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charliemwrites · 1 year ago

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Woof woof grrrrrr

Content: Dub-Con, Dirty Talk, Oral Sex (reader giving)

The bar is exactly as busy as you’re hoping for when you get there. Quiet and intimate, low lights, a hum of conversation but not overwhelmingly loud. The bar is mostly full but not crowded. As luck would have it, you instantly spot a couple empty stools towards the back.

You glide across the establishment, head held high and shoulders back. Pick a seat and smooth your skirt under you to perch. The bartender comes to you instantly; you pick something sweet and fruity (delighted that it’ll match your outfit.)

It takes up until they slide it across to you — a tab opened with your card — that the insecurity starts to set in. What if no one is interested? What if Soap doesn’t show up?

You sip at your drink and pull out your phone, reading your latest book. If nothing else… at least you’re getting out? God.

“This isn’t your usual scene.”

Oh. Oh this is worse than being ignored all night and going home alone. So much worse. Just barely manage not to curse aloud as you turn to your ex.

“Justin…” you start, realize you don’t know where to go from there. “Hi.”

“It’s been a minute, huh?”

You look him up and down. Designer everything, of course, brands printed all over him. No taste, though, none of it is cohesive. You wouldn’t be caught dead at his side ever again.

“How’s your arm?”

His expression flickers, hand unconsciously going to the spot where Johnny tried to tear it off.

“Fine. Thanks.” He gives you a long look. Unfriendly. “You know people have had dogs put down for less.”

You run your tongue over your teeth, fear and anger twisting up in your stomach like hot lava. How dare he threaten your boy like that?! Wish Johnny was here now to take another chunk out of him.

“Not when people trespass on private property,” you reply coldly, eyes narrowing.

He puts his hands up, laughing awkwardly. “Well, now. I wouldn’t call it — let’s just say we’re even, yeah?”

“For that at least.”

You take another big sip of your drink. Find it empty. Make hopeful eye contact with the bartender and nod for another when they gesture questioningly. There’s a reason you love this bar.

“Right… listen, about that, luv…”

“There you are, bonnie!”

You perk up despite yourself. Says something that the creep who sexually harasses you in public is better company than your ex-fiancé. Something zings through you when you realize Soap is bigger than your Justin (hopefully in every aspect). Taller, wider, more muscular. Better jawline and prettier eyes, too.

“Tucked up back here like this,” Soap mock scolds, shouldering past Justin. You let out a little squeak as he scoops you off your barstool, hand just under your ass for a hold. “Almost didn’t see you, hen.”

“H-Hi,” you say, arms going around his neck automatically. He presses his nose to your collarbone and audibly inhales. You shiver.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he continues, voice dropping lower.

He sets you down on your stool again with a wink, then takes the stool next to yours.

“Oi, do you mind?” Justin snaps, bumped out of the way by Soap’s bulk.

“I do, actually.” The look Soap levels him is sharp, cold. Bloody killer. Instantly reminds you of all the alarm bells that normally play in your head when he’s around. “Don’t like puffed up knobs like you around my girl.”

You bite your tongue on a protest that you’re not his girl. Wouldn’t be particularly helpful right about now. You’ll correct him later.

“Your girl,” Justin scoffs. “She was mine before she was ever — hey!”

Soap’s got his fist in the front of Justin’s shirt, jerking him nearly off his feet. A few heads turn. You feel hot with embarrassment, skin prickling at so many eyes on your little trio of stupidity.

“Woah!” You yelp. “Soap!”

You grab his forearm (remind yourself not to get distracted by the muscles cording it) and lean into his line of sight. The near-murderous glint in his blue eyes softens, though there’s still an unnatural sheen to them. Something that makes the hair on the back of your head stand on end.

“Soap, let him go,” you say, quiet. “I like this bar, don’t get us kicked out… please?”

He hums, instantly drops Justin to cup his hand around the back of your neck, fingers edging into your hair. His palm feels so big and harm, a little rough with callouses. You try not to think about how easy it would be for him to manipulate your head however he wants…

“Like when you say ‘please,’ hen,” Soap purrs.

You swallow, feel your cheeks flushing as you say, “Then… you should sit down and have a drink with me. Please?”

He grins, crooked and a little mean. “Anythin’ fer you.”

He drops into his stool again like a king on his throne. You perch gingerly on your own, waving Justin away like an annoying fly. Don’t even look as he slinks off, too busy staring at Soap. Who’s… busy staring at you. As always.

“You never called,” he drawls after ordering. Whiskey, neat. The bartender sets your new drink in front of you; you start sipping to gather your thoughts and nerve. “Lucky I happened to stop in here, eh? Imagine if I’d walked past…”

You grimace a bit. A fantastic bit of luck, that. Thought you’re still not sure what type of luck.

Definitely not going to admit to him that you didn’t call on purpose, wanting plausible deniability if you did see him. As if trying to get him under your skirt by happenstance is better than calling him to do it.

“Why did you stop in here?” You ask, looking to change the subject.

“Could smell you,” he answers, eyes twinkling.

You wrinkle your nose, kick at his shin. Want to blame it on the alcohol, but you drink red wine most nights of the week. This is just… placebo and desperation.

“You’re so nasty, you know that?” You huff.

He arches his eyebrows, grins wolfishly. “Could show you how nasty I can be,” he offers.

You wrinkle your nose even as your cheeks burn. That’s exactly what you’re hoping for.

“You can’t keep talking to me like that,” you complain.

He snorts in amusement, hooking his fingers beneath your stool and tugging you closer. Until your knees are between both of his, jeans brushing against your thighs.

“Here’s the thing, darlin’,” he murmurs, low and private. “I think you like when I talk to you like that.”

You swallow audibly, hands dropping down to twist nervously in your lap.

“I think it makes your pretty pussy all wet and swollen when I get all mean like this,” he continues. You shake your head; his palm clamps down on your thigh beneath your skirt, thumb sweeping back and forth over the sensitive skin. “Think she’s fuckin’ aching fer me to make good on all my promises. And you can get all shy and sweet here, but I bet all your cunt wants is to be mounted and bred like a bitch in heat.”

And he’s right. Of course he’s fucking right. That goddamn bad guy fantasy and your shallow, needy pussy, and Soap’s stupid fucking everything.

You feel like you’re about to explode when the bartender sets his whiskey down, snapping the tension like a rubber band. Feel dizzy as you lean away, sipping desperately at your own drink in an attempt to cool off. He gives you all over maybe fifteen second before opening that sinful mouth again.

“So how about it, bonnie? Did I hit the mark?”

You feel frustrated tears pricking at your eyes. Blink and look away at your nervous hands.

“I-I don’t even know you,” you mutter. “You could be dangerous.”

“I am dangerous, baby,” he replies, “just not to you.”

You shake your head. “You’re awful.”

“Mm and you want me to do awful things to you.”

You sigh through your nose, that little logical voice blaring again. He’s going to hurt you. He’s going to use you.

(Would that be so bad, if you go in knowing it?)

A tug at your necklace startles you out of your thoughts, his finger hooked beneath the pendant. You lean in with a noise of protest, afraid he’s going to break it. Gasp as your lips brush his.

“Whatever’s goin’ on in that pretty head, let me fuck it out of you.”

You shudder, hand balanced on his thick, muscular thigh. Can feel a twitch near your thumb. Holy shit.

“I’ll be so good to you, princess,” he promises. “Let me be good to you.”

You suck in a breath. Now or never.

Well, if nothing else, maybe you’ll let Johnny eat him if he’s turns out to be a bastard.

“Prove it,” you breathe.

He guides your chin up, eyes blazing with hunger.

“Yeah?” He asks.

You blink, muster up your courage. “You heard me. Or are you back out?”

His expression goes deliciously dark. “Oh, I’ll prove it, lass. You just sit right here and I’ll get us sorted.”

His fingers slip just that last little bit up and start teasing at the lace of your panties. You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to sip at your cocktail while he flags down the bartender. His nails scrape lightly across the fabric over your clit as gets your card and throws down enough cash to cover all three drinks.

When he pulls his hand away, you have to bite back a whimper.

“If you don’t get up right now, I’m haulin’ you out of here over my shoulder,” he growls in your ear.

You’re up in an instant, smoothing down your skirt. His hand stays glued to your lower back as he ushers you out to the lot. Sits you down in the passenger seat of a black pickup, barely waits for you to buckle yourself in before peeling out of the lot.

You’re about to tell him your address when you hear the clink of a belt, a zipper. Eyes wide as they drop to his pants, to him fishing a huge, hard cock out of jeans.

“C’mere,” he near snarls.

“Soap, that’s not— mph!”

The head of his cock catches on your teeth, but that only seems to spur him on, hips twitching.

“Gonna ruin that pretty makeup, your pretty hair. Gettin’ all dolled up like that for any fucking wanker to see.”

He twists his fingers in your hair and presses you down, your cheek rubbing against the shaft. He feels huge and unnaturally hot. You press your thighs together as you imagine how it’s going to feel inside of you.

“This isn’t safe,” you complain, mouth open as you gasp against the flushed skin.

He curses, tugs you up so that your lips press against the head, already dripping. Your eyes widen in the darkness, shocked and flattered that you’ve already worked him up this much.

“Not gonnae let anything happen,” he promises, “but you need to convince me not to spank this pretty ass black and blue.”

You squeal as he releases you hair just to deliver a harsh smack to one ass cheek, the sting making you clench up.

“H-hey!”

“You want me to slap that pretty pussy too? Bet I could make you cum just tapping that little clit over and over again. That what you want, slag?”

“N-no!”

“Then show me.”

You seal your mouth around the head, sucking and licking at the precum beading at the tip. Try to brace yourself, nearly gag as he hits a pothole and shoves into your throat. It’s noisy and messy, eyes watering from how thick and deep he is already, not letting you up for more than brief gasps of air.

“Fuck, that’s it baby. Work your tongue just like that…” he groans.

You lose track of everything but trying not to gag, his threat lingering with each obscene slurp and twist of your tongue. He tastes better than you expected, and the scent of him surrounds you. Musk and pine, something familiar that niggles at your cock-drunk brain. Can’t be bothered to work it out though, not when he’s tugging your hair. Not when he comes to an abrupt stop and you deepthroat him.

He yanks you off with a near-animal growl. You whine, scrambling to brace yourself and panting. Your head feels foggy. Know your panties are soaked through; shocked you’re not dripping down your leg. If you were sitting properly, you’d probably leave a wet mark on the seat.

You moan as his mouth crashes into yours, tongue sweeping inside like he owns it. He licks the taste of himself off your tongue, hands fumbling your seatbelt off, dragging you over the center console to straddle his lap.

You gasp at the sight of his rock hard, angry cock next to your pretty dress, pressed up against your stomach. Show just how deep he’ll be inside your guts.

“Fuck, look’it that,” he groans rutting against your stomach. “Oh you were made to be mine.”

You scream as he scoops you up, stepping out of the truck with you over his shoulder.

“Soap!” You shout. “Soap, put me down, my dog—”

“I’m your fuckin’ dog,” he replies.

“No, seriously, he’s protective—”

He grabs the spare out of its hiding place and shoves the door open. You brace for angry barking and growls, but hear nothing. Soap doesn’t even pause. He just kicks the door shut and storms down the hall to your room, like he knows exactly where he’s going.

He drops you onto the bed, watches your breasts bounce as you settle on the mattress. He strips off int he blink of any eyes while you’re still catching your breath.

“W-wait, wait, my—”

He flips you onto your stomach, hikes your ass up high in the air. You squirm, try to crawl away, but he slaps your ass so hard you see stars. He places his palm flat between your shoulder blades to bin you still.

“S-Soap,” you whine as he shoves your skirt up over your ass, palms a cheek. Spreads you open just to let the flesh jiggle back into place.

“Fuck,” he growls. It sounds off. Sounds deeper, rougher now.

“Just-just slow down…!”

He yanks your panties aside, plunges two thick fingers into you. You squeal, legs kicking uselessly against the mattress.

“Oh, you’re plenty ready,” he says, dark, almost to himself. “All ready to be mated and bred. All mine.”

That finally starts to break the lust-drunk haze. Open your mouth to tell him absolutely not, it’s been way to long and your need to be stretched—

He forces his entire cock into you with one brutal thrust. You scream, cry, try to flatten yourself against the bed but he won’t even let you do that, muttering about “presenting” properly. It hurts but it feels good, know that’s it’s just too much.

“Soap,” you sob, “y-you can’t— you have to… I’m-I’m gonna break.”

“Shhhh, no you’re not,” he soothes, grinding a bit deeper. Your eyes roll back, keening through your teeth. “You were made for me. You’re all for me.”

You shake your head, but he just chuckles.

“Yes, baby, yes. You let me in, you kept me. Now we belong to each other.”

“Soap, w-what are you talking about…?” you manage, fists tight in the sheets. He draws back once and slams into you, hard, mean.

Leans down so he’s rumbling directly in your ear.“‘S Johnny, hen.”

You blink, confused and overwhelmed. “W-what… n-no. No, Johnny is my….”

“Woof.”

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#cod #my writing #fanfiction #reader fic #dark fic #woof woof johnny #woof woof au

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streetlamp-amber · 5 months ago

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don’t leave

tommy shelby x fem!reader

word count: 4.2k | divider by @saradika | requests are open!

CW: domestic violence, typical peaky blinders violence, mentions of blood NOTES: takes place after season one. i might have gone a little ooc with tommy by the end #sorrynotsorry. i’m also thinking of making a part 2 to this. maybe. i don’t know.

“Oh, come on! I’m harmless!” You cried in defence as you watched two men tie your wrists then your ankles to the chair you were shoved in.

The last man of the trio observed you, taking a drag from his cigarette before throwing it on the floor. “You shot me. Twice.” He said, monotonously.

His piercing blue eyes were staring right at you and you felt your breath hitch in your throat at their intensity. You quickly recollected yourself, hoping he hadn’t noticed the little slip up in your facade.

He had.

“It was an honest mistake,” you shrugged your shoulders. “I thought you were someone else. Everyone knows not to shoot at Tommy Shelby.”

The two men who were occupied with tying you down stepped out of the room once they were done, leaving you alone with the most notorious gangster in Birmingham. You didn't really know where you were, probably one of the Peaky Blinders’ warehouses if you had to bet on it, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t a little scared. But, nothing could be worse than being with the man you were hiding from, so you found some solace in that thought.

“And who did you think I was?” Tommy asked you.

“No one important,” you brushed off, turning your head to the left to avoid his stare. Your eyes took in your surroundings, there wasn’t a lot of furniture here you noticed. Par for the chair you were tied to, there was what looked like a desk with another chair in the left corner. No machinery, no crates. The rest of the warehouse was completely empty.

“Eh!” Tommy called for your attention, snapping his fingers in your face. “You shot me twice, I think I deserve to know who you thought I was.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at him. “I didn’t shoot you twice, I shot at you twice. There’s a difference, I didn’t even hit you.”

“Small detail,” Tommy said. “Answer the fucking question.” His patience was beginning to wear thin, very thin.

You gulped. What was the point of avoiding the question? “My fiancé,” you finally answered.

“Your fiancé?” He repeated, trying to keep the confusion out of his tone. “Why would you shoot at your fiancé?”

“Because he’s a vile man that I don’t even want to marry,” you told him. If your wrists weren’t tied to the chair, you would’ve crossed your arms in front of your chest. “Can you untie me now? You know I’m not a threat to you.”

“Does he hit you? Is that why you’re running from him?” Tommy asked, ignoring your request.

“Amongst other things,” you mumbled, head hanging low so you could avoid his stare by keeping your eyes on your lap.

“’Amongst other things’,” he repeated your words to himself. “What does that mean? Is he a threat for the people of Small Heath?” He didn't want some low life fuck to come mess up the order of things on his territory.

“Probably, I don’t know,” you admitted, scrunching your eyes closed before looking back up at Tommy. His face was much closer now, maybe five inches separated the tips of your noses as he crouched down with his hands on his knees to be at a closer level to you. “All I know is my brother was in debt to the Billy Boys and promised my hand in marriage to one of those fucks to pay off part of his due.”

“The Billy Boys? Aren’t you a little down south of their territory?”

“Thought I’d be able to hide from them here,” you said. “Until last week, when I saw one of them trying to follow me at the market.”

“And that’s why, two days ago, you shot at me,” Tommy put the pieces of your story together.

“I’m so sorry Mr. Shelby, I was just so scared,” your voice started to wobble with emotion, your tough, indifferent persona out of the window. “Them Billy Boys, they’re the spawn of the Devil himself. They’re gonna kill me after they catch me.”

Through your blurry vision, you saw Tommy rise up and sigh as he rubbed the bridge of his nose between his eyes.

“Alright, we can help you,” he finally said after a few minutes.

You felt the tears roll down your cheek, whether they were tears of exhaustion or fear or relief, you didn’t know. “Thank you Mr. Shelby.”

“But it won’t be for free,” he pointed his index finger at you. “You know how to use a gun?”

You hurriedly nodded your head. “Yes, yes I do. I usually don’t miss my shots, I was just afraid when I shot at you.”

“Well thank God you were, eh?” It could’ve been a joke attempt if his tone wasn’t so serious. “It’ll be useful to have a woman to work undercover when needed. And you will tell us everything there is to know about the Billy Boys and your fiancé so we can know who to look out for.”

“Yes Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy crouched down to cut loose the bonds around your wrists and ankles. “My brother John will accompany you to your lodgings so you can fetch your stuff, it’s not safe for you to stay there if they’ve been following you around. You’ll stay with me on Watery Lane, Ada’s room has been vacant ever since she got married.”

“Thank you Mr. Shelby,” you grabbed his hand as you thanked him and Tommy stopped moving, blue eyes staring at the grasp you had on him. You noticed his unease and just as you were about to release his hand, you felt him briefly squeeze your fingers before letting go.

“Come now, I’ve got business to attend to,” he beckoned for you to follow him and it took you a second to come out of your stupor due to everything that has happened in the last fifteen minutes before you rose up from the chair and walked a little behind him, out of the warehouse.

It had been a month since that day in the warehouse. You hadn’t seen your fiancé or any of the Billy Boys since then, but you also rarely went out of the Shelby house (other than to go to the Garrison). And on the rare occasions you did, two Blinders were following close behind you to make sure nothing happened to you. You still felt greatly in debt to Tommy for taking you under the Peaky Blinders’ protection, so instead of doing nothing while you waited for any “undercover mission”, you helped down at the betting den. You liked how lively it was there, you had never worked in a place like that before and the constant rush helped you take your mind off your worrying situation. You hadn’t seen any of the Billy Boys but that didn’t mean they had left town, you knew they wouldn’t back down until they have what they came for: you.

Working in the den for the last month has helped you make your place in the gang. You spent a lot of your days alongside John Shelby and Scudboat, and they would drag you with them to the Garrison where you played drinking games and got drunk like you used to do when you were younger. You now considered the Shelby family your friends. Arthur and John were like the brothers you wished you had, Polly was a nice woman to have around in this environment full of men, and Finn, sweet Finn, his childish innocence might be fading away as time went by, but playing with him was like a breath of fresh air in your stressful life.

Tommy… Well, Tommy was Tommy. He was hard to read, hard to open up, but he was slowly starting to warm up to you. It was a bit awkward at first, living with him, but one night a little after you moved in, the two of you shared a bottle of whiskey in the kitchen, barely speaking any words but both comfortable with the silence. It soon became a part of your daily routine. Some evenings were short, Tommy would only stay for one glass before retreating to bed, while other evenings, when he was in a better mood, you would go through an entire bottle and talk for what seemed like hours. You did most of the talking, but Tommy would share some of his thoughts, maybe even some anecdotes. You loved the stories of his childhood, about all the mischief he, Arthur and John would put the people of Small Heath through. And Tommy, he loved listening to you.

You liked the life you were building for yourself in Birmingham, amongst the Peaky Blinders. You never thought you would one day leave your small village up north, where life was dull and horrible with your brother. Your mother died while giving birth to you and both your father and your brother resented you for that. Your childhood was pretty rough, it wasn’t rare that you’d show up to school with bruises, it didn’t matter who they were from. Then your brother went up north to Glasgow, and for a while it was a blessing, to no longer have to worry about what he would do to you. But three months ago, he came back and with him was Brennan. They dragged you up to Glasgow for your wedding to this man you had never met before, you who had no say in this decision, and were forced to live with him. You couldn’t continue living like this, Brennan had you fearing for your life more than when you lived with your dad and brother. You didn’t stay for more than two weeks in Glasgow before you escaped in the middle of the night and ended up here, in Birmingham.

So to now find yourself, miles away from the nightmare that used to be your life, with the safety of the Peaky Blinders, it allowed you to imagine a future that wasn’t so miserable.

You were walking down to the Garrison once the betting den was closed, talking with Scudboat about the profits you had made that day while Billy Lovelock followed behind the two of you. You were deep in Peaky Blinders territory, less than five metres away from the entrance door to the pub, when a gun shot rang out.

You ducked in fear, hands covering your ears, and when you reopened your eyes that you didn’t know you had closed, you saw Billy laying on the ground out of the corner of your eye.

Oh no, you thought, this is it. They’ve found me.

“Come on! Come on!” Scudboat grabbed your elbow and dragged you towards the Garrison, but you hadn’t made more than three steps before your friend was shot in the leg, crumbling down. “Go inside!” He told you. “You’ll be safer!”

A part of you felt bad for leaving him and Billy out here, wounded and bleeding, but you knew the rest of the Peaky Blinders would be quick to come help them. You started running, which was a bit hard to do with the heels of your shoes sinking in the muddy, uneven ground with every step you took. Your fingers were inches from the door handle when you felt a strong grip on your shoulder pull you back and slam you hard against the wall, knocking your head against it in the process.

“Ya thought ya could run away from me? Eh, lass?” Your fiancé’s stinky breath wafted against your face. You scrunched up your nose in disgust.

“I don’t know, you didn’t find me for a while,” you sassily replied, pressing his buttons, and immediately regretted it. A sharp sting appeared on your left cheek before it registered that he had slapped you.

“Heard ye fucked Thomas Shelby for his protection,” he continued, resting his right forearm over your throat with a slight pressure. “I oughta cut his dick for that,” his left hand held your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, “and you, well, you’re in for a lot more than a beating once we’re out of ‘ere.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you Brennan,” you angrily spat through gritted teeth. “You’re in Peaky Blinders territory, they won’t let you get out of here with me. And I didn’t fuck Tommy Shelby, I didn’t need to fuck no one for protection.”

“What did I tell you about lying?” He screamed in your face, making you flinch.

With your eyes closed, you didn’t see Brennan reeling back his fist to punch you in the face but fortunately, the contact never came.

“HEY!” Scudboat yelled from where he was on the ground, gripping his wound to contain the bleeding. “Get your hands off of her you fuck!”

Brennan turned around to look at who was shouting orders at him. “And who the fuck are ya?!” He let go of you and stalked towards Scudboat, pulling his gun out of his coat.

You had an out. Your fiancé’s attention wasn’t on you. You could escape, find safety in the Garrison, but you knew how Brennan was. You couldn’t leave Scudboat alone, the man had become your friend over the last month and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself knowing he had died because of you.

So you grabbed a shovel laying on the ground a few metres away and right as Brennan pointed his gun at Scudboat, you whacked him behind the head with your weapon, knocking him out right away. “Motherfucker,” you grumbled to the unconscious body and threw the shovel on the ground before kneeling next to Scudboat. “Are you alright?” You asked your friend, your hands hovering over his thigh where his blood kept oozing from the bullet hole.

“I’m fine Y/N, get inside,” Scudboat waved you off.

“What about Billy?” You glanced up to where the strong built man still laid on the ground, also unconscious.

“Don't worry about him, just get inside!” Scudboat shoved you away.

You did as you were told and sprinted to the Garrison. You pushed the door open only to be met with an empty pub. Your wide eyes roamed around the room. This isn't normal, you thought to yourself. There wasn't even a bartender behind the bar! Usually, around this time of the day, almost every seat should've been occupied, beers should’ve been poured, laughter should’ve been heard. But nothing.

You walked towards the snug, where Tommy and his brothers could usually be found, but instead Jimmy McCavern, Callum Maxwell, Kenneth Morrow and Angus Burns were occupying the room, all four of them staring at you with that look in their eyes that made you want to run away as far from them as possible.

“Y/N, so nice of ye to join us,” Jimmy said, his voice sending chills down your back. He looked comfortable in his chair, with his arms crossed over his chest, almost relaxed, but you didn’t let your guard down.

“Where–”

“Where are the Peaky Blinders, ye ask?” He interrupted you. “They’re a wee bit busy right now, I’m afraid it’s only us.”

“Take a seat, darling, go on,” Angus told you, motioning to the empty chair in front of you.

You did as he said, your hands wringing together in your lap. You knew not to become all witty and sarcastic with these men, obeying them was always the best thing to do.

“So, hope ye had yer fun down here with Thomas Shelby,” Jimmy continued, uncrossing his arms to instead rest them in front of him on the table as he leaned closer to you, “because yer days of fun are over. You're coming back to Glasgow with us, married to Brennan like yer brother arranged.”

It was at this moment that you realised you couldn't escape the Billy Boys. You had been so foolish to think you could leave them in the past, that you started imagining a future without Brennan. The Peaky Blinders could not protect you, you had been foolish to think otherwise.

But still, you weren’t going to lose without putting up a fight.

“No,” you shook your head. “I’m not marrying Brennan.”

“Ye don’t have a choice lass, yer brother promised yer hand,” Callum said.

“Don’t I get a say in this?” You asked angrily, tears pooling in your eyes. “This is not my debt, it’s his! You can kill him for all I care, he never cared about me so why should I care about him!?”

“A deal was made, ye can’t back out of a deal with the Billy Boys,” Kenneth said, his eyes telling you to stop arguing.

“No!” You slammed your hands on the table and stood up. “I’m not going. I’m not marrying Brennan. I refuse. This isn’t my deal!”

“Don't make this worse for ye, lass,” Angus warned you, also standing up.

“Fuck you!” You spat and took off in a run, escaping through the back door of the Garrison.

You knew the four men were on your tail, you could hear their heavy footsteps behind you. You tried to remember the directions Tommy had given you to Jeremiah Jesus’ church as you sprinted down the dirty streets and alleys. He had told you to hide there if you ever needed to, and since Jeremiah didn’t partake in the Peaky Blinders’ activities, the chances he would be there were quite high and, honestly, your last hope to survive.

Gunshots started ringing against the brick walls, luckily for you all the bullets flew past you since none of the four men were able to perfectly aim while running. You turned left at a corner and Jeremiah’s church was finally in your vision field, less than a few blocks down. Jimmy and the others still had yet to turn the corner of the street, so you took this advantage to go down a small alley, knowing it would lead to the back door of the church.

You stumbled in the place of worship, out of breath, and Jeremiah came out from the back office to see what the commotion you had created was about.

“Y/N, are you alright dear?” He asked you, helping you walk inside while your left hand clutched at your chest.

You shook your head ‘no’. “The Billy… The Billy Boys… They found me,” you wheezed out.

Jeremiah’s eyes widened at the urgency of the situation. “Come with me, there’s a trap where you can hide in my office.”

The priest led you to the back, closing his office door behind him before moving the rug behind his desk, revealing a trapdoor. He unlocked the latch and lifted the door. “Hurry, get in,” he waved with his free hand.

You lowered yourself in the hole, sitting down in the small space, and looked back up at Jeremiah.

“Do you have a gun on you?” He asked you.

You shook your head ‘no’. “I was with Scudboat and Billy Lovelock, we were on our way to the Garrison. There was no need for one,” you answered.

Jeremiah motioned for you to hold the door open over your head while he rummaged around his office. “Tommy always keeps a gun in here just in case,” he explained to you as he continued his search. “You can never know when it’ll come in handy around here– Ah! There it is!”

He crouched down and handed you a pistol. “I’ll try to keep them out if they come around. Stay safe.”

You nervously gulped before nodding your head. “You too, Jeremiah.”

The priest smiled, an attempt to make you feel slightly better in the situation you were in, and closed the door above you. You heard him lock the latch and replace the rug above the trap.

You remained there for what felt like an eternity, the only sounds you could hear were your nervous, laboured breaths and the gun slightly shaking in your hands. You were about to start praying – you never really believed in God after everything you had been through, but what better place to turn to Him than in a church – when you heard the door to the office open, followed by the sound of feet walking on the floor. Scared, you held your breath and willed your hands to stop shaking as you got in position, gun pointed up and ready to shoot.

The rug was moved and the latch was unlocked. You could feel the beating of your heart grow faster and faster as the seconds went by. The door was pulled open and, upon seeing the gun pointed at him, Tommy raised one hand up while the other lowered the door on the floor.

“Woah!” He exclaimed, raising his other hand up, showing you that he was no threat. “Relax, Y/N. It’s just me.”

When your brain registered that the face in front of you was the one of Thomas Shelby, you let down your arms and sighed in relief.

“Oh Tommy!” You cried out. You dropped the gun on the ground while you stood up and wrapped your arms around Tommy’s neck, bringing him in an unexpected hug.

Tommy was surprised at first, but Scudboat had told him what happened outside of the Garrison and he had received a phone call from Johnny Dogs informing him that Jimmy McCavern and his goons were in town, so he held you against him, trying to comfort you as best he could.

“You're safe now,” he reassured you, his right hand scrunching your hair as it held your head. “They’re gone now, Jimmy’s gone, Brennan’s gone.”

You pulled away, your eyes red with tears. “What did you do to them?”

“I was able to strike a deal that they simply couldn’t refuse,” Tommy answered, his right hand now cupping your cheek. “They won’t bother you again Y/N, not ever.”

Overcome with a wave of strong emotions, you shocked both Tommy and yourself when you leaned forward and kissed him. It didn’t last more than a second for you pulled back right after, bringing your hands in front of your mouth as you gasped. “I’m so sorry Tommy, I don’t know what–”

“It’s alright,” Tommy interrupted you, shaking his head. “Let’s get you out of there, yeah?”

You nodded your head, still embarrassed of your actions, and picked up the gun before grabbing the hand Tommy held out for you. He helped you out of the trap and closed the door behind you while you stood up and put the gun on Jeremiah’s desk. When you turned around to face Tommy again, you found him mere inches away from you. Your breath hitched in your throat, you had never been this close to him before, except when you first met, when he interrogated you while you were tied up to a chair. You looked up at him, his unreadable icy blue eyes staring right back at you, and he was the one to surprise you by closing the distance between the two of you, his lips finding yours again.

Your eyes fluttered close by themselves as you lost yourself in the kiss, your hands finding their place at the base of his neck while his right hand cupped your cheek and his left one held you flush against him by the waist. It was no secret that Thomas Shelby was pretty to look at, but you never really thought about him in a romantic way before. That being said, there was no bone in your body opposed to kissing him. Actually, it even started up a fire inside you, one that you were too preoccupied to acknowledge right now.

Tommy broke the kiss and rested his forehead against yours as you both took some deep breaths. “I’m glad you’re safe,” he said with his deep, low voice. “I’m glad they didn’t take you away from me.”

He never told anyone because he wouldn’t even let himself admit it, but Tommy had grown comfortable with your presence in the house. After what Grace did to him, he promised himself he would only focus on the business and his family, but his attachment for you came rather unexpectedly, just like your entrance in his life did. Still, he didn’t want to act on it, whether it was because of fear or because of disinterest in wanting some romantic relationship, he didn’t want to ponder on it too long. But after what happened today, when he heard your fiancé and Jimmy McCavern would try taking you back to Glasgow, he realised he would regret it for the rest of his life if you were gone without him having the chance to pursue anything.

You looked up at him, brushing his nose with yours as you moved your head. “Me too,” you whispered. “Thank you Tommy, for everything.”

“Don’t thank me,” he said, brushing your hair with his hand that previously held your waist. “Just, just stay with me. Don’t leave.”

The vulnerability in his voice made you smile, he had never been so open with you before. “I didn’t plan on leaving anyway,” you answered and kissed him again, safe in his arms.

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spaceydoo · 5 months ago

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Hello! Good day I don't know if your requests are open but if it isn't you can just ignore this :)

Could you please do hxh adult trio + feitan smut reacting to reader when they suddenly see reader wearing this when they got home tired from whatever they were doing?

https://vt.tiktok.com/ZSLa18xdn/

I don't have a specific type of fanfic in mind so you can just do whatever you're most comfortable with! Thank youuu I hope you have a nice day! <3 (if the characters are too much you can just do chrollo and feitan if you like :))

pairings: hisoka morow, illumi zoldyck, chrollo lucifer,

cw: oral sex, doggy style, degradation, sending noods, masturbation, mating press, overstimulation, squirting, lingerie, teasing, cum swallowing, whimpering

a/n: sorry for the LONG wait i’ve been going through a lot. (the tiktok link dosent work anymore sadly + i added some fanon illumi). i couldn’t do the feitan one but hopefully you like these :)

♡ Chrollo Lucifer

you were at home scrolling through your instagram feed bored out of your mind. your fiancé was at work while you took the day off which you later regret as your bordem got worse. you then got the idea to mess with your fiancé a little just to see how he’d react. you got dressed in your silk black lingerie, put on makeup that he loves seeing you with, and did your hair nicely.

you were ready to fulfill your plan. you took a picture in front of your full body mirror exposing your breasts through the lingerie. you did a seductive pose and a kissy face at the camera. you looked at the picture just to check if everything was looking good then you hit send. once you saw that the word “delivered” was under your picture you began pacing around the room. this could either go extremely good or extremely bad since this was something new you were trying.

10 minutes had passed and you were met with 6 messages. some of the messages were like “baby i’m at work.” “you look divine my love but now is not the time” “baby you got me hard at work.” “i’m coming home early in about 10 minutes to deal with you.”

after reading the messages, you were oh so needy that you were clenching over nothing, imagining him inside of you. you were snapped back into present time when you heard a car parking in your garage from your upstairs window. it was your beloved fiancé.

you walked down the stairs, taking your time as you waited for him to enter. he swiftly unlocked the door to meet you standing just a couple inches away from the door. “distracting me and getting me hard at work huh?” he said throwing his briefcase on the floor and immediately latching onto you.

he grabbed your ass, your breasts, your hips, anywhere that he could get his hands on. your tongues were both fighting for dominance and it was clear he was winning. he pulled back from the heated kiss wrapping a hand around your throat, with a light amount of pressure.

“take your pretty fucking face upstairs to our room, i’ll only be a minute.” you nodded and made your way upstairs feeling his gaze with each step you took.

he was upstairs in just about 20 seconds fully naked and in those few seconds he already had you pinned on the bed by your arms. “on your knees, now.” you did as you were told, arching your back so you would be able to feel the extremities of his dick. one swift snap of his hips was all it took to get you dick whipped, your head already in the clouds. “already dazed from my dick? you wanted this so your gonna take it. understand?” before you could even answer he gripped your hips even firmer than before and pounded into you relentlessly. he pushed your lower back into an even deeper arch, his dick plunging in and out of your sopping cunt.

he then releases his grip from one of your sides and reaches under to make contact with your pussy. he rubbed circles on your clit, his pace never faltering. you were gripping the sheets for dear life, your eyes rolling back from the added pleasure. your jaw was slightly agape as you uttered out muffled moans. “fuckk! i’m s-sorry. i won’t do that again!” you cried out hoping he would slow down his pace. but that just made him want to fuck you harder.

“i’m not done with you yet. take it like a good girl for me.” with those words you were driven to your climax. your legs were shaking uncontrollably as you came on his dick. you tried running from his dick as you were overwhelmed but that was stopped immediately. “where are you going pretty girl? i told you i’m not finished with you yet.”

♡ Illumi Zoldyck

it was illumi’s birthday and instead of spending the day with his girlfriend, he was stuck at work for most of the day. he was supposed to be coming home late at night so you decided to surprise him by going to buy a silk lingerie set and decorate the place with rose petals and candles to set the mood. everything was ready, you just had to wait for the birthday boy.

you finally hear the door open after waiting for ages. you sat up on the bed waiting for him to see his surprise. he walked upstairs, following the trail of petals that lead to the bedroom. he was met with you, legs crossed and biting your lower lip in anticipation. you got up and walked up to him as he was still in the doorway. he was surprised to say the least. “happy birthday my love” you said as you walked up and gave him a kiss. he immediately kissed back. “you didn’t have to do all this my love” he said as he pulled away to look at you. he didn’t like causing trouble for others at all and would rather suffer instead of complain. “but i still did because i love you. and it’s your birthday, you should live a little.” you said as you chuckled.

he gave such a warm smile that melted your heart instantly. “and look, i got all dressed up just for you.” you stepped back a little so he could get a good look, he was instantly transfixed by you. you grabbed his slender, veiny arms and led him to the bed. you gave him a couple more kisses on his face when you tied up your hair and got on your knees in front of his legs.

you took off his pants and underwear revealing his dick which was practically covered with veins. precum was already leaking from his flushed tip when you gave it a teasing lick making him jolt up a little. you used your spit as lube as you began moving your hands up and down his cock while you sucked on his tip. “shit..” he mumbled under his breath.

“you’re so handsome, you know that?” you said with loving eyes as he looked down to you. you then removed your hands and began using your mouth instead. bobbing your head up and down sending him into pure bliss. your eyes never once left his as you used one of your hands to massage his balls. “fuckkk..” he continuously said as his hand covered his mouth trying to mask his moans. you were making it so hard for him to hide his moans and whimpers it was too cute ):“cmon baby it’s your birthday you can be as loud as you want.”

you said as you swallowed his dick whole earning you many whimpers. “hah, mm~ this feels amazing” you were so wet hearing his moans. you swirled your tongue on his tip when he began bucking his hips into your mouth signaling he was about to come. he grabbed your head with one hand while the other was covering his mouth, which did a lousy job at muffling his moans. he forced his whole length down your throat, releasing his seed in your mouth. his whimpers gradually got louder. “y-yeah, just like t-that ohh mm~ fuuck” after he was sucked dry of all his cum, you swallowed all of it and made sure he watched. “what should we do next birthday boy?”

♡ Hisoka Morow

hisoka is a such a needy person especially when it comes to you. it didn’t help that his job made him work extra hours meaning he would be gone from you for way longer. he couldn’t stand it, you couldn’t stand it, it was terrible. that’s when he had the idea to leave work early and surprise you. when he got home from work, he expected you to be on the couch watching a show which is what you always did but you weren’t there. he called out for you. no answer. he made his way upstairs to your shared bedroom. his eyes were wide open at the scene displayed in front of him.

you had on a silk black lingerie that hisoka got for you that fit your figure perfectly. you had dropped the sleeves of the lingerie exposing your breast, one hand massaging your breast while the other was knuckles deep inside your cunt, curled up to try and hit the spots no one but hisoka could reach. your eyebrows were furrowed as you were frustrated trying to ressemble his fingers. adding three fingers to reach climax which was proven difficult as you were too accustomed to hisokas fingers. you moaned out his name feeling your orgasm coming close, your eyes shut as you were trying to focus on cumming, but was interrupted by a familiar voice. “missed me this much huh darling?”

your fingers immediately left your cunt as you felt a rush of embarrassement and shock. “shit i-i- didn’t expect you to come home this early, i’m sorry.” you said pulling the blanket to cover your body.

“don’t apologize sweetheart, i’ve been missing you so much as well these past days, we haven’t had anytime alone in ages. well now that i’m here, how about i help you out there? your face looked so cute trying to cum without me~” he began to undress, revealing his slim but lengthy cock. his slim figure hovered over you bringing your legs to your chest and pinning them so you couldn’t escape from him.

“you look so beautiful in this outfit my love~” he whispered in your ear, aligning his dick to your pussy. you were caught off guard when he shoved his whole dick in you. he was so deep in this position, you thought you were going to cum instantly. you let out a throaty moan which hisoka concealed with a soft kiss as he pounded into you sloppily as he was exhausted from work but so deep. “hisoka, y-you’re going s- so deep,” you moaned out, eyes rolled back, mouth slightly open.

“i know darling i just want to make you feel good.” he said. the more he fucked you, the more you started coming undone and he could tell by every squirm you did, every back arch, every “it’s too much” and every moan that left your throat. “hisoka ‘m gonna come!” you said as tears began to fall from the intense feeling.

“go on princess, make a mess.” he said, his eyes never leaving yours. after a couple more thrusts you squirted on his lower abdomen, coating him and the bed sheets. your whole body was shaking from the intensity. he started rubbing circles on your clit making you terribly sensitive. “you’re so adorable y/n~” you started seeing stars, it was too much for you to handle. “you think you can cum again darling?”

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ryrywrites · 6 months ago

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Drunken Schoolboy - Anthony Bridgerton

divider creds: @cafekitsune @saradika-graphics

Pair: Viscount Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Description: Attending a ball hosted by Lady Danbury, the newly-engaged Lady Y/N Roman and Viscount Anthony Bridgerton become separated by the ton. When the watchful eye of high society becomes too much for Y/N, she retreats into the library where she's met with her very drunk fiancé.

Warnings: Anthony coming onto the reader drunk, nothing but fluff here 🫶🏻

WC: 2.6k

A/N: Work has been tearing me up and I needed some Bridgerton fluff. This one is little short but I'm working on some longer stuff for you guys. This was just a cute lil idea 🥰 Enjoy!

Update: As I was writing this, Tumblr said fuck you to my hard work and deleted literally everything so...I want to die. Okay, enjoy 😃

anthony bridgerton masterlist × main masterlist

Y/N crept down the silent hallway and made her way into the dusty room, scanning her surroundings to make sure no one had spotted her. The dull hum of chattering society and soft music could still be heard from the ballroom as she walked through to shelves of books. Y/N was practically raised among these books and found that her favorite hiding place in Danbury House was this library. Although she appreciated Lady Danbury's hospitality and the amount of work she put into these seasonal balls, Y/N never found them enjoyable. She was always to leave a ball early if she could get away with it, or simply avoid the event all together. But this was her and the Viscount's first appearance out in society as an engaged couple so attendance was necessary, at least, according to her mother. As soon as they arrived, the couple was torn apart by the droves of squawking ladies and a trio of rakish bachelors, who had dragged her dear fiancé away to God knows where. Y/N was almost immediately bombarded with questions and suspicions from the nosy mamas and jealous debutantes who all were wondering why Viscount Bridgerton would choose her over any of them. They poked and prodded, trying to determine what made her so special that she had won the Mr. Bridgerton's favor.

Truly, she herself still had trouble grasping the engagement. I suppose the only true answer to their intrusive questions was that the pair had fallen in love. Over the course of the season, they had a long feud and competitiveness that kept them constantly on their toes around the other. They could not deny their longing for the other and one night, Anthony confessed his true intentions and begged her to release him from this torment and marry him. Of course, she accepted and confessed her own feelings to the man. What the two had found in each other, they had never been able to find in anyone else. A shared understanding of loss, a similar sense of wit and humor, and a love so vast, it truly did conquer all. But tonight, the prying eyes of society had brought her to exhaustion. Her social battery was drained by the time those mothers had come to the conclusion that nothing scandalous had taken place to force the pair into marriage. Once they had nothing to gossip about, Y/N and Anthony became yesterday's news and she was pushed back to the wall, where she stood and watched the many lovely couples dancing and conversing, wondering where her beloved had been swept away to.

She had finally had her fill of tea cakes and awkward isolation. Now, here she stands, scanning the shelves for any book that may occupy her time. Just as Y/N had pulled a book from the shelf, she heard a loud bang against the wall in the library. She was immediately startled and jumped in place, dropping the book with a thump. She turned around to see what had made such a fuss and there stood her promised, a tall sturdy man with tousled brown locks and a royal blue suit coat. Anthony was leaning up against the wall, disturbed, until he spotted his fianceé, holding her chest for dear life. His face quickly lifted in drunken glee and he trudged over to her, she relaxed once she realized who he was. "My dear, what-" Anthony cut her off by wrapping his arms around her and lifting her off the ground, spinning her in a large circle. "My darling, I have found you at last!" He spoke very openly and outlandishly, not caring about his volume. The startled woman let out a yelp of surprise as he twirled her around. She placed her hands on his shoulders, attempting to ground herself. "Anthony, you must be quiet!" Y/N whispered and hoped nobody had heard his inebriated outburst of affection.

He smiled cheerfully and obediently hushed his tone, placing her on her feet once more. Y/N was taken back by the man's forward and adoring gaze upon her. Anthony was many things. He was stubborn, competitive, and very subtle with his love in public. The most physical contact that had ever shared was a kiss and an intimate embrace, nothing further. Now, Y/N feared their discovery in such a secluded and dark place with his hands so carelessly roaming her torso. "Dearest, please, what has come over you?" She quickly halted his hands and gently removed them from her corseted waist. She examined him suspiciously and realized the man before her was absolutely sloshed. She placed a hand to her mouth, stifling a laugh. "I have been searching far and wide for you! And now you are here! I am so happy to see you." He slurred excitedly, his heart was filled with overwhelming joy at the sight of his beautiful bride-to-be. Y/N snorted and rolled her eyes at his eagerness. She held his hands and guided him slowly to a chair. "Yes, and I am happy you found me." As she slowly seated him in his chair and he laid out lazily and smiled up at her, weary and obviously tired. She knelt before him, lowered herself down to meet his eyeline.

"Anthony, how many drinks have you had this evening?" His head bobbed along with every word she spoke, he watched her lips intently with droopy eyes. His face turned slightly pensive as he thought and then held up five fingers. Y/N eyes widened in disbelief. Those damn hooligans, Anthony's condition was surely their doing. I felt irritation rise within me as Anthony's eyes drooped closed. I lifted myself up and sighed exasperatedly, walking around him and stroking his cheek. "I believe it is time we take our leave, my love." He hummed in reply, loving the feeling of her fingers rubbing his cheekbone. "Please, stay here. I shall return in just a moment." She whispered softly, kissing the top of his head and making her way out of the library, in search of either Colin or Benedict. They had most likely seen their brother in this state before, they would were the only ones who could help her discreetly take Anthony home. Y/N carefully reentered the ballroom, her eyes darting the room for any signs of a Bridgerton. She came face to face with Benedict Bridgerton, just the man she was looking for. "Y/N! How are you this even-" She quickly ignored the pleasantries and carefully pulled him by the arm to the library.

Benedict was very confused, almost concerned by her hurried strides, until they reached the library and he spotted his smashed brother, his legs spread in a splayed position and his head bobbling along to the tune playing in the ballroom. Benedict let out a boisterous chuckle at his incapacitated brother. "Good God. What on Earth happened to him?" He wondered. Y/N shook her head in similar confusion. "I hate to be a bother but I can't exactly...hold him up on my own." He nodded understandingly and moved across the room to where his older brother laid. "Come on, you knob. Let's get you up." Anthony didn't appreciate his brother's insult but lifted himself up with Ben's extended arm. He stumbled for a moment but steadied himself. "I'll alert the valet that we shall be leaving." She turned on her heels and Ben quickly followed after, with Anthony's arm over his shoulder. Anthony was beginning to sober up and groan slightly under his breath. Y/N maneuvered the two men through the crowd of socialites and they finally made their exit. She swiftly notified the valet. Their carriage was pulled around with a couple of whines from the horse and Anthony.

I opened the door for Ben to shove his brother gently into the carriage, he tumbled within the small coach and, at last, found his seat. "Thank you, Ben." Y/N whispered softly, not wanting to draw attention to the scene. He bowed before her with a sly smirk. "He will never live this down." He stated very well pleased, turning around to head back into the ball. As Y/N settled into the carriage, finally able to sit comfortably in her dress, she noticed Anthony beginning to rub his head. "My darling?" She stated curiously. He was suddenly feeling very sober and extremely sick. "Where are we going?" He inquired, his voice strained from the very clear ache in his head. "Home, my love." She placed a warm hand on his knee from across the carriage. He let out a heavy sigh, getting him inside was going to be a difficult feat. As the carriage slowly came to a stop, a footman opened the ornate door and helped the two out of the carriage. Y/N had always appreciated the staff's understanding and compassion towards the Bridgerton family. Anthony could not stand on his own for very long so Y/N placed her arm around the man's waist and threw his arm over her shoulder. She was watching very intently while Ben was carrying Anthony, knowing she would likely have to follow his actions.

He was a hefty man, heavy and large in frame. Every step up the front stairs felt like a mile, even with the footman's help. She was determined to get him inside, even if her face was turning a flushed red from the exercise. Once they reached the door, after what felt like centuries, the footman opened the door for the two of them and took his leave once Y/N dismissed and thanked him for his help. He would certainly be receiving a hefty tip from her in the morning. Anthony was beginning the sober up and hold his weight a bit as the two scuffled to Anthony's bedroom. She had not yet seen his room, it was seen as impropriety to be alone with him in his quarters but she was sure no one would mind, in this particular situation. He laid out on his back, peacefully for a moment and so quietly, she could've sworn he had fallen asleep immediately. Until his body shot up very suddenly, making her jump in surprise. "My word!" This was the third time he had flustered her tonight and she was beginning to become agitated in a very humorous way. "I believe I'm going to be sick." He said very woozily, looking as though he was going to vomit on the floor. Y/N's eyes widened in fear and quickly lifted her dress and made a dash to the kitchen.

She found a bucket and, tripping over herself, ran back to the bedroom, the sound of her heels clicking rapidly against the linoleum floor. She thrusted the bucket into the man's hands and stood back, preparing for impact. He leaned over the bucket for a moment, becoming visibly pale and sweaty. He was still, very still while her body was fully tensed. He shook his head and laid moved the bucket to the floor, placing his elbows on his knees and shaking his head droopily. "My God. What happened? And why?" He moaned annoyed at the feeling that trembled in his stomach and the bile that was beginning to travel to his throat. She cautiously sat beside him on his plush bed and rubbed his back, trying her best to ease his discomfort. "Remind me not to let you leave my side at the next ball." Y/N smiled relieved that he was coherent once again. "No more balls." Anthony groaned. He laid back, whining bitterly. Y/N could not help but chuckle at the man that laid beside her, what a dunce. She absolutely adored him and she could not help but wonder what would make him drink so recklessly. He peaked an eye at the woman, hearing her titter and arching a brow at her. "You laugh at my suffering?" He asked, feigning offense and placing to his heart in shock.

"You are a dramatic jolly man." She continued to smile down at him, attempting to wipe the beads of sweat growing at his brow. He looked up at her with admiration in his eyes. This woman was truly perfect. How could he have been so callous for so long? Better yet, why had she held out through his cruel behavior? Truthfully, Y/N could not find a rational reason why she chose to stick by his side. She considered the idea that she was a fool and lost all rational thought the moment she met Anthony. That is how she justified her stupidity, her inability to avoid the eldest Bridgerton son. "And you..." He leaned up on his elbows, practically man-spreading before her in his navy blue trousers, white-collared button-up dress shirt, and matching navy vest with gold detailing the chest. He wrapped his arms, slowly, around her waist and wiggled around to crawl closer to Y/N until his head nestled comfortably into her skirted lap. "Are a goddess." He mumbled, his words buried deep in her dress. He hugged her waist possessively, inhaling her scent of french lilacs and gooseberries. She looked down at the pretty man and savored this touch, placing a delicate finger to his cheekbone and tracing it to his slightly disheveled hair.

The light crow's feet at the corners of his eyes stretched as he smiled softly, his eyes fluttered close. As she cradled his head in her lap, she wished they weren't separated by her heavy petticoats. She craved closeness and her discomfort in such tight yet puffy clothes was evident with every shift of her hips. Anthony knew tonight had been less than ideal for his future bride, having to coddle and care for him. Anthony allowed his eyes to open wearily and he offered her a half smile which she returned wholeheartedly. Although this was not how she anticipated ending the evening, she was grateful to be away from the nosy eyes and ears of the ton. She watched the way his face contorted to one of guilt and burden. "I am truly sorry, my darling. I know you must think me a scoundrel for my behavior and I do not disagree." His mind was off it's bend and he would not admit his fault so candidly if he was not still slightly boozed. Y/N tilted her head sympathetically. He was not wrong but she did not blame him, not entirely. She did not spoke, allowing him to continue. "What can I do to make this evening up to you?" He requested. She waited a beat, for dramatic effect. There was nothing she wanted more than...

"I know one way you may make amends." She placed a finger to his jaw and smiled longingly. "Marry me, and all shall be forgiven." His eyes filled with emotion, a tender combination of love, gratefulness, and drink. He pushed himself up from her lap, the emptiness making her as uncomfortable as her dress, and leaned forward, placing a firm kiss to her forehead. "That, I shall," He whispered, placing another careful chaste kiss to her cheek. "And more." She gazed upon the man, fearing a tear would escape her tired eye from the emotions and true admiration she shared with Anthony. With such a hasty motion, Anthony did not realize how dizzy and nauseous he was until his stomach began to turn. He clenched his jaw, wired tightly shut, as well as closing his eyes once more to steady himself and tried to push the feeling away but failed with an exasperated sigh. "Dear God, I'm going to be sick." Y/N quickly lifted herself with a push of her palms to the soft quilted mattress and flew to the kitchen to retrieve a cold cloth to place on his head. It would be a long night but he was undoubtedly worth the trouble.

#anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton fic #ryrywrites #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

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alotofpockets · 8 months ago

Text

Mother's Day surprise | Caitlin Foord x Reader

Where you use Mother's Day as a disguise for a different kind of surprise

Woso masterlist | Words: 1.3k

-----

“Hey baby,” You greet your girlfriend in the bathroom, while hugging her from behind. She was getting ready for an Arsenal morning training session. After placing a few soft kisses onto her shoulder you continue your sentence, “I’m off to run some errands, do you need something from the store?”

Caitlin turns around in your hold, “Could you get some more of those protein bars you got last time?” You smile and nod, feeling accomplished on finding something new that your girlfriend loves. She pecks your lips and puts her arms around your shoulders, bringing you in for a hug.

“Oh, and don’t forget our Mother’s Day facetime call with my mom at two!” She says as you step out into the hallway. “I’ll be there. I should be back home before you are.”

You make a quick stop at the grocery store to get Caitlin the protein bars she asked for, before you drive to the airport. Technically you were running errands, so you didn’t lie, it’s just that the errand was to pick up her mom, sister, and her sister’s fiancée from the airport.

Jamie notices you first, and runs up to hug you. “It’s been too long!” Renae is close behind and joins in on the hug. Lastly Simone arrives by your side, she goes in for a big hug as well. “Thank you so much for flying us out here, it really means the world, darling.”

When everyone’s baggage is in your trunk and the Foord family is situated in your car, you make the drive back to your home. “So, how is my future daughter in law doing?” Simone asks you from the passenger seat. “Simone, you know she has to say yes first, right?” You chuckle. “I do, but Cait would be a fool to say no.”

The rest of the drive you catch up with your girlfriend’s family. Back at your home they all plop down on the couch, exhausted from the long flight. You get everyone something to drink, but they are way more interested to see the ring you had picked out. Jamie had helped you pick it out, but she thought it was even more beautiful in person.

When you hear Caitlin’s car pull up, you quickly hide the box, and walk towards the door. “Hi love, I missed you.” She says and immediately falls into your arms. “Hi baby, I missed you too.” You peck her lips and close the door behind her. “Can you close your eyes? I have a surprise for you.”

She closes her eyes and lets you guide her to the living room. “What is it? Did you find me another flavour of those delicious bars?” She was really too pure for this world, the little things meant so much to Caitlin. “I think you’ll like this better than a protein bar, baby. Open your eyes and see for yourself.”

Caitlin opens her eyes, and her mouth falls open in shock at the surprise in front of her. “Wait, what? What are you guys doing here?” She stares at the trio in front of her, overcome by emotions she runs into her mom’s arms with teary eyes.

“Y/n flew us out here for Mother’s Day.” After hugging both Jamie and Renae as well, Caitlin turns to you. “Thank you so much, you are the best. This is so amazing.”

You hang out with her family in the living room for a bit longer while Caitlin takes a quick shower, before you’d all head over to a nearby restaurant for lunch.

After lunch you suggest going for a stroll around town, having the travelling trio as an excuse to hide behind. With them having sat in a plane for so long, and then making them sit in a restaurant, giving them the opportunity to stretch their legs seemed logical.

Caitlin had no idea you were leading everyone towards the spot you were planning to propose to her. The spot you had gone to every couple of days for the past few months. The spot you had arranged for a professional photographer to meet you at. The sport where you would ask one of the most important questions of your life.

You grew more nervous by the minute, as you walked up the path you had walked so many times recently. Caitlin was too busy into conversation to notice your nerves, but Jamie noticed and walked in step with you. Jamie knew exactly how you felt, having experienced the same nerves that you were feeling when she proposed to Renae. She puts her arm around your shoulder and gives you a quick squeeze, “You’ve got this.” She whispered into your ear.

One more corner and there would be a lookout spot over the pond you were walking past. You relaxed a bit, when you saw that there were no people at the look out spot currently. You apparently knew your girlfriend better than you thought you did, ‘cause when Caitlin’s eyes fell on the lookout she instantly dropped the conversation with her mom and grabbed your hand, pulling you towards it. “This is such a pretty spot! Jamie, can you please take our picture?” Instead of taking a picture, Jamie started filming, aware of the photographer hidden away.

“You should do one where you’re looking out over the pond, it would be so cute.” Renae suggested, winking your way when Caitlin had turned around. This was it, this was the moment. You look out over the pond together, but after a few seconds you turn towards Caitlin, and get down on one knee. The box taken out of your pocket seconds ago, now open towards her, waiting for her to notice.

Your heart was beating a million miles an hour, as Caitlin turned your way. The moment she realises what is happening, she gets teary eyes. “Caitlin Jade Foord, you are an incredible person, and you have been my rock over the years. I love you so much, and I cannot see my future without you in it. Will you make me the happiest girl in the world and marry me?”

Cailtin started nodding her head midway through your sentence and once you finished your question she voiced the answer that went along with her head movements. “Yes! A thousand times yes!”

After putting the ring on her finger, she pulls you up and brings you in for a hug. You were living in your own world, not even having noticed Jamie stepping to the side, and the cameraman moving forward. Together they captured every moment. From the proposal itself, to breaking apart from the hug, to sharing a kiss, to Caitlin properly looking at the ring for the first time.

She turns around to her family with a big smile on her face. “Wait, they knew. You flew them in for this, didn’t you?” You nod, “I mean I would’ve flown them in just for Mother’s Day too, but I know how much you love your family, and I didn’t want them to miss this.” Caitlin hugs you again, before pulling you towards them.

You share some hugs with them while they congratulate the both of you, before you take a few more engagement pictures showing off the ring.

It’s crazy to think that Caitlin was your fiancée now. You couldn’t stop looking at the ring for the rest of the walk back home. The rest of the day was filled with joy and happiness, together with your fiancée and her family.

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caitlinfoord and y/n_y/l/n posted

caitlinfoord: I still can't believe this is real. So ready to marry you, and spend the rest of our lives together💍❤️

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therealslimshakespeare · 9 months ago

Text

Four Weeks in New York

gorgeous gif credit to @violaobanion

Requested: ☑️

Warnings: SO. MUCH. SEX. 18+, reunion jitters, potentially out of character actions due to rough sex? but then again, they’ve missed each a lot other, ok?! Also, i dunno, but beware he’s a horny over thinker and he’s in a funny headspace due to, ya know, war. Jean is a champ, Harry can’t manage to blow a load for awhile, mild breeding kink if you wanna call purposefully making a baby that…Gerry Hamilton and Margaret Blakely make tiny little cameos in here and I swear I’m half thinking of writing this trio of women all giggling over their legendary husbands

Word count: a hefty 7k and we’ve got more coming for ya

Coauthored with m’baby @crazymadpassionatelove

Synopsis: Harry Crosby is sent stateside to be with his wife for a month of terribly needed R&R in the summer of 1944

Caveat: this is based off a portrayal of real people in a tv series, while Jean wasn’t represented by an actress as Harry was, in this price of media I intend the same. I mean no disrespect to the real men and women mentioned and dramatized herein.

Scene One:

Jean had been at it so long in front of the mirror she began to notice every grain of powder collected in her smile lines and every infinitesimal blur of strong coal from around her eyes and -she needed to step away, at least a few inches from the reflective glass and get a grip. At the more sensible distance of gripping onto the edge of the counter -marble and swanky like everything in this posh and paid for hotel- she saw her face restored to what it was, a pretty decent cutie’s with a perfect mask of makeup and freshly styled hair: fit for a homecoming.

It was going to be fine. She was going to be fine. She was going to need to make him fine again, and give him back to them strong enough to come back to her for good. Happiness and dread swirled in a gnawing cocktail inside her, the cruel thought of almost wishing not to be teased with him at all until she could keep him for good fighting with the braver parts of herself that wanted every second of him she could have, even if it had a big red finish line drawn at a month.

A month was a long time, a month was about all they’d had to be married before he left. Technically, or at least Jean wondered if technically, it would mean she’d only been fully “married” for two months. Of course that was nonsense to the general public and the pastors who reminded about vows and the wedding band she flashed at over eager servicemen, but to her select little girl gang, the ones who worked at the factory with her and who had to give up their husbands too- they talked about their brief marriedness with hushed and giggly fondness, like something out of a dream and just as brief.

The fiancés in the girl gang were jealous of this topic and Jean supposed they had a right to be. She indulged the innocents with all their questions about being “actively” married, tried to repay them with the same frankness she’d so desperately sought before her wedding. But as it was, she’d only had a month of active service, and while it had been spent as vigorously as any young couple’s first four weeks of legal license, it had left Jean in the interim with a plain impression of herself being a little bit of a hussy.

She wanted Harry so badly this past year since he’d gone she hardly thought it medically sane. Wanted him so badly, and that was something not even the girl gang could always bring themselves to titter about. It was one thing for Margaret Blakely to joke about her Ev coming back the previous month ‘taking’ his leave in more ways than one, but they weren’t often out here asking each other if nothing really fixed the hunger since their man had been gone. It was all Jean thought of. Jean wanted to ask if it ever cooled, if the sticky frustration with one’s own inadequate fingers ever subsided.

By the dreamy eyed state of the recently visited Mrs. Blakely, the answer appeared to be a resounding no. Nothing ever beat the real thing. And that made Jean want to writhe in frustration before learning that she too, would be visited by a on-leave husband.

A year of being married and only a month of it “active”, Jean had concluded it was a chronic case on her part of salivating need for her Bing, the only cure would be him -him inside her, in perpetuity. All she’d gotten out of Maragret had been a grinning warning to Jean to “get in shape for Major Crosby’s furlough, you’ll spend it on your back.”

Jean could freely admit to herself that she needed to be ripped apart by her man, she needed him lingering inside her when he left again. She just feared that it wasn’t exactly their usual way. How could she tell him, what if that’s not what he needed. What if it was all different, what if it needed to be?

Jean pointed a finger at herself in the fancy gilt mirror, red nails pointing at her fancy clad self in pastel silk and tiny bows, “He’s your husband,” she told herself sternly, trying not to sweat at the idea he could be here any hour, catch her in this state of intentional undress, and help himself to her jittery body, “he loves you, you love him. All you need to do is let him have his husbandly rights and things will go smoothly. It’s a vacation not a death trap. You’ve got a man to patch up, get on with it.”

This speech gave her four whole seconds of empowered determination before a vigorous set of knocks on the hotel suite’s outer door made her jump out of her skin in surprise. She could go open the door but then -what if someone was in the hall with him? And saw her in this state of…lack of…well, her in her lingerie. He had a key, they’d have given him a key. He was the Mister to her Missus Crosby, they were allowed a shared suite.

“Jean?” Hearing that dear voice for the first time in twelve months, even faintly from far outside the bathroom door, flooded Jean with so much feeling her knees locked up and her throat collapsed on her response. He was her husband, her Bing, her first and only love, they’d be alright. They had to be.

Harry gingerly closed the door behind him, the heavy painted wood shutting with a finality that made him feel terribly anxious. While he had been trudging up the hall to their suite he’d been able to laugh a little at his dismal procession, morose shuffling and hang dog attitude. It had been absurd for a guy coming back to see the wife who he loved. He knew that and he could say that again and again in his head in a voice that morphed more and more into Bubbles’ voice an-

-and now he was in the room and he wasn’t anticipating anything, he had arrived and as if he’d just touched down in occupied Europe, he couldn’t help his braced posture or hunted surveillance of the oddly empty room.

“Jean?”

She wasn’t in here, but the en-suite bathroom door was shut. She wasn’t in here but from the bathroom came wafting something so viscerally nostalgic of her that he felt his heart pound in devoted recognition before his brain even caught up: her soap. Not some fancy hotel brand, it seemed she had brought her old stuff, the stuff he’d lathered on her as many times as he’d had the chance before leaving, the stuff she smelled of before church and the stuff that got more strong and pungent when he made her sweat in it from their exertions in bed.

It smelled like Jean in here and it was enough to make him drop his duffel bag with a decided thump. He was staying. This was his wife, everything might be different but some things like soap -they’d still be the same, as would the dry mouthed want it filled him with.

“Jean?”

He ventured further into the room, not bothering to call her name again, maybe being around guys had made him callous to spooking her but no real harm would be done, he was…him.

“Oh! Bing?” Jean sounded flustered behind her door and Harry found himself grinning. “I’m coming! I’m coming right out!”

It sounded less like a reassurance than it did an order to herself, which was amusing and it made him wonder, just how awkward were the two of them going to manage to make this? God knows he’d tripped over himself enough times winning her over the first round, he had such hopes never to revisit the bumbling stages of courtship. Seemed like once they’d married and joined it had been smooth as glass ever since- until…until he’d stopped being himself.

Until he had wandered into a hotel room with a woman who didn't wear a matching gold band. Jean knew nothing of that though. She never would. Sweet peaches and cream Jean who had come all this way to see him. Bringing that soap and the books he saw stacked on the night table. Bringing that sweet, pink pussy he needed to sink himself into. Remind himself of who he was. He didn't want to be Major Crosby at the moment. He wanted to just be Jean's husband. He heard the clock in the room ticking, felt the sweat pooling at the back of his neck as he waited for her. Her Elizabeth Arden lipsticks lined up like perfect little soldiers on the dresser. It had been so long that kissing her was surely going to feel like the first time all over again.

There was more amiss in the room, upon further inspection, besides her trunks and her hat boxes and the lipsticks. Amiss in that: there were elements no hotel should have, the plate of very delicious looking misshapen fudge, for instance, the plate itself looking suspiciously like their wedding set. Harry could describe that pink and green pattern on ivory in vivid detail if you had asked him yesterday, tracing it now was like no time had passed at all since that first breakfast as husband and wife, tittering over having “things” of their own. And beside the plate a book, one he’d not finished when he went over, he realized with a lump growing in his throat. Then there was the bed beneath these things, tidily made but not pristine, ha -how could it be with homey floral sheets in place of pristine white and a monogrammed pillow case each.

Giant embroidered C’s. For Crosby, of course.

Jeepers -he’d taken Jean for the first time on those very sheets, now he was recognizing them, and some very uncivilized part of him suddenly wanted to rip the covers back and find out if her virgin blood hadn’t fully scrubbed out-

“Bing!”

He is awkwardly sitting on the edge of the bed, thumbing through the pages of Look Homeward, Angel when Jean manages to saunter out with a summoned amount of calm. His hair is sleek and trimmed, his jacket well fitting, his whole self in his army duds seeming so comfortable, filled out, self possessed -it’s the floral sheets beneath him that ruins the effect just a little, makes him seem shifty, out of place. That and those great brown eyes suddenly round as a newborn calf’s at the long awaited sight of her.

She’s seen the soldier’s return posters -does he expect the same greeting? No little party at the station in satin and lace here, but they’d both agreed it would be better to be private, secluded, uninterrupted. Now it feels too tame and mild.

Does he want that? That reunion embrace?

Before she can rethink it she rushes him. “Binger!” she gasps out right as he stands to meet her head on, long arms outstretched to engulf her. This she knows, this she dreamed of. If she squeezes too tight she must be forgiven, it’s too fabulous to be considered real for many moments, the feel of his flexing back beneath her hands and his chest under her cheek. It’s tight and jarring and not a bit smooth but it’s him, it’s him and all is well.

Harry has his nose buried in her hair, that smell is wafting in again. It’s Jean -hits him with the force of a rocket and he’s suddenly responding in kind, arms crushing her to him, can’t get close enough, can’t tell her enough about missing her and loving her and how he’s put one step in front of the other all these years for this moment.

“Oh Bing,” she exclaims again, her face just barely pulled away to really get a look at him, her hands on his cheeks, “I can’t believe it. I’ve prayed, every day I’ve prayed for this.”

Prayers -the word sours in his mind after what he’s seen, after how many he’s sent up and not plane returned with an answer. “Mmm, Mrs. Crosby.” he contemplates the dear face before him before dragging his hand beneath her hair, cupping the back of her head with his large hand, watchface cool on the back of her neck. She’s been waiting for him to kiss her, wanting to let him lead, hoping her initial enthusiasm would embolden him like before. Instead he seems lost in archiving her face, those dear, melancholy eyes flitting over every feature, the hands studying and firm but not a caress. It’s obvious there’s something missing here, a piece ajar from the puzzle.

Jean stands atiptoe carefully, and determinedly slots her lips against his plush, red ones. That seems to rouse him a bit, Harry responds instantly, making up for his hesitancy, deepening it as his tongue meets hers in a heart wrenching reunion of sorts. He always was fond of kissing, her Bing. Now he was kissing her senseless and this -this was more like what she imagined.

His hands trail from her neck down the her ribs and into the dip of her waist, over the swell of her hips where he vaguely notices she’s adorned in some silky little something, no doubt chosen and worn just for him.

Say something Croz, you big idiot —he thinks to himself, confronted with the fact he is gripping at her and sucking face without another word said besides inane repetition of her name.

“Jean you look…perfect.” he mumbles against her lips.

It’s boyish and reminiscent, the stumbling praises mumbled so earnestly. It makes her giggle fondly. She breaks their kiss and takes hold of his face in her hands, indulging a little inspection of her own. “My beautiful boy,” she croons, “you came back to me.”

She kisses the prominent bridge of his nose and his perpetually furrowed brow and the smooth below each heavily fringed eye, his cheeks, his chin, the corner of his mouth -she pressed at his chest till she’s got him sat on the edge of the bed again. He’s fully dressed, taut as a bowstring and she wants him, needs him, to relax. She can feel the tension, the uncertainty, rolling off him.

She won’t let them take this away from them, she won’t let them rob them of their comfort with each other.

She kneels gently before him and undoes his boots, enjoying the way he pets her hair, quietly admiring its shine and style. His trousers are creased and starched and knelt between his legs Jean finally notices it then, the prominent tent beneath the olive weave. It makes her breath hitch. Was he always this big? Even camouflaged by trousers?

“You must be tired,” she frets aloud, working on the laces, “and cramped from such a long flight. Did you take something? Your eyes are a little…funny.”

Harry nods before realizing she’s not one of his men. Wives tend to value words and sentences, the more syllables the better. “Yeah,” he croaks aloud, “something for the stomach.”

Oh Bing and his stomach. Ever the dutiful wife, Jean rubs the sock feet she just liberated and kneads her way up his calves, hoping to leech some of the tension out of him. She works her way to his thighs, rising back up to her feet when he grabs her wrists and pulls her into another kiss. It’s even hungrier this time and his first moan of the evening sends a jolt of longing triumph straight to her core.

“I’ve missed you.” she chokes out between kisses and he responds by biting her neck, his thumbs rolling the satin in circles on her hips. His front pressing hard and firm against her lower belly, making her mouth run dry.

Still, Harry’s not saying much and if he wasn't kissing and caressing her so ardently, she'd have no clue they were even on the same planet.

And so Jean decides to do something rather bold. Something her mother would not approve of. She puts her hands on his shoulders, briefly causing him to pull away from her neck, then she whispers temptingly in his ear, “Last night I…slid my ring finger inside me. pretended it was you…I won't have to pretend anymore, will I, Harry?”

She feels him twitch against her belly beneath his layers. It’s her turn to kiss his cheek and nibble his neck, finding his little groans to be intoxicating. His grip tightens on her waist as he buries his head against her with his eyes closed, breathing her in. That scent.

That's when she adds in a plea, “Y-y-you're gonna have to…open me

up again Croz.…..you know what I

mean?...my poor little fingers are so

tiny and now I'm back to how I was

on our wedding night…”

Harry’s groan is animalistic and pained and she -well Jean’s a horny, rambling mess and she can’t bring herself to be ashamed, she missed him too strongly. “You're a hero to America.” She swears into his panting mouth, “And to me. I'm gonna give you the strength to help you get through the rest of what you need to do. But I need something from you, I need you to put a baby in me Bing.”

That is what he responds to, like orders in war. He’s good at finding his way with directions. His head rears back and his eyes sharpen with concentration. Jean wants something? he’ll deliver it, always was that way.

He nods.

“Lay back on the bed Jean.” his voice is quiet but she’s never heard it so steady, so commanding. That must be the voice he uses when he speaks to his men over there. If she wasn't squeezing her thighs together and scrambling onto the bed to follow Major Crosby orders, well, she'd cum right then and there. This isn't the same Bing that reads the paper, his beautiful lips mouthing the words as he does, the one who brings her flowers just because, or is quick not to curse in public. This man before her is a war weary Major who is used to being obeyed. Jean intends to follow every word he says, the thought of seeing him off without a little piece of him nestled inside her would just devastate her.

She burrows up against their Crosby pillows, looking like an absolute treat and admiring her man's package that seems to be growing bigger by the second. He's panting like a wild horse above her and she realizes she should heed all that advice she'd been given. Be a good wife, take care of his needs. Her painted toes rub against the sheets as she slowly inches forward to help him undress. Major Crosby beats her to it though, ridding himself of his uniform efficiently and tossing it on to the floor in a rumpled mess accompanied by a huff.

Is he mad? Jean wonders to herself. His freshly exposed cock sure looks mad. It's red, and almost looks hot to the touch as it dribbles and leaks down his thick shaft.

Was it always that big? Were his eyes always so wild? Bright -she remembers them as being bright.

He collapses on her purposefully, a crushing embrace with his hands snarled in her hair, elbows to the bed, his belly to hers, his lips devouring her own. It’s a shock and a thrill, that first feeling of skin against skin again, Harry’s so warm his tongue is nearly scalding and she feels herself sweat in her skimpy finery. The anticipation is harsh, the dynamic fumbling in its ravenous rush, her head spins when an irrational spike of fear slices through the heady haze of desire that his touches coax. Touch? -a mauling of sorts, more like, he is all teeth and nails and assessing hands, grabbing at her ferociously.

Instinctively Jean begins to rub him, his shoulders, his neck, his forearms

-a soothing caress at a kinder pace than he allows but she means it well, channels that little spark of anxiety she feels to sooth his own keyed up self.

“I’m here, I’m here,” she keeps swearing as she feels him buckle just that little bit to the insistent kneading of her hands on his arms, “I’m not going anywhere.” she swears and the rigid line of his body sags further into her neck, some off kilter focus he’s carried about him slipping under her gentle persuasion. “Baby, how about a little rub?” she coos, lithely extracting herself out from under him before she thinks on it too long.

“That might be nice.” he manages, not sure what the hell it is he needs, “My neck maybe..took a little spill a few days ago...” he casually mentions the incident, underplaying that whole fiasco of passing out cold from exhaustion, splattering on the floor like the contents of a mop bucket.

“Then let me rub your neck.” she begs.

He allows it and with a slightly lost gaze he follows her movements as she props up beside him and brings him closer for leverage. She scoops his head into her lap with that familiarity that made him fall first and hard for her, and suddenly he is pillowed on the warm, giving belly of a woman. His woman. And Croz feels himself begin to melt from that feeling alone, long before her clever thumbs start working at the knots nearly calcified at the base of his neck.

She used to do this for him when he was at school, too much reading in an ill advised position had him often so stoved up he couldn’t be of any use on the baseball team. Jean had learned to work her magic then, and Harry had learned how very much he liked his face buried against the swell of a girl’s womb.

Oh fuck -her little speech comes rushing back to him- Jean wants a baby.

Damn the jet lag, the separation jitters and all the rest that got him sent here like a looney to a special holding facility. Jean wants a baby and he hasn’t been rock hard since Dartmouth only to let it go to waste by sleeping it off.

Right when she begins to feel the motion of her hands take effect on his rigid shoulders, her Harry is suddenly lifting his head again, face slightly flushed and creased from the lace of her nighty and he smiles at her then. Mischievous and warm, “C'mere,” he beckons with a voice that means something and so she follows him as he sits up, “stand up babydoll, show me that outfit. Let me appreciate ya.” He slides his warm palm into her smaller one and tugs her to her feet, an easy sort of dance move to bring her round in front of his position, swaying her back and forth just outside the v of his legs.

“Well, look at you.” he marvels at her, his expression gone soft under that wrecked mop of curls. Jean recognizes the old spark alight in him, the one that might go dormant for her when away or when she couldn’t make up her damn mind but anytime she wanted him back?—oh he looked at her like this, like he was lucky as hell to have her and intended to be brave with that luck. “Turn around for me, loverdoll, c’mon, show me what I’ve got, come onnnn Jeaaann,” he insists, his voice playful and insistent as he spins her with a hand at her hip until she shows him the back of this frilly little excuse for nightwear, “Look at that.” he whistles behind her and Jean feels her cheeks burn pleasantly, “Pretty as a fawn, Jean.” he punctuates this odd little compliment with the back of a finger running up the length of her thigh, to the little swell of her rump and Jean knows her legs tremble in helpless response. “Go on, strike a pose for me, I know you didn’t put on this get up for nothin’. Who'd believe it? My Mrs. Crosby out here lookin’ like one of those girls.”

‘Those’ girls, whoever they are exactly, are left nebulous and Jean likes it that way, it gives her a saucy bravery to pitter patter away from his hold and turn back to face his unabashedly admiring gaze. Jean cocks a hip and drops a shoulder, knee turned in, toes pointed. Gerry had made her perfect it a million times in the mirror when she should’ve been sensibly getting into a gown and getting some shut eye instead.

Thank God for Margaret Ann Blakely and her fun loving pastimes. And also: “Screw him for us Jean!!” -thank God for Gerry Hamilton and her brazen preoccupations with her own man, for how she piled on as she convinced Jean of an assortment of little silk things thrown into her suitcase, “Screw him good, for all of us! For Americaaaaa!” the young and empty Mrs. Hamilton’s candor had built until Jean was close to frantic to get into the taxi and leave her best friends and their antics behind.

Jean didn’t doubt for a single minute that Hambone and Ev would shortly be receiving letters that good naturedly bemoaned Jean and Croz’s luck.

“You think you needed to look like this to get me to nail ya?” her Croz teases her now and his grin is lewd and Jean likes it that way, it matches the disrespectful hands that reach out without her Harry’s usual calculation and instead paw at her tits like a sex starved man. It sends a line of electricity straight to the little button between her legs and Jean ends up leaning into those hands until she’s suddenly so near him she’s on top of him and then, easy as anything, he knocks her sideways and under him once more. Legs splayed wide and with a husband lying on top of her with a very determined look on his face -she reckons the games are over.

“Gonna be like a second wedding.” she squeaks out, giddy eyed in excitement, toes curling in terror, he feels so big slotted at the spot.

Was he always so big?

Harry slings her leg over his hip and he’s suddenly in her without even needing to fumble for entrance. Little Croz pries her open all at once in a smooth, brutal, unyielding shove and that’s all it takes, he’s so overwhelmingly substantial that Jean finds herself bowing under him in a climax from the painful pleasure of reunion alone.

“Really, already?” he chuckles at her as she hoarsely keens out her ecstasy beneath him, her nails digging crescents in the flesh of his tense shoulders, his own thumbs stroking along her throat, “I missed you too, Mrs. Crosby.” he laughs.

She slaps at him, lovingly as her throat still hasn’t fully come back to use, “God you feel good.” She croaks.

“Just wait till you learn there’s more.” he teases before pulling his hips back and keeping that far tip barely nestled in her petals before slamming in again so forcefully she feels something funny in her chest.

“Bing!” it’s not a protest on her part but, my God -he, they…they used to give it the ole college try before he left, but this? This must be what it’s like to get really and truly screwed.

Screwing her, that’s what he’s doing and she wonders in a vague haze of helpless sensations if he’ll auger a hole straight through her back to the mattress with this merciless rhythm. She’s as vaguely impressed by his strength and capability as she is by her own body’s ability to absorb it, her freshly rediscovered hole burning at the use and somehow it’s all just a wonderfully heated, overwhelming miasma of delight as she keeps on seizing under him and he bullies her right though one peak after another with only a wicked grin on those full lips to suggest he’s got any idea what she’s so happily enduring.

“I can’t stop, I just can’t stop, it's just so -it’s so much.” she babbles, very keen to get her point across but very unsure what her point actually is. All thoughts, feelings and intentions center around Harry and that fat schlong of his rearranging her insides. She’s not sure her toes have been uncurled in over a quarter hour and her mind’s not been her own for longer still. “You’re so much.” she wails, and for half of it she means not his size but how long he’s been going at it.

“And you’re gonna take it.” he confirms, the hand on her hip inexorable and his pretty face is half snarling at her in desperation. “You miss this?” his voice shakes from his exertions and Jean is sure she’s never heard a more attractive sound than his wrecked breathing, “Miss this, huh? Bet you did, so goddamn tight. No married woman’s got any…any…any business being so tight. Gonna fix that, gonna make you so married you’re not gonna-“ he presses her legs back until she feels her hamstrings burn, knees to her chest, his body lunging into hers…angry again? she doesn’t know he just keeps grunting “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

She’s milking him so perfectly, peaking and shuddering and clenching more frequently than he ever remembers and he should be so saved up he can’t manage to hold on but instead -the fuck if he can blow. It just won’t let go. The noise of his work is a lew phwap phwap phwap of split splat suction and from her whimpers and begs he knows he has already spent her but-

Goddamn! Came all this way, waited all this time and he can’t let loose?

Through the haze of her overstimulation Jean can feel something amiss, the tension back and worse than that, there’s the frustrated anger of before. Harry is breathing hard and his face is dark and the prominent vein across his alabaster forehead is popping so significantly she worries about stroke. He’s about to crack a tooth at this rate, his tension is so extreme and then suddenly, there’s a pause.

He stares down at the wet mess where they’re joined, brows knit together and mouth firm before a flicker ignites in his eye and in a fit of rage at himself and this deficient cock, he grabs at one of the decorative pillows and throws it across the room. It bangs dully against the window and flops to the floor.

Unsurprisingly the outburst against cotton batting and fancy trim does little for his pickle, he’s still stiff as a board and nowhere close to relief. He fought a whole goddamn war and came back just to not be able to get his rocks off. What a joke.

Gently as he can, and with rampant self pity running loose, he disentangles from Jean’s snug self and throws himself beside her on his back.

Bewildered Jean is more than a little grateful for the intermission. She does her best to collect her wits, looking over at him and clocking his defeated expression and closed eyes, the hand pinching the bridge of his nose. And poor Little Croz that is a furious magenta red with veins about ready to burst from swelling, sticking straight up from between his legs.

Shifting onto her side to face him rubs her poor kitty just wrong -or right- and a helpless mewl escapes her as she creams herself again from that little movement alone. The sound and shudder of his wife makes Croz crack open an eye, watching intently as Jean bites her lip and timidly runs her fingers through the hair on his chest.

“Come sit on my lap, Jeanie.” he mumbles.

She perks up with a smile, “Whatever my hero wants, baby.” she condones before shakily straddling his lean hips and sinking down with a noticeable squelch. It earns a drawn out moan of satisfaction from both of them. Sensing the agony and desperation of the man beneath her as she begins to lift her hips and slam them back down, juices splash on her feet from the movement. To lift his spirits she attempts her best at shoving her tits in his face while she does it and gets her nipples tugged in thanks.

This right here is perfect, she’s so full she can hardly bear it but he feels so good she ignores the burn of her legs and keeps her pace up, the beautiful expanse of her man laid out before her a perfect spur. The sun seems to have set by now and through the open curtains the sounds and lights of the city pour in, glistening off his sweaty skin like a million stars and doing nothing to dim the noise of his appreciative moans, the hoarse grunts of her name, the sounds of their sticky hips colliding.

“I've dreamed about being full like this every night since you left.” Jean tells him, stuffed beyond her limits it feels like he’s so damn deep he could describe the feel of her cervix in detail.

She can feel those tight bowling balls she's sitting on that need to unload inside her, and precariously she reaches backwards to fondle them with one hand, remembering how he used to react to it. She gets her first high pitched whine of the evening from him at that, his chest heaving and his head thrashing, curls everywhere. “Bing -- oh it's big, it's big, I'll take it all though I-I promise….we gotta make you cum, baby.” she determines, not needing the discarded pillow or fuming passion to alert her to his desperation, “Lemme help you…just fill me up, let it alllll out... you need to, must be aching so bad”

At the mention of the ache he begins to buck into her wildly like a feral thing. Jean would have toppled off from his vigor if he hadn’t seized her hips in an iron grip and held her still for his assault from below. Jean hears herself squealing and whimpering and begging nonsense, still a bit fresh -and respectful- to this new and ferocious side of him. Somewhere in it though, Harry’s beginning to crack, frustration going from anger to fury to desperation to some boyish and pitiful need for relief.

Harry doesn’t mean to groan so loudly, so pathetically but it’s all so perfect and he’s so damn close and Jean’s like a sprinkler down there she’s enjoying herself so much and -why the hell can’t a fella just blow?

Jean instantly stills atop him and cradles his face tenderly, soft searching eyes and lips whispering about …something, something something “baby boy” -and he shudders. His pants are harsh as if he’s about to have a heart attack and his chest is so winded and achy he thinks he might. Or else cry.

Wouldn’t that be fun.

Beneath his hands he feels Jean’s hips begin to flex and she’s grinding on him again, twisting her hips in a slow figure eight that feels like a man’s heaven beneath his palms, and ten times that for his cock. It’s not doing it enough to make him blow but for a moment he decides that’s fine, he inflates his poor lungs again and lays back, admittedly a bit too stiff and rigid, and touches her as she pleases herself on top of him. She giggles shyly to him and her near constant moans are music to his ears as she swivels on his cock. He enjoys watched the pink little folds absorb him and the way their curls brush and mix where they meet, his lower belly a wet mess and streaks of the same running down to her ankles, they’ve made such a soup.

Clam fuckin’ chowder, by the looks of it.

Maybe he did blow. Doesn’t feel like it. And after watching and coaxing her through another melting peak, he lets her sag onto his chest for a minute and regroup before, with a kiss to her hair and a hard smack to her ass, he tells her,

“Hands and knees, Jean, if you want that baby -hands and knees.”

He barked it like an order, and while a little startled by it, she still wastes no time in flipping herself over and off him, scurrying into the position he specified, shaky from so many orgasms and the anticipation of him back atop her. Wincing inwardly at the thought of that package at this angle with how sore she already is-

-and he wastes no time. But instead of a cock she feels the shockingly familiar but never less exquisite feeling of his tongue running up the messy length of her slit. Her face collapses into the pillows along with her pleased shriek of “Bing!”.

He he laughs warm and wicked behind her, enjoying the ass up display of what he’s done to her.

“Spread ‘em Jean.” he tells her, and two dainty hands leave off from gripping the covers to bashfully pull her cheeks apart and show her husband where his fat cock belongs. He can see her pulsing down like a living entity of its own, even in this dim light.

“I'll be good... I'll be good for you, Major. Tell me what to do.” Jean swears hoarsely, those fawnish legs trembling again.

“Just take me.” he mutters simply, mounting her suddenly with his hand on the back of her head, keeping her cheek to the pillow and her scream muffled as he shoves in and begins to plow this squeaking little lady like tomorrow is indeed not promised to men like him.

Beneath him, between the high pitched squeals of pleasure and the urgent whines of endurance, Jean is muttering a litany of …something. Again and again she’s saying words like “it’s ok baby, it’s ok” and Harry isn’t sure if it’s meant for him or her, she sounds like a drunk fairy and his head begins to buzz with likelihood. “It’s ok baby, they told me you'd be like this, it’s ok. I can take it. I’ve missed you—“ she just keeps muttering that and vaguely Harry is pretty sure that comfort is meant for him and he wonders who ‘they’ are and what ‘like this’ even means.

On Jean’s part she is legitimately unsure who’s she’s trying to convince, likely herself but also, maybe that part of her between her legs that’s torn between panic and absolute ecstasy at his rough usage. Jean's mind spins at the realization of how much she likes it, likes the feral proof of how badly he missed her, needs her, wants her still. Her sweet and mild Harry climbed on top of her and is now railing her, and while it’s not your average little jaunt in the sheets, she clings to her pillow and takes it with something like pride…in between the moments when Harry’s fat cock wipes her mind a starry white as her legs kick up helplessly beneath him and her back arches and her hole clenches and another happy mess slides down her inner thighs to the sodden sheets.

And all through it the best of it is Harry and his voice, half sane sounding for once this evening as if to balance out the animalistic pose he has her in, groaning above her,

“That's it, be my good girl..my good, good girl. Always so good to me.”

He’s petting her hair like she’s a damn Labrador or something, wrapping her beautiful curls around his hand, arched over her like a cat, it’s perfect and he’s so deep he thinks he could fuck his balls in, foot placed sturdily on the bed beside her for further leverage.

“-Croz! You gotta!” His wife wails nonsensically beneath him, he picks her head up by the hair to hear what the hell she’s jabbering about now, husbandly rights or how she was ‘told’ he’d be.

She’s so cock wrecked it ain’t even funny but when he prods her with a “What's that Jean?” between thrusts he gets a slightly more formulated thought-

“You gotta put a baby in me!” she insists through sobs, orgasm after orgasm turning her into this shaking, shuddering, limp excuse of a woman.

A loverdoll, for real.

Her words ping in his head like that damn red light everywhere he goes on base. A light at the end of the tunnel, an eminent thing he’s needed for. Tightness seizes his belly and takes him unawares, suddenly Harry’s roaring out a resounding,

“Oh FUCK! Jean! Fuck-“ that bounces around the room like a cacophony.

The hotel guests next door might be

wondering why a moose is dying in

Manhattan? But no sweat, it’s just Major Crosby seeding his willing wife.

Like a soothing balm on a surgical wound, Jean feels him exploding warm and sticky and healing inside her at last. It doesn't stop coming, rope after rope of the thick, steaming hot gold of his body swelling her own and this adds the finishing touches to what was already a melted woman. In his last rapacious thrusts, she can feel her body playing the minx, trying to squeeze him out but her Croz is having none of it, like a dying man to water, he uses every bit of strength left to shove himself back in and flood her until she’s a collapsed and leaking mess.

In a haze, Croz pulls his now mercifully limp cock out of her and surveys her wrecked self with bleary, appreciative eyes. “Looks like you been through a war of your own, baby.” he jokes but his voice is so wrecked from his previous yells it startles his newly moderated self and he ends up toppled over beside her, no longer capable of giving a damn about anything.

His eyelids refuse to stay open and his neck is laying funny but -fuck! He was just inside Jean!

“You ok, Bing?” he hears her sweet voice whisper beside him and it was no dream then, and God forgive him he was probably mean. She’s panting beside him and when he can’t manage to answer he feels her hand grab his wrist and gently guide him somewhere until he’s petting startlingly warm petals that are saturated with his spunk.

“Think you managed to open me up, alright.” she titters, still sounding drunk and he can’t help the way his cheek crinkles in a returning smile.

Smashed into the pillow as it is, it’s still the prettiest expression of the best man Jean has ever known. “Y-Yeah.” her man croaks, half insensible but his beautiful hand keeps petting her where she’s sore and recently excavated, his identification bracelet jangling softly in the stillness, “You were such a good girl Jeanie..a good wife…ya did your job.” he mumbles more, fully in Major mode as he begins to drift off, forgetting entirely that maybe a fella shouldn't praise his wife like she's one of his men gotten back from a mission.

But Jean takes the compliment well, knowing how it’s meant, knowing that maybe tomorrow when he’s more conscious and healed, she may be blocked out from that world entirely. It’s a little glimpse and she takes it for what it is, with soft appreciation. Smilingly she lets go of his hand to give deflated Little Croz some pats, the sticky, shrunken thing is playing at being harmless and she has a longing to meanly suck on it until it shows it’s true colors again.

But no, for now, Croz’s heavy and nearly insessible arm throws itself over her waist and drags her to him, slotting the married couple together like spoons in their drawer.

They could try to shower but that seems too daunting a prospect at present, and highly futile considering what lies in store -more of the same. And for her part, Jean doesn’t dare move and slosh and waste any of what her Bing gave her. His forearm is heavy over her battered womb, cum and abuse swelling it just that little bit as if she were on her menses. She’s not, those were two weeks ago.

When his hand splays and cups the swollen bulge he made, Jean whispers to his already snoozing self, “We made a baby Bing, I just know it.”

And if not— there’s four more weeks to make certain.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

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