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"You’re who I want." (Michael Kinsella x F!Reader)
Time for Day 3 of the Tuna-Tober prompt challenge! For Day Three, I chose to combine the fluff and angst prompts ("I feel real when I'm with you" and 'Broken'), and I also decided to try my hand at one of Charlie Cox's other characters for once, that being our favorite sad, tragic, sweetheart of a mobster Michael Kinsella! You can see the rest of the prompts I've chosen here if you'd like to know what's coming this month from me. Also, if you'd like notifications when I post a new story, drabble, or chapter, you can follow my sideblog @pastaxandria and set it for notifications! And off we go!
Ship: Michael Kinsella x F!Reader
Wordcount: 2k
Warnings for this chapter, let's do this: mentions of blood, kiss at the end, angst (but with a happy ending obvs)
It was Birdy that called you right as you were getting ready to settle in for the night, the heavy downpour a drumbeat against your windows that you’d hoped would lull you to sleep. But that wasn’t in your cards tonight, it seemed.
“He’s headed yer way. Things… didn’t go well tonight.”
Not for the first time, you quietly cursed the way the Kinsellas had dragged Michael back into their business as you dug out the first aid kit, setting it beside a change of clothes and a few clean towels to help Michael dry off when he arrived. You didn’t care what the Kinsellas got up to on their own time, who they sold to and what their business was. What you cared about was whether Michael had wanted this. But he was a loyal man, endlessly devoted to family, something Amanda was all too happy to take advantage of.
You had thoughts on that, too, but that would also have to wait.
“We lost a few o’ ours. He managed ta turn it around at the last second, but… Well, the family argued after. Things were said ta him, and…”
Some nights, though, you wondered just how long Michael had left before he broke beneath that weight—the weight of expectation and a grim responsibility he shouldered without complaint, even as he began to crumble beneath it. In the two years since you’d met this beautiful, quiet man in that small coffee shop, you’d watched those brittle cracks form. Over time, as he gradually began to let you in, you’d discovered the far deeper fissures that lay buried beneath. Your lack of fear, your absence of judgement over what he’d done, had only opened that door further, until he began to seek you out as you did him. Time passed, and your orbits were brought closer and closer together, spiraling planets caught inevitably in the pull of each other’s gravity.
Neither of you had named what this was. But if he could find comfort here, safety here, then you’d happily give it.
“Just… be gentle with him, dear.”
Somehow, even the knock at your door sounded exhausted. You hurried out of the kitchen where you’d been filling up the kettle—you’d learned very quickly how important it was to have it ready at all hours when you’d moved to Ireland—and headed down the hall to the front door. You unlocked the door and tugged it open, letting in the roaring sound of the rain and a gust of chilled wind.
“Oh, Michael,” you whispered.
He was soaked to the bone, dark hair plastered down against his skin as he leaned tiredly against the doorframe, his body wracked with shivers from the cold. What was worse: even with the rain, you could still see traces of blood on his shirt and hands, more of it leaking steadily from a split on his lip. Fortunately, only the blood on his mouth seemed to belong to him. He tried to throw you a small smile, but it was far too crooked, too brittle to be real, and you had a feeling his eyes weren’t red because of the rain. The moment he seemed to realize you didn’t buy it, that shield fell away, and you were left with just Michael at his most exposed, empty and exhausted.
“That bad, eh?” he asked tiredly, trying for humor and missing by miles.
“Shit, get in here before you freeze.” You caught his arm and tugged him forward until you could quickly shut the door behind him. He didn’t fight you on it physically, for which you were grateful, but he couldn’t seem to resist at least a little verbal stubbornness.
“I’m gettin’ yer floors all wet,” he said. Without the need to pretend, his tone had gone empty and lifeless, stripped of all energy, as if he’d used up what little he had left on the walk over. He dropped his head, staring down at the growing puddle on the floor, his face twisting through something unreadable. “‘M sorry, pet. I shouldn’t have—”
“Floors can be dried, Mikey.” You waved the objection away, locking the door before turning back to Michael where he was standing shivering in the hall as if he were reluctant to take up any further space, as if he feared he were unwelcome. And something about it, about the way he seemed to barely be holding himself together, just… broke your heart. “Come here.”
He shivered again, even as he shook his head, arms wrapped around himself. You could almost see him changing his mind, a wave of regret rearing up inside him, flashing in the dark of his eyes, eyes still looking too damp for just the rain. “I’ll… I’ll get blood on ya.” “I don’t care.”
He clenched his jaw, still refusing to look at you. Some of the blood on him had joined the puddle of rainwater at his feet, the pale tile darkening to a rusty pink. “No, I-I shoulda stopped ‘a home first, cleaned up. And it’s late, yer clearly dressed for bed. We can talk another time—”
You crossed the distance between you both before he could take a single step towards the door. He went stiff the moment you pulled him into you, but you let him work through it as you wound your arms tightly around him, hooking the fingers of one hand in his belt loops, making it clear you weren’t going anywhere. You used the other hand to stroke gently down his back, heedless of the water and blood that began to dampen your clothes, breathing in the scent of whiskey and leather, of gun oil and rain and blood. “Stop worrying about my clothes or the floors, you silly man,” you said softly, setting your chin on his shoulder as his breath hitched. “I don’t care about those. I care about you, Michael. No matter what happens, that won’t change. I’ll stand here all night with you if I have to.”
He choked out a shaking breath against your hair, and you could feel it the moment he began to break, his hands tentatively finding their way around your waist, as if he were still half-convinced it would be rejected. Something far warmer than rain dripped against your neck. “Why?” he whispered. “I don’t understand. I have nothin’ ta give ya. Ta give anyone. I keep tryin’ to be what everyone needs, but I can’t even do tha’ right. Why do ya keep openin’ the door for a broken man, pet?”
“You might be hurt, but you’re far from broken,” you murmured, turning your head to lay it on his shoulder as his hold gradually tightened around you, his hands beginning to fist in the fabric of your shirt. Another shaky breath from him, more of his tears falling against your throat as he finally let his head fall to your neck, accepting what you’d offered. “I let you in because I just need you. You’re who I want. So you can let go, Mikey. There’s nothing here you need to fix, no one else you need to be.”
That was all it took, and between one breath and the next, he crumbled in your arms, the entire terrible night, terrible year, terrible life tearing its way out of him in choked sobs. You held him as tightly as you could, soft, soothing whispers in his ears, your hands running gently down his back and through his hair as he let go of every last wall he’d put up between him and the outside world.
It took time for that wave of emotion to ease, time you spent with your head on his shoulder, with your chest to his, until eventually the shaking of his body began to slow, his breath easing against your throat. Only then did you guide him to the bathroom, taking the time to clean him up. He accepted the care silently, his eyes half closed, his form slumped and exhausted, drained after the emotional release. You knew better than to press before he was ready, so you let the quiet have its place, though every now and then you’d lift his hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles.
You left him alone just long enough for him to change. You were glad he now kept a few changes of clothes here. It was another unspoken intimacy between you both, the knowledge that this place was a retreat for him just as his home sometimes was for you, even if neither of you had said as much. Once he was changed, you tipped your head before heading towards the bedroom. He hesitated, just for a moment, and you paused in the doorway, waiting.
It wasn’t every time he came here that you both wound up curled up together. Just on those bad nights, those nights when one of you needed each other’s presence to act as a shield against nightmares, against grief or hurt. Until now, however, it had always taken place on the couch, the two of you dozing off together under the excuse that you’d never intended to fall asleep at all. Tonight, however, you just… thought he deserved a bed. That you and he had never taken this step before hung heavy between you, weighted and intimate. Neither of you had dared offer access to the other’s bed until now. Hell, you hadn’t even kissed yet, though there’d been… moments when you’d both come close, dancing along that edge. Somehow you knew there’d be no going back after this, no more pretending, even if no one had believed either of you before now when you’d both sworn you were simply friends.
And after a long moment… the soft padding of his footsteps began to follow.
The bed came first, soft sheets and the gradually returning warmth of him, one of your arms draped over his waist as he buried his face in your hair, the two of you twined together so closely that there was no space at all between you.
Then came his voice, the soft lilt of it soothing you as much as your touch seemed to be soothing him.
“I don’t know what I’d do without ya’,” he sighed, his breath slowly easing. He nuzzled at you gently, and you tipped your head up to meet his eyes. The warmth in them took your breath away, filled with a tender light and a devotion so deep you knew you could spend the rest of your life searching for the end and never find it. “Every time I think I’ve lost who I am, yer’ there ta bring me back. I feel… I feel real when I’m with ya’. I…”
His eyes searched yours for a moment before he seemed to make a decision. He dipped his head down slowly, giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you tilted your head back, your hand sliding up to tangle in his hair as his lips met yours.
The kiss was a soft, new thing, fragile as spun strands of glass. His lips still tasted a little of copper and whiskey, chapped from the cold night air, but his breath was warm, and his mouth moved against yours with a hesitance that swiftly gave way to confidence as you leaned into him, using your fingers in his hair to pull him in closer. His name on your lips was a sigh, a gift to him, one he breathed down as if he wanted to draw it down into the very heart of him. When he finally pulled away, he lay his forehead against yours, his eyes falling closed. You reached up to stroke your fingers warmly against his cheek, and he smiled, eyes crinkling, even if they stayed closed. “Wanted ta do that for a long time, now,” he admitted. “Not long after we met, if ’m honest.” “I may or may not have wanted the same thing,” you huffed softly, his smile growing.
“Can I take ya ta breakfast tomorrow?”
You made a contented noise as you curled into him, and he wound around you, the two of you getting comfortable for the night. It felt… permanent, as if you two had simply been waiting to find your way here, this place you were both meant for.
“I’d love that.”
And maybe tomorrow... you'd tell him you loved him, too.
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Tuna-Tober Day 6 - George Weasley
pairing: Geroge Weasley x fem!reader
prompt: "Shh...I've got you now. I'm here."
word count: 2,051
content: Unforgivable Curse use, blood, choking, bounding to chair
tuna-tober masterlist / main masterlist
dividers by: @firefly-graphics
You were attending your now mandatory seventh year of school at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it was going about as well as you expected with everything going on with the war against You-Know-Who. Hogwarts of course wasn’t spared from the infestation of his followers, and with Dumbledore dead, the place had all gone to pot.
Snape was in charge, and as if that wasn’t bad enough by itself, there were two new professors who were known followers of You-Know-Who… The Carrows. The brother taught what was now just called Dark Arts and the sister taught the required class of Muggle Studies. Instead of the class focusing on Muggle artefacts and how they functioned though, she taught how inferior the Muggles were compared to Wizards and how You-Know-Who would restore the “proper order” of things. You thought it was all total rubbish and you had made it clear to them from day one that you weren’t falling for their propaganda.
By the end of the first month, you were getting stir crazy with not knowing how things were going on the outside of the castle and knowing that no one knew what was going on inside. The Profit wasn’t publishing anything useful, so you attempted to get an owl out to your long time boyfriend, George Weasley, to ask what he knew. It was a calculated risk, and the reward was not worth it. The Carrows had intercepted your letter before it even left the school grounds and you were subjected to corporal punishment at their hand.
Needless to say, it was hard getting mail in and out of the school by the usual means, so after some thinking, you had resorted to using the secret passages hidden throughout the school grounds. You knew of these only because George had shown you some of them before he and his twin brother departed the school in grand fashion when Delores Umbridge took over the school. As bad as it was nowadays, sometimes you wished that Umbridge was still in charge. At least with her, seventh year students weren’t instructed to torture first years…
Even with getting owls out through a secret passage that took you to the Hogshead Inn, there was always the potential for mail to be intercepted and read though, so when things started getting rough, you and George had come up with a code system that you would use in your letters. The cipher was sent in multiple pieces over weeks, but once it was established, communication between Hogwarts and the outside world was a go. Because of this, you were the main source of information about the happenings of the school for Potterwatch listeners and freedom fighters throughout the wizarding world. Not that they could do anything about it…
Some weeks, there was nothing but bad news at the school, and your letters simply served as proof of life, and George’s replies did the same. You usually wrote of what the new rules were for the school, how punishment had changed, and just the daily happenings around the castle. One day though, George received a very different letter and the handwriting wasn’t yours. It was asking him to come to the school immediately.
Hours before…
You were irritably bouncing your leg as you sat in your seat for Dark Arts class. Professor Carrow had once more brought a group of first years to be punished for trivial rubbish. Up until now, you had never been called upon to dole out their punishment, but still, you hated to have to watch the poor young kids suffer at the hands of other students. Some days you had worked with your fellow DA members and got word out that there was trouble in your class. They would cause a distraction outside so you could sneak the young students out to avoid punishment. This of course caused you to get in trouble instead, but you were okay with that. You were more capable of enduring the Carrows.
Things were different today. The Carrows had been particularly harsh throughout the week, and were getting people in trouble for the littlest of things. Someone’s robe was slightly wrinkled? Detention. They wore their tie slightly off centre? Detention. A student flipped the pages of their textbook too loudly? Detention. Needless to say, you were fed up. After months of enduring their terror, you felt like you were at your breaking point. And it only got worse when you were called up to the front of the room by Professor Carrow.
“It has been brought to my attention that you’ve never been called up for your practice with the Cruciatus Curse. I think it’s time we change that,” he said, a small smirk on his lips as you stood before him. You refused to look in his eye and instead glared over his shoulder. “I’ve seen your talent with it when we’ve practised on rodents. You’ve got a lot of anger inside of you, child. Now you just need to take it out on these weak children.”
You turned and looked at the tired and terrified faces in front of you. Some you knew had gotten in trouble before and were just wanting to get this over with, but some were brand new faces. Likely subject to detention because of a minor infraction. Their terrified eyes pleaded with you, begging without words for you to not hurt them. It broke your heart.
“I won’t,” you stated defiantly, still not turning to give Carrow your respect.
“You will,” he snarled as he pressed the tip of his wand into the side of your neck. His voice suddenly got closer and his breath was hot on your skin as he said, “If you don’t, I will. And I won’t relent until they’ve learned their lesson.”
This statement had you seeing red and your chest began to heave with anger. The grip you had on your wand tightened, and before he could make another move, you snapped around and pointed your wand at him, shouting, “Crucio!” when he was in your sights.
“Go, now!” shouted Sheamus before standing up with a few other DA members who began clearing the room. Before he left, Sheamus turned back and called out your name for you to follow, but was met with a horrifying sight.
Once you stopped concentrating on the curse and Carrow recovered from the pain you subjected him to, he was furious. Before you could even turn tail and run out of the classroom, Carrow had bellowed, “Diffindo!” and large gashes ripped through your robes and skin, causing blood to start seeping into your clothes. Your screams pierced the air before Carrow was grabbing you by the throat and shouting, “You think you can turn your wand on me?! You think you can get away with that unscathed?! You’re in for a world of torture, girl!”
“Sheamus, go!” you managed to choke out when you realised that he was still in the room.
“No!” Carrow shouted, flicking his wand and causing the heavy classroom door to slam shut. “You, boy, as punishment for aiding the other children, are going to help me deal with this brat! The two of you are close, so with what I have in mind, it’ll be punishment enough. If you don’t, you’ll be subject to the same.” After he finished his statement, he tightened his grip on your throat the slightest bit while waiting for an answer.
“I won’t!” Sheamus countered.
“Just…just do it!” you choked out, your voice quiet even to your own ears as you began to get dizzy.
You didn’t hear your friend say anything, but assumed that he agreed when Carrow’s hold on you released and you crumbled to the ground, gasping for air. The relief was momentary though, because within seconds you were being forced up and into a chair before being bound to it.
As you slumped forward, you heard Sheamus mumble, “Forgive me…” before your body was wracked with the most excruciating pain you had ever experienced.
What followed was more wounds being inflicted into your skin and the chair with you in it being blasted into the wall. You lost count of how many times the Cruciatus Curse was cast on you, but even through your scrambled thoughts, you could tell which ones Carrow cast - they were more painful. More evil.
By the time black was threatening to take over your vision, you finally heard, “I think she’s learned her lesson.” The chair magically sat upright as Carrow snarled, “Next time you know not to disobey me. This is going to be child’s play compared to what you’ll endure if you dare turn your wand on me again. Now get out of my classroom.”
Sheamus waved his wand and your bounds were released, causing you to collapse out of the chair and onto the floor in a heap. You were in and out of it as he practically dragged you in the direction of the Room of Requirement. When the two of you arrived, Sheamus was calling, “Neville! Hannah! I need some help!”
“What happened?” Hannah asked, her eyes wide as she took in your bloodied form.
“She refused to cast the Cruciatus Curse on the first-years. Cast it on Carrow instead,” he told her with a shake of his head. A grim look crossed his features and he scowled as he added, “He made me cast it on her too. Five times. I had half a mind to turn my wand on him too…”
“Good thing you didn’t. This is awful…” Hannah whispered as she started helping Sheamus get you to a secluded area to tend to your wounds. Before they got to the area, she turned to Neville and said, “Write to George. He needs to know what’s happened.”
“On it,” Neville agreed before rushing off to get a letter written.
“Where is she?” George asked urgently as he ducked through the portrait that hid the passage from the Hogshead Inn.
“They’re still trying to heal her, mate, just give-” Neville said as he stood up from his desk.
“I need to see her!” George snapped, the terror and fury in his eyes obvious to Neville who nodded and took George to where Hannah and Sheamus were still healing the many gashes Carrow had inflicted on you.
“We’ve gotten most of it, there shouldn’t be any visible scars,” Hannah said, giving George a small smile as she wrapped a blanket around you.
She and Sheamus stood, and the latter clasped George’s hand in his before going in for a quick hug with a pat on the back, telling him, “She’s been asking for you. Good to see you, mate.”
George simply nodded before making his way to your side. He settled down into the heap of pillows before pulling you gently into his arms. When he did, you finally let go of the tears you had been holding back since Carrow got his hands on you. “Shh…I’ve got you now. I’m here,” George whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pulled you closer and nuzzled into your hair, kissing your head gently as he did.
It took a while, but you finally calmed down enough to whisper, “Thank you…”
“For what?” George asked, placing a kiss on your temple.
“For coming. You…you didn’t have to. It’s dangerous,” you replied, shifting so you could wrap your arms around him and snuggle into his chest.
“For you I’d risk anything,” he told you. Soon enough, your exhaustion took over and you fell asleep in George’s arms. The sleep itself was heavy, but your mind was filled with nightmares that you were sure you wouldn’t escape for years to come.
From then on, George would make trips to the school to check in on you as well as deliver things the DA and rebelling students needed. The first trip back was to bring a surplus of supplies to make potion for dreamless sleep. After that was prank supplies to boost morale. Then it was defensive products to protect yourselves. Some days it was simply him, and those days you were especially grateful for. George was your safe place and you were his. And in these times of war, that was something you both needed.
I always think it's interesting to see stories written from the year that the Trio wasn't there, so that's what inspired this lil story for the prompt. I once again am showing off how much I love writing George Weasley's protective side!
likes and comments are always appreciated! xo, brooke <3
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LUCKY DAY
Hi everyone! I hope you having a good time in this spooky season, this is my second day with the tuna-tober prompts, like I said in one post I have a few ideas with this ones but still if any of you have an requests with this prompts you can send me an ask, I hope you have a great day/night, and I know is little but still I hope you like it, lots of love!
Prompt: why? Why do you love me?
——————————
When you first met Jimmy you were amaze about him, he had this attitude that make make you look at him, and that smile, that cocky smile that make you blush every time he smiled at you. You work on a little dinner when you met him, he was alone when he sat at one of your tables, you didn’t know why but you got nervous when he look at you.
-Hi, my name is Yn and I will your waitress today- you said.
-Well this must be my lucky day- he said,you smiled.
-Uh a cocky one…
-But an adorable one, don’t you think?- you blushed.
-Yes I’ll give you that- he smiled -so mysterious man, do yo know what you want?
-you- you smiled a little nervous.
-I’m sorry but I don’t do that until I have at least one date, but I can bring you some eggs and some pancakes- you said before you get back to the kitchen and try to relax, you didn’t know why but he make you nervous, you return a few minutes later with his food -here you have mysterious man…
-Jimmy my name is Jimmy Keene- he said with a smile.
-nice to meet you Jimmy- you said -by the if it is your lucky day and you win the lottery don’t forget to come by next time.
-I tell you what, why don’t I invite you on a date?- he asked you, you look at him for a little a second before you smile.
-I’m off at 8 o’clock, there’s this coffee shop we can go- Jimmy smiled.
-That’s a great plan.
You’re relationship with Jimmy was different, after a few months he told you his real work of line and you have to admitted that you were afraid, afraid of how it could affect you and you always afraid for his safety. The day after his arrest was hard, going to the audiences, the meeting with the layers, you tried to be close to his father every time you could, but you didn’t really know how but you start to get used to it. You were on your way to the visitors room, it wasn’t a lot of time before you saw Jimmy, he tried to give you a cocky smile but you could see the sadness in his eyes.
-Hey, babydoll- he said.
-hey, love- you took his hand -your dad send you love, he said he will come next week -he nod -hey, are you ok?
-I… don’t really know- he said -I had a lot time to think and I screw you up…
-What? No you…
-Look at you Yn, you shouldn’t be here, you should be out there having a better life than this.
-I do it because I love you…
-Why? why you keep loving me? I’ve done bad things, they right to have me here- you took his hand again.
-That’s why, even if you done some bad things, you regret it, and I also see the good things, you’re funny, and kind, and you also make me feel like I’m the only girl in the world, I love when you sings and how you care about your family and I know that you did all those stuffs to help your father, you have a good heart Jimmy and that’s why I love.
-shit I wanna kiss you so hurt right now- you smiled and look around but one guard was watching at the two of you.
-Back at you handsome.
-Maybe we should save it for the wedding.
-What wedding- you asked a little confuse.
-Would you marry me?- you didn’t responde right away -I mean I know this isn’t the best place to asked it and maybe you want to wait until I’m free…
-Yes- he stop talking.
-Really- you nodded.
-Yes, yes and a million time yes, Jimmy, of course I’ll marry you- you were about to kiss him but the guard stopped you, making the two giggle.
-Times up Keene- the guard say.
-I promise that kiss will be worth it- he said making you smile -bye, Mrs. Keene.
-I’ll see you next week, Mr. keen.
-This must be my lucky day- he winked at you.
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Day 10 - "I'm not good enough"
Pairing: No specific pairing, but I guess a little bit of Satoru Gojo x Reader Word Count: 549 Content: Angst?? I don’t know; it’s not really fluffy but not really angsty either, it just is. Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist <- check out the other fics posted this month!
A/N: Another small taste into my upcoming Gojo x Reader series! This takes place during Gojo’s past arc and during this time is when Jujutsu High has their exchange event. This also gives a little taste into your cursed technique a little bit (oooooh ahhhhhh).
May 2007
The gym was filled with the sounds of fists hitting the cursed corpse relentlessly. Your hands don’t slow, if anything they get faster as you start to reach the zone.
Yaga stands on the sidelines watching you beat away every punch the cursed corpse was throwing at you. It too increasing its speed and cursed energy output. You focus your energy towards your palms, your eyes narrowing at the corpse’s face. It’s teeth bared out in a sneer as it reaches back to throw a punch at you.
You mimic its motion and as you start to throw your punch, the corpse grabs your right arm and throws you onto the ground, landing flat on your back.
Haibara and Nanami grimace as you cough trying to catch your breath.
“I’m not good enough.” You sigh out, splaying your arms and legs out on the gym floor. Haibara starts to walk over to you to help you up but Yaga holds up his hand, stopping him.
“You’re focused on the wrong details.”
You chuckle, “Really now?” You flip onto your stomach and get up to stand.
“It was obvious what intention you had going for the cursed doll.” Yaga leans down to pick it up and brushes off some dust, “You were going to do a Black Flash to destroy it.”
You look away, huffing out a sigh while crossing your arms, “No I wasn’t,” you mumble feeling caught.
“Right. If you have any hope of beating anyone from the Kyoto School you need to be better about masking your intent.” He puts the cursed doll back on the ground and it starts to do some fake stretching, its sneer never leaving its face. “The same goes for you two as well; Yu, you wear your heart on your sleeve, that will put you in danger and Kento you need to work more on your defense, you can’t always rely on your 7:3 technique.”
You glare at the doll and bring your hands up into a fighting position, “Again.”
A small smile appears on Yaga’s face as you breathe into your fighting stance. He nods his head at the doll who starts booking it towards you.
Breathe and focus. . . what was it that Gojo told you to do again?
“You want to get stronger right?”
“Of course.”
“Then understand what your technique truly is, you still haven’t figured it out.”
“How can you tell?”
“Your cursed energy always stops short, it never fully connects. It’s like you just barely get a taste of what you can truly do and yet,” he gestures into the air, “it’s gone. . . just like that.”
Let your cursed energy connect.
“So what do you feel right now?”
Sense your surroundings. You close your eyes as the cursed doll sprints at full speed and you feel weightless. You open your eyes and have a soft focus on the doll as it starts to throw a punch to your face. You dodge to the right and use your left arm to block the punch.
Nanami sits up a bit straighter, and Haibara leans down with his elbows on his knees. Both boys feeling your cursed energy increasing must faster than before. Yaga nods his head approvingly as you continue to fight the cursed doll.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: "You remembered?"🐟✨
✨🐟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 12 - "You remembered?"
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader Word Count: 599 Content: Fluff! Reader is allergic to milk (sorry fam) Tuna-Tober 2024 Masterlist <- check out the other fics posted this month!
A/N: And here’s day 12! It’s a little bit short but that’s because of how much I wrote for day 11 so forgive me about the length. Also this is totally self indulgent because I have a lot of severe food allergies (more than 5) and I just figured Matt would be like one of those dogs who can smell an allergen on a food. I wrote this very quickly and it's not beta read so I apologize for any mistakes!
It’s a busy night in Josie’s bar, it was lucky that you, Matt, Foggy and Karen were able to get a booth with how crowded it is. There was barely any standing room and you could tell the noise was starting to get to Matt.
“I’ll get us some drinks,” Foggy stands up and starts to squeeze his way towards the bar.
“Our usuals please Fog!” Karen calls out, “It’s been one hell of a week.”
“You’re telling me.” Matt responds and you smile, “At least it’s the weekend now, we can relax just a little bit.” You lean against Matt and he chuckles.
“Just for a bit.” He wraps his arm around your torso and brings you closer to him to kiss you on your check.
“Ew,” Karen teases, “Get your PDA outta here.” She points towards the exit and you both laugh.
A few minutes later Foggy comes back with a tray of drinks for you all, he and Matt have the cheapest beers known to man, a rum and coke for Karen and an espresso martini for you.
You’ve been trying your best to stay up longer at night for Matt when he goes out on his patrols, so far you’ve only been awake the one night he came back, most other nights you’re barely half awake or just asleep on the couch.
As Foggy hands you your drink, you notice Matt looking confused, “What’s wrong?”
“Your drink smells different,”
“Maybe Josie used decaf or something.” You joke, bringing the drink up to your lips.
“Wait!” Matt quickly takes the glass out of your hands, bringing the drink close up to his nose, “You can’t have this.”
“Aw what? Matt, come on!” Karen says.
You give Matt a questioning look before he takes a sip of your drink, “Yeah there’s milk in this.”
“What?” Foggy spits out his drink and looks over at you, “Did you drink it?”
“No I didn’t I- wait you remembered?”
“Your milk allergy? Of course sweetheart, why wouldn’t I?” He looks at you with concern.
Karen gasps, “Was it because of a shitty ex or something? Spill.”
“No it’s just-” You look down at your hands, “People usually forget about my allergy and I don’t blame them. It can be hard to remember sometimes.”
“It’s not hard to remember,” Matt tells you, “It’s worth remembering to keep you safe.” He takes your hand in his and gives it a small squeeze. You smile at him and nod your head in thanks.
“Hey, I’ll get you a new drink. Want anything in particular, aside from an espresso martini?” Karen asks as she gets out of the booth.
“Let’s see how Josie does on a margarita,” You say to Karen and she laughs walking up to the bar.
Foggy gestures over towards Matt, “Just be sure to have your little allergen checker make sure it’s safe for you alright?”
Matt grins, “I wouldn't want it any other way.”
Karen soon comes back with your favorite flavor of margarita and before she hands it to you she gives it to Matt.
After a moment he sets the drink down, lips forming a thin line.
“Well?”
“. . .It’s safe,” “Matthew!!” Foggy cries out, “How dare you put us on edge like that?!”
Matt grins, “It was a funny,”
Foggy crosses his arms and glares at Matt, “. . . yeah it was a little funny.”
You grab your margarita and start drinking along with everyone else, thankful to have a group of loved ones who care about your food allergies and are careful of what they have around you.
Tuna-tober Day 7
Prompt: Nightmare
Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader
Word Count: 468
At first, you're unsure what woke you up. The room is still dark and cold. The latter of which you combat by burrowing deeper into your blankets. You're just prepared to drift back off when you hear it.
A whimper followed by shuffling of the sheets.
You immediately roll over and face Michael, who is fast asleep next to you, and the events of the night come slamming back to you.
You're not home, in your own bed. You're at Michael's, sleeping over for the first time. And if the noises coming out of him are any indicator, he's having a nightmare.
“Oh, Michael…” You whisper. You want to reach over and touch him, shake him from his dream. But you know that can be dangerous and you don't want to put either of you in a bad situation. So you gently call out to him.
“Michael…come on, sweetheart, wake up. It's just a dream.”
His face scrunches up and he rolls over to face you but he doesn't wake.
“Michael. Michael, sweetheart, wake up. I'm right here. You're only dreaming.” You long to reach out and cup his face, smooth the worry lines on his face, but again you decide not to risk it.
It takes a few more tries but eventually Michael's eyes snap open. You can tell he's disoriented at first so you continue to softly talk to him.
“Hey, hey. It's okay. It was just a dream. You're here with me. You're safe.” You tell him.
He rasps out your name and you finally reach for him. Gently you take his face in your hands, doing your best to soothe him.
“Yeah, Micheal, it's me. I'm here.” You coo softly. His eyes flutter close and he leans into your hands. For several moments it's quiet.
“Are you okay?” You ask him quietly.
“Yea.” He says thickly. “Jus a bad dream. Tha's all.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Your question comes out gentle. You only want him to talk if he wants to. You definitely don't want to push him. So you're not disappointed when he shakes his head no.
“No. No, I- I would ratha go back ta sleep.”
“Okay, Mikey.” You gently rub your thumbs over his cheeks before withdrawing your hands. He shudders at the loss of contact.
“Can I hold ya? Jus til we go back ta sleep.”
“You can hold me as long as you like.” You tell him. He immediately pulls you in, letting you roll over so your body can slot up against his.
With the two of you snug in bed, you both eventually drift back off. With you in his arms, Michael spends the rest of the night with pleasant dreams.
And when he wakes in the morning, he's forgotten all about his nightmare.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟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.”
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: SHAKING 🐟✨
✨🐟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!🐟 ✨
Stay in Bed
Pairing: Frank Castle x fem!Reader Word Count: 1.4k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]
Tuna-Tober Prompt: Shaking
Warnings/tags: sick Reader, smidge of hurt/comfort but mostly fluff, and bossy Frank
Summary: You wake up sick and Frank demands you rest.
a/n: I was sick when I wrote this and craving Frank, and then this turned a bit more fluffy than angsty. Oops! Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!
Shivering beneath the sheets in bed, your hands tugged them higher, dragging them all the way up to your chin as you struggled to get warm. Even with the sweatshirt you'd thrown on in the middle of the night when you'd first begun shaking, you couldn't seem to find any relief from the chills repeatedly wracking your body. Not wanting to disturb Frank’s sleep with your continual shivering, you'd long since slid all the way to the edge of your side of the bed in an attempt not to disturb him.
As you lay there quietly still freezing beneath your layers, you tried to swallow the lump that felt like it was stuck in the back of your throat, but your tongue grappled with the movement. Despite the glass of water you'd gotten up and chugged in the kitchen not that long ago, it moved sluggish in your dry mouth. You winced at the painful scratch a moment later when you managed to swallow, no longer able to lay here and deny that you were indeed clearly sick today.
Beside you, you felt the bed dip further from Frank's weight, the sheets rustling as he rolled over onto his side. Even with your eyes still closed you could practically feel his eyes on you, scanning over the way you were huddled up beneath the blankets.
“You good, sweetheart?” he asked, his gruff morning voice greeting you.
You shook your head against the pillow, another chill racing up your body and causing another round of shaking beneath the sheets. “No,” you croaked. “I don't feel too good this morning.”
The bed dipped further and caused you to open your eyes at the movement. You watched as Frank slid closer towards you along the mattress, noticing the downturned curve of his lips and the look of concern written in his features as he clearly examined the pathetic expression you knew was on your face.
“Why’re you so far away?” he asked.
“Didn't want to bother you,” you mumbled.
Frank pulled a face at your words, his hand reaching out of the sheets as he rested the back of it against your forehead. The corners of his lips curved somehow further downwards, but your eyelids lowered at his touch. His hand felt so deliciously warm that you couldn’t help but press your face back into it.
“You're burnin’ up,” he told you, the back of his hand still resting along your forehead. “And what the hell d'ya mean ‘didn't want to bother me,’ sweetheart?”
Your brain took a moment to register the question, but as you lay there enjoying the heat from Frank's hand that he’d now lowered to your cheek, another chill surged through you. Curling your legs higher up to your chest, you shook miserably beneath the sheets.
“I'm freezing,” you explained quietly. “Didn't want to wake you with my constant shivering.”
“Goddammit,” Frank cursed under his breath. “I don’t give a damn ‘bout that. If you need somethin’, you wake me. Got it?”
“But you need sleep, too,” you weakly protested.
“Don’t need that much to function,” he countered firmly. “You’re more important.”
Releasing a soft sigh as Frank’s hand slid its way down your cheek, your eyelids fluttered open again. Still laying along his pillow, Frank stared back at you with concern in his eyes as his hand continued to make its way towards your shoulder. The heat of his large palm through the blankets was pleasant, but it sent another shudder straight through you and had you shaking once more beneath the sheets.
“It’s just a cold, Frank,” you told him.
“Don’t give a damn,” he grumbled. “You’ve got a fever and you’re shivering. You should stay in bed, sweetheart.”
You groaned audibly at his suggestion. There was far too much that still needed to get done today, especially if you were still feeling like shit tomorrow. You knew it wasn’t realistic to leave all the errands and chores for Sunday–and you certainly didn’t want to be spending a whole day doing everything.
“Can’t,” you told him, already trying to sit up in bed. “Need to get groceries. Vacuum. Clean the kitchen and bathrooms–”
Frank’s hand on your shoulder gripped just tight enough to stop your movement. Pausing mid-sentence, you saw his eyes narrow back at you before he gave a firm shake of his head.
“You’re stayin’ in bed,” he ordered. “I’m not lettin’ you get up and do any of that.”
“Frank, we need groceries,” you countered. “Food won’t magically appear in the house.”
He shrugged a shoulder. “I’ll get the groceries. And I’ll clean the house. Not like I can’t.”
Pushing against his hand, you once more tried to get up. “There’s two loads of laundry I still need to fold,” you continued. “And I need to wash another two more or we won’t have clothes for the week.”
Frank chuckled lightly, his hand still pushing you back down in the bed. You frowned as your head once more landed back on the pillow, your eyes focused on where he was sitting more upright beside you. Another chill slammed into you and you curled further in on yourself, shaking once more beneath the sheets.
“Wouldn’t mind you goin’ naked all week,” Frank teased.
“Frank,” you scolded.
“I got the laundry, sweetheart,” he assured you with a grin. “I can take care of it all. Don’t worry ‘bout it. You just stay here and sleep.”
Removing his hand from your shoulder, you let out a faint whine at the loss of the heat from it as Frank began to get up. You watched him push the sheets off of himself, sliding out of bed in nothing but his dark boxers. Your eyes scanned over the muscles of his back, fixed on him as he walked over to the dresser and began to pull out a dark tee-shirt.
“I’ll grab you some water and some cold medicine,” he said, turning around towards you as he tugged the shirt over his torso. “Then I’ll throw in some laundry before gettin’ groceries. I’ll check on you when I get back before taking care of everythin’ else.”
With a defeated sigh, your eyes followed Frank as he walked over to the closet. He slid it open and pulled out a pair of jeans before slipping them on. You curled up further beneath the blankets, your eyelids beginning to feel heavy already. It didn’t help that you hadn’t slept well last night, too busy shivering.
“It’d go faster if I helped,” you pointed out.
Frank’s head darted up when you spoke, a stern set to his mouth as he finished tugging his jeans up his legs. “All you’re allowed to do,” Frank began seriously, “is stay in bed and sleep. You got that? If I come back and see you’ve been up, I’m draggin’ you right back to bed, sweetheart.”
“Oh?” you asked, a grin slipping onto your lips as another shudder ran through you. “Don’t tempt me with a good time.”
Frank zipped his jeans up, his head tilting to the side as his eyes narrowed at you from across the bedroom. There was no amusement on his face and your smile immediately faltered.
“You think I’m jokin’, sweetheart?” he asked. “I’ll only say it once more. You stay in bed.”
Expelling a sigh, you rolled your eyes at him before snuggling further beneath the sheets. “Alright, alright. You win,” you grumbled, closing your eyes and tugging the blankets up to your chin again. “I’ll rest instead of poking the bossy, grumpy bear today.”
Frank snorted at your comment, the sound drawing a smile wide across your mouth. You knew despite his brusque words that he just wanted you to get better, because deep down the man had a strong desire to care for someone–and that someone just happened to be you.
“You do that, sweetheart,” he ordered. “Just focus on getting better.”
Frank Castle One Shot Tag List: @heimtathurs @linamarr @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @leikelle @pinkratts @1988-fiend @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @stilldreaming666 @will-delete-this-later-probably @yarrystyleeza @pone21 @millennial-birkin @harleycao @kezibear @justanerd1 @sadest-bookshelf @loves0phelia
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: Playing with their hair🐟✨
✨🐟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!🐟 ✨
Fingertips
Pairing - Michael Kinsella x fem!reader Tuna Tober Prompt - Day 25 - Playing with their Hair Summary - you discover that Mikey loves it when you play with his beard.
Author's Notes - Just a quickie. Hasn't had much editing so might be a tad wordy and have the odd mistake!
“That feels so good, pet…so fuckin’ good…don’t ya stop…please don’t stop.”
Usually, when Michael Kinsella was nestled between your thighs, it was you whimpering the majority of those words. You, groaning, moaning, begging those words, as he buried himself in your heat like a man possessed. He was normally facing you too. Not zoning out staring up at the ceiling, like he was doing now, heavy eyes closing gratefully.
“I’m not going anywhere,” you softly reassured him. “I’ll do it for as long as you like. Until you want me to stop.”
“Never gonna want ya to stop,” he warned, letting out a little gasp of pleasure when you tugged fractionally harder.
You bit back an affectionate grin. “Not even for dinner? I'm making your favourite tonight.”
“Ah, ya so good. So good to me,” he sighed placidly. “Don’t know what I did to deserve ya, pet.”
Your fingertips immediately stilled. You had lost count of the number of times he had declared himself unworthy of your love. Not only verbally. You would often see it in his face, in the tightening of his handsome features, or feel it palpably in the air.
“Now what have I told you about saying things like that?”
He let out a playful little whine, peering up at you imploringly from those beautiful, soulful, puppy-dog eyes. You tried to remain unimpressed as you frowned down at him, but it was hard when he looked so damn cute.
"Darlin'...c'mon...please...I need those magic fingertips..."
Finally admitting defeat with a click of your tongue (but laughter in your eyes), your fingers resumed their lazy circling and you felt the twitch of his smug smile as his eyes closed again.
You had discovered Mikey's adorable little quirk a few weeks ago. Something surprisingly and delightfully innocent. That could reduce the notorious Michael Kinsella to putty in your hands within seconds. Have him purring for a very different reason while down south.
He had returned home, angry and irritable, after a long unproductive day with Jimmy and Amanda, but rather than flop down beside you on the sofa and pull you close, like he usually did, he had lowered himself to the floor, scooted between your legs, and rested the side of his head against your knee. The action had been so submissive, so stoical, so very bone-weary, that it had taken you aback as much as it had made your chest tighten. Your hands had instinctively swept forward to cradle his head in your arms, urging him back against the warmth and softness of your parted thighs.
As much as you had wanted him to turn around and pleasure you, you'd been overwhelmed with a greater desire to comfort him instead. Give him some form of pleasure that wasn’t necessarily sexual. You loved it when he drowsily tickled your back after sex. It made you tingle and bliss out, but didn’t turn you on. It was about affection and closeness. You wanted him to feel that too.
And that’s when it happened. When your fingers had idly trailed into the soft coarseness of his beard.
His mouth had dropped limply open, expelling his frustrations in a long drawn out sigh. It was almost as if your touch had activated a pressure release valve inside him. You had watched his slackening features in surprise. While you did run your fingers through his beard during love making, it was always fleeting, the two of you far too preoccupied with more carnal activities.
Spurred on by his reactions, you lightly cupped his face and continued your tentative exploration, biting your lip hesitantly.
"You like that?"
“Aye…” he had breathed encouragingly. “Aye, love…”
As he had relaxed deeper into your touch, you had settled back against the sofa cushions, closing your own tired eyes, your hands lovingly caressing his beard, teasing the hairs, dragging them languidly through your fingers, pulling ever so slightly, enjoying their pleasant coarseness against your skin. The fact that they were slightly more bristly than the hairs on his head made it all the more pleasurable somehow. The grooves between your fingers were particularly sensitive to the sensation. And going by Michael’s clipped whimpers as you lightly raked your nails along his jawline and swirled patterns through the thicker hair there, he was loving every second of it too.
It became a daily ritual. The first thing you did to unwind at the end of a long tedious day. You were usually home before Mikey, so would wait patiently for him on the sofa, reading a book and sipping at your tea until you heard his key turn in the lock. He’d walk into the room with that harried look on his face and you’d immediately stop what you were doing and gesture for him to sit on the comfy pillow at your feet.
“Love ya, pet,” he murmured, promptly returning you to the present as he clasped your hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing it tenderly. “Want ya to still be doin’ this when I’m old an’ grey.”
Praying that you would see him live to be an endearingly grumpy old man, that he would finally break free from his destructive family, you leaned down and returned a kiss to his forehead. “Love you too, Mikey.” A mischievous smile shivered across your lips. “Though do you think you’ll be able to get down on the floor when you’re old and grey?" You ribbed lightly. "You might have bad knees, you know.”
“Not me,” he threw back amused, and it gave you so much joy - and relief - to see him calm and unruffled again. “I’ll make sure to keep m’self limber ‘specially for it.” He met your gaze wickedly, suddenly reviving. “An’ other things.”
“Other things?” You feigned innocence as you grazed through his beard a little more zealously, his heated eyes igniting a fire inside you. You gave him a coy look. "I'm not sure I understand what you mean?"
His deep chuckle vibrated up through your fingers, sending a delicious shiver running along your spine. “Then get ya straight up those stairs an’ I’ll show ya exactly what I mean.”
He turned slowly, predatory, no longer putty beneath your fingertips, and your heart skipped a beat. "I'm givin' ya a ten second start..."
Squealing your excitement, you scrambled from the sofa, and bolted for the bedroom.
************
Tuna-Tober Prompt Challenge 2024
************
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✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: Tears + "I'd be lost without you."🐟✨
✨🐟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!🐟 ✨
Tuna-tober Day 11
"I'm not doing anymore Tuna-tober prompts. I'm too stressed for it." In which I am a clown 🤡 I spit this out yesterday at work in my downtime so I've no idea if it's any good. But I hope you enjoy this angst!
Prompts: Tears + "I'd be lost without you."
Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader
Word Count: 1041
The sound of yours and Matt's soft breathing was all that filled the apartment. You sat across from him as he laid on the couch. Foggy had left to get some air as you both waited for Matt to wake up.
You eyed the stitches that crossed his body in several places and had to bring your hand up to your mouth, biting down on your fist to keep from sobbing. When Foggy had found Matt laying in his apartment, bleeding all over the floor, he had called you. When you got there, a nurse named Claire was just arriving too. She explained to you and Foggy that she had met Matt as the man in the mask and that she occasionally helped him. Grimly, she told you that he had never been this bad before. Which you knew. Foggy was angry when he realized that you knew about Matt's nightly activities and had not said anything. But you had calmly informed him that not only had you known Matt before you knew Foggy, but that you had met Matt as the man in the mask first. That had quieted him down.
When Foggy said he needed some air, you had quietly told him to go take a walk, that you would stay with Matt. Really, it had been just the excuse you were looking for. Now that you were alone, you were free to let your emotions take over. You kept your fist in your mouth to muffle the sobs that wracked your chest, staying quiet only so you didn't disturb Matt. Tears rolled down your cheeks and dripped from your chin, your hold on your emotions finally slipping. You cried like that for several minutes, until you heard Matt shift and groan quietly. Immediately your head whipped in his direction to see him blinking his eyes open.
“Matt…” you breathed softly, not wanting to startle him. His sightless eyes darted around and he slowly pulled the blanket that was on him off.
“Where…?” He croaked, voice cracked from disuse.
“You're home, Matty. You're safe.” You told him, keeping your voice quiet. You get up and go over to him, kneeling beside the couch. Your hands flit over him but not touching him, too scared to cause pain. Matt exhaled and seemed to calm some at your words and proximity.
“What happened?” He asked.
“You tell me. Foggy found you on the floor practically bleeding out. You're in pretty bad shape.”
“Foggy?”
“Yeah… he knows. He's not happy. I told him to go take a walk to cool off.” Matt winced and you didn't know if it was from pain or from the knowledge that his best friend was angry with him. But you stood to go get him some painkillers just to be safe. Before you could get anywhere though, Matt's hand shot out to grab your wrist.
“Where are you going?” He asked, a touch of panic in his voice. You immediately shushed him, gently running your hand over his cheek.
“I'm just going to get you some painkillers. I'll be right back.” Matt hesitated before letting you go. You walked over to his cabinets and pulled out a glass for water and the bottle of painkillers he had. You filled the glass up then walked back over to Matt. It was quiet as he took the offered meds and water. You watched as he carefully leaned up to take them then immediately laid back down. It was quiet for a few minutes before Matt sighed.
“Go ahead.” Your brows furrowed.
“What?”
“You've got to be angry with me. So go ahead. Let me have it.” He looked so defeated in that moment that all you could do was cry. Your tears slipped free without your permission and you let out a wet laugh.
“Angry? Matt, you think I'm angry? I'm scared, you moron. I'd be lost without you. Absolutely lost. And yet you continue to through yourself into impossible fights. It's like you don't even care that I-”
“That you what?” Matt hitched out, bracing as if for a blow. You laughed again and shook your head. This wasn't the time for confessions and yet the words spilled from your tongue.
“That I love you. I love you, Matt. And you're determined to kill yourself.”
“I'm not. But I can't stop.”
“I'm not asking you to stop! I'm asking you to slow down, to think, to plan. I'm asking you to use that big, beautiful brain of yours to make better decisions.” Matt closed his eyes and sighed, wincing when the motion pulled at his wounds. It sobered you and had you reaching for his hand. When he didn't pull away, you took his hand in yours.
“Matt, I love you. And I just want you to be safe. You need body armor or something that protects you better than that black outfit.”
“I know.” He said. Then in a much quieter voice, one full of hope, he said, “You love me?”
“More than I care to admit. But it doesn't matter right now. What matters is that you get better. We can talk about it later.” You told him, assuming since he hadn't said it back yet that he didn't feel the same way. But oh were you proven wrong.
“It does matter. It matters a lot. Because I love you too. I've just been scared to admit it. But I do. I love you so much, sweetheart.” For what felt like the hundredth time that night, tears slipped from your eyes. You laughed quietly and wiped them away.
“Good. I could've lived without you loving me back but it would've been really hard.” You admitted. Matt smiled for the first time since he woke.
“Luckily that's not the case.” He said. Suddenly, he stiffened. “Foggy's coming back. Will you give us a minute?” You hesitated, not wanting to leave him when he was so vulnerable, before nodding. You kissed the back of his hand and stood.
“I'll be right outside if you need me.” You promised. He nodded grimly and let go of your hand.
You would leave them to have their conversations but you would stay when it was over.
You would always stay.
✨🐟TUNA-TOBER FIC DETECTED 🐟✨
✨🐟CALCULATING... CALCULATING... 🐟✨
✨🐟PROMPTS FILLED: WATER GUN FIGHT 🐟✨
✨🐟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!🐟 ✨
work song
pairing: michael kinsella x fem!reader
word count: 1k
tuna-tober prompt: water gun fight
summary: michael kinsella pure domestic bliss fluff
warnings: some suggestive dialogue, kids being kids
tagging: @yarrystyleeza
a/n: i’ve never written for mikey before. he’s my newest obsession. hope i did him some justice. i appreciate any likes/feedback/reblogs. ❣️
You’re spraying on your favorite perfume as you hear the sound of loud melodic laughter coming from the garden.
There’s a rare heatwave in Ireland and your kids have been cooling off with popsicles and jumping through the sprinkler.
You glance out your window to see your seven year old daughter and five year old son filling up their water guns. They’re strategizing and whispering about their plan of attack. Your son instead picks the super soaker to fill up.
You spot Michael tending to your garden, unaware of the attack your mischievous children are planning. Your daughter and son are locked and loaded, trying their hardest to stifle their giggles as they run up on their da.
They shriek as they both pull their water gun triggers, eliciting a surprised yelp from Michael. In a matter of seconds his thin t-shirt is soaked through and clinging to his chest. You hear him groan about how unfair their ambush was, only to be met with louder belly laughs from your children.
Michael picks up your young son and playfully lifts him upside down, your little guy is a daredevil and loves to roughhouse with his da. Michael takes your daughter’s small water pistol and shoots it at your son. Your son tries to lap up the water like a puppy. Your daughter hugs Michael’s legs as she tries to take him down onto the soft grassy ground. The moment is such a joy to watch unfold. You knew the horrors of Michael’s past life and the man that he was.
The man that he is now is honest, decent, and wholesome. Your walls are decorated with family photos of your life together. The highlight reel of the life you built together, brick by brick. The universe brought you both together at exactly the right time that it felt uncanny. He never knew love without manipulation, and your love was steadfast, whole-hearted, and true. The first time you ever made love was better than any high, and he wanted more. You broke down all his walls as you helped pull him out of his life of crime and desperation. With your help and guiding light he started a new humble life. He was able to gain legal access to visitations with Anna. They worked on their relationship and healed old wounds. You were absolutely honored when Michael introduced you to Anna. You could never replace her mother, but she grew to develop an affection for you and asked you for teenage advice. She was quiet and bright, she listened to you in a way Michael would never be able to get through to her. You’d go on shopping dates and grab lunch together, you provided her with a strong female influence. Michael asked Anna’s opinion before he popped the question as he wanted her support and wanted her to be a part of the family he hoped to build with you. She enthusiastically agreed. She wanted you to be a part of her life as well. When Michael asked you to marry him you agreed only on terms that he’d take your last name and give you beautiful children. Without hesitation he was overeager on both accounts. You married quickly and secretly not wishing to draw any attention. It didn’t take long for you to become pregnant with your daughter.
You see Michael was still joking around with your kids about their stunt. You open the window and yell out, “Karma is a cat, Mikey. Ya need to get ready anyway. Anna will be here soon!”
Michael acknowledges your remark realizing he’s short on time. He lifts both of the children into his arms and carries them inside and up the stairs so they can get changed out of their wet swimsuits.
Michael opens your bedroom door and closes it behind him, “I’m soaked”, he says as he rips off his shirt and hangs it up to dry off.
“Maybe if ya play yer cards right, I’ll be soaked later, too,” you tease as you put on your necklace, watching him advance as you look in the mirror. He’s behind you and he kisses a path from your shoulder up to your neck. His beard and his breath tickling you the whole way as he stops and nips on your earlobe, “Ya know, yer too good to me, pet.”
Downstairs you hear your door open, it’s Anna shouting “Ma, Da, I’m here!”
You urge Michael to get ready quickly so you aren’t late for your dinner reservation. He gets ready at rapid speed and looks so effortlessly handsome. You depart from the bedroom and head downstairs where your kids are already harassing their grown up half-sister. She’s asking them about school and they pick out books to read together in the fort they’re planning to build in the living room. Your daughter is showing Anna the blueprint of where the furniture and blankets will be set up.
“Don’t worry lovebirds I have everything under control, stay out as late as ya want, but remember while car sex isn’t illegal in Ireland, indecent exposure is, so, don’t get caught sickos,” Anna jokes. She’s at university studying law, following in your footsteps.
“Noted, thank ya for the brilliant legal advice, Anna. Call if ya need anythin’,” you say as you give her a warm hug.
“Will do, ma,” Anna says back to you with a smile.
Your kids run up to you and give you both great big hugs and kisses before your departure. You walk hand-in-hand to your car, excited for a much needed date night.
“Ya hungry, love?” You ask as you pull out of your driveway.
“Starvin’, but not for anything on the menu,” Michael said with a smirk and a glint in his eyes.
“Oh? And what’re ya hungry for?”
“Always ya, pet,” Michael sighs as his hand grips your thigh.
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