.”
“That’s fair,” Foggy said, plating some pizza. “I think Candy kept us awake for a week the first time she saw The Thing.”
“How old was she?”
“Six? She was supposed to be asleep. Only learned she had woke up and came into the living room when she screamed. Took ten years off of my life.”
“I hope not,” Matt said. “I like having you around.”
“Awww,” Foggy said. Matt could tell he was smiling. “Me too buddy.”
None of the films had audio description but Foggy was getting pretty good at providing one. And his added commentary was very entertaining. They’d probably stay up way too late but Matt couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than right here in this pillow fort, eating pizza and listening to Foggy grumble about how no one listens to Ripley.
Author’s Note
All but Alien (1979) of the franchise seems currently has audio description but for the purpose of this story, let’s say that it wasn’t added until after this sleepover.
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