25|Married|Dean girl|SuperWhoLocked|Love to read fanfic. Hope to write some good ones|Fluff, Angst, Smut will make appearances| Tags open for business! Ask away | Elle's Masterlist
A/N: Soldier Boy x F!Reader. Smut. Drugs. This SB is probably OOC, but it's from his POV and he is a POS, okay? Iâm really focusing on the "I fucking loved you" vibe he gave CC and figured he was capable of it. This is probably a more redeemable version of Ben.
In Russia, he dreams of you.
He dreams of your face in such detail that it is as if a photo of it is pinned to his eyelids. He tastes you in his sleep. He remembers you even when he does not remember himself.Â
In Russia, he understands he was in love. He wonders if he is dead now. Sometimes they wake him up, and there is only Hell. There is ice and the brutal bite of vodka being poured down his throat. There are bullets fired behind his teeth and he chokes on the cordite and the smoke.
âDonât die, Ben.â
âAs if I could...â
***
At first, he is led to believe you were part of the little coup that sent him to the Soviet pigs. The possibility fucking hurts. It hurts worse than anything they could have done to him in that lab. After all, youâd been there since Normandy.Â
A young, pretty nurse pumped full of V to be his counterpart.
Iâm the damn Bride of Frankenstein.Â
Youâre beautiful, baby doll.Â
But the years morphed into a revolving door, and theyâd fight or fuck or both. Theyâd leave each other for long periods of time while still maintaining the facade that they were fated. He bedded movie stars and pin-ups. He lived in the Hollywood Hills, doing quaaludes and having orgies.
You had a threesome with Brando and Dean. Newman. Gable.Â
They were perfect hero cut-outs from âThe Greatest Generation.â Vought demanded that they play âLeave it to Beaver,â âI Love Lucy,â and âThe Way We Fucking Were.âÂ
Soldier Boy and Black Magnolia.Â
Others joined the team. Others came and went. Another movie or poster. Another guest-star appearance. A home in Malibu. Cocaine-fueled hate-sex. Herogasm. Cuba. Vietnam. The Cold War. D.A.R.E. commercials.Â
He gets with Crimson Countess to piss you off. He pretends theyâll settle down. He rubs it in your face because he doesnât know how else to possess you. He canât cuff you. He canât wrap his arms around you and keep you under him.Â
Still - itâs you he dreams of in Russia.
***
He seeks you out first. His grief is a living thing. It pulses inside him. It blinds him. It isnât anger. It is a debilitating sadness that you would do this to him. You never came.
I prayed for you. I prayed for you every second of every hour.
He finds you in your New York penthouse. Youâre completely the same. Not a single wrinkle. Not a hair out of place. Youâre wearing tight jeans and a t-shirt with not a stitch of make-up. Gone are the bell-bottoms and the shoulder pads and the slinky, beaded gowns.
âMags,â he says and you drop your glass.Â
Itâs the look on your face that does it. Itâs that twisted expression of disbelief and then tears and then joy.Â
âOh my god,â you whisper before lunging at him. Initially, he thinks youâre trying to attack him, but instead, you wrap your arms around his neck. You tuck your face under his jaw. âBen.â
With his hand fitted to the nape of your neck and your heart pounding relentlessly in beat with his own, he realizes that you didnât know.Â
âI felt you,â you murmur as the both of them slide to the floor. Your mouth tastes like vodka, his hand cradles the back of your skull as he lays you down. Heâs rarely ever been gentle with you. He does it now. âI-I felt you out there. I begged Vought to lookâŠI tried to get the others, and no oneâŠno one wanted to help me.â
"I'm here," he states adamantly, hovering above you, his breath puffing against your cheek. I'm here. He repeats the phrase in the swiss-cheese, fried meat of his brain as if he is convincing himself, as well.
He kisses you frantically, his lips opening over yours, his tongue sliding along the roof of your mouth. You fist his hair. You start crying again. âI searched for your body for years.â
âI believe you,â He parts your thighs with his body. He rips your jeans. He mouths your neck and holds you close to him. Your eyelashes flutter and his mouth worships you - does everything he had done in his dreams. He latches to your nipple, wetting it with his tongue, teasing it with his teeth.Â
âFuck,â he rumbles. âI missed these tits.â
You laugh, punching him in the shoulder. âYou havenât changed.â
He glances up at as he releases your puffy, slick nipple with a pop. âYou havenât either.â He strokes your face sweetly, his finger smoothing the skin of your cheek. âYou havenât aged a dayâŠfucking gorgeous as ever.â
Your head falls back on the floor with a thump. âI missed you.â
He sits back on his heels so he can pull the shredded remains of your jeans down your legs. He forces your thighs open before shoving his face crudely against your panty-covered pussy. He inhales and your hips cant against his face. âShitâŠshitâŠI fucking missed this, too. Best damn pussy Iâve ever had the pleasure of eating.â He nuzzles against your belly as he grins up at you. â...and fucking.â
You roll your eyes. âSo you missed my tits and my cunt. Your tone is ruthlessly flat. âWonderful.â
âNo,â he protests, shaking his head as climbs back up your body and kisses you again. âOf course, I missed you.â He kisses your nose. âDreamt of you.â He kisses your chin - your lips. âI thought of you when they pumped me full of fucking poison.â His voice grows thick despite himself. He clenches his jaw as he is plagued by those terrible memories; something hot builds in his chest before he tamps it down. He breathes deep and tilts his head, eyes raking down your face that is still damp with tears. âYou were the only thing that made it bearable.â
With that confession, the air between them changes. The space grows molten, the tension bulldozed by a longing that aches.
Wordlessly, your hands find his belt as he grips your underwear and splits it with a curl of his finger. You grasp him roughly, and he hisses at the familiar pressure of your touch. You know him inside and out. You know every damn insecurity he had. You know all of his lies and half-truths and hopes that had long since decayed. You know about his father.
When he strokes you between your legs, youâre already soaked. It isn't surprising. No one ever got as wet as you. Your supple, power-upped body blossoming with vitality. Your cells regrowing in seconds, inches, everywhere at once. He could not get you out of his system. Their lives were tangled. They were born together. They were molded together.Â
Fuck me, Ben. Please - I canât breathe without you.Â
Thatâs the ecstasy, doll.
Maybe a little.
When he pushes into you, he groans. He hasnât felt a slick, hot cunt like this in a long damn time. Youâre tight as a fist and heâs always been enhanced in that department. He draws all the way out before shoving himself back in, punching you up the floor. Your back scrapes the carpet. Your nails bite into his shoulders.
Itâs an erotic sight. Your t-shirt split in two. Your bra rucked under your tits. Heâs still in his armor as he pins you beneath him. His pants are bunched around his thighs, no doubt chafing your skin with each snap of his hips.
He swallows your moan, tongue dipping and stroking as he kisses you fiercely. His pace is punishing and possessive. He grabs your wrist, smacking it against the floor so violently that the wood cracks into shards. Your bones creak under his strength, but you smile. You angle yourself to meet him thrust for thrust. Your legs are hooked around his waist and he just might blow his load at the sound of your cunt squelching on the fat length of his dick.Â
âJesus,â he husks. âYouâre a wet little thing.â Â
âFor you,â You comb your fingers through his hair as your walls pulse and spasm around him. âOnly you.â
Thatâs a lie. Heâs sure of it.Â
Still - it makes him feel better.
He slithers his hand down between them, resting his palm above your cunt. âHow deep am I getting, baby doll?â
âIt almost hurts,â you mewl, your teeth glittering like a predatorâs. âFuck - youâre splitting me in half.â
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.Â
He slides his hand lower, tracing the area where your puffy cunt is stretched around his cock. He likes it. He likes to feel how he can ruin you - open you up. He wants to see. He draws back, bracing his weight on his forearms, lifting himself higher and dropping his head to stare at where heâs disappearing inside you. You look small as you take it. His cock and the hair at his groin are visibly shiny with you.Â
âShit, baby,â he grunts. âNeed me to make you come, yeah?â
You nod, your mouth parting around a uhuhuh with every thrust. He smirks, pulling out of you and flipping you onto your hands and knees. He spanks you hard enough to leave a seconds-long bruise before heâs sinking back into your fucked-open pussy. His hand moves between your legs, fingertips circling your perky little clit as you shove back against him. You clench, a whine erupting from your throat as he coaxes you to orgasm. Your back arches and he chuckles, fucking you fiercely - palm flattening to your shoulder blades to push you down, so he has your ass in the air.Â
âJesus-fuck-shit-fucking-fuck,â His pace rolls into something messy, his hips stuttering against your thighs, and then itâs over. Heâs filling you up with a decades-long pent-up load and you accept it beautifully. He watches as it oozes out of you. He traces it - pushes some back in like he could mark you. You shiver, spreading your legs more for him.
His heart hurts.
Youâre mine. Youâve always been mine. No matter who else has been in your bed - itâs always been me just as Iâve been yours.
***
He lies next to you on the floor, his pants around his knees. His flaccid dick out as he curls his arm around your shoulders, letting you rest your cheek against his chest.Â
He wants some coke. He wants a bottle of terrible whisky.
But he wants revenge more.
âWhat happened to the others?â he finally asks.Â
You snort. âI left Payback after I was told you died. I hated myself for so long for not going on that Nicaragua mission.â You trace a circle over his hip, sighing. âThought I could have saved you. Fucking Countess rubbed it in my face - acted like youâd sacrificed yourself for her or some shit.â
He tightens his grip on your shoulders before dropping a kiss on the crown of your head. âYou had to know that wasnât trueâŠweâŠwe were more than that. Crimson was a distraction.â
âWe were fighting then,â you remind him. âI canât even remember what it was about - something ridiculous. I was mad. You were mad. We didnât talk for months, and then you died.â
Anger really begins to build inside him. Fury. They had lied to you. They had made you doubt him. They had made you unhappy. He was, admittedly, a fucking asshole, but he did love you. You were it.Â
âThey betrayed me,â he reveals. âI donât have the details, but I have bits of information. They fucked me - sold me to the Russians.â
Under his arm, you go rigid before suddenly lifting yourself up on your elbows. You look down at him - your eyes narrowed to slits. It gives him a shiver. âExcuse me?â
He tells you everything he remembers: the attack that has come back to him in flashes, being subdued by his team, the Russians, the torture, the cold tomb that kept him in a state of delirium.Â
Your expression is a bright with emotion. It morphs from disgusted to horrified to distraught as you digest the story he gives you.
After a long, agonizing silence, you swallow thickly. You wipe the tears out of your eyes before your lips split into a lethal smile. âI have their locationsâŠI have resources. We can find them.â
His hand finds the hinge of your jaw, and he draws you down for a kiss so tender that Vought would have branded it across a billboard.Â
Warnings: Fuckin' hell, where do I begin? Explicit language, SMUT (P in V, oral), spanking, use of the word Whore (derogatory), talks of war, PTSD (nightmares), Possessive!Tommy, knife kink, claiming(via carving initials into skin, Tommy uses salt to ensure scaring), pain kink, toxic relationship, smoking, drinking, violence, mentions of murder, mentions of opium, Tommy being an ass. MINORS DNI
A/N: This is all purely fictional. Please don't do this IRL. It is all consensual in the fic, I hope that comes through clearly. Honestly, this is filth. Plain filth.
WC: ~4K
It wasnât easy being close to Thomas Shelby. He wasnât the easiest man to get along with. He had his flaws. You knew though, that deep down, he was worth it. When it was just the two of you, hidden away from the worldâs view, Tommy was a different person. He wasnât Tommy Shelby, leader of the Peaky Blinders. He wasnât Tommy Shelby, public enemy number one. He was just Tommy Shelby, a man from Small Heath. Thatâs it, he was just a man.
You met Tommy when you were children. It was an instant friendship, forged by the love of horses. As you got older, that friendship grew. All of Small Heath knew you as âTommyâs girlâ and you didnât mind one bit. You melded into the Shelby family after the Spanish Influenza took your mother, the only family you had left.
You were there the day Tommy was called away to war. Tommy was gone for four long years fighting in World War I. When he returned home from France, he was different. You knew that war changed the men involved. Tommy was cold, distant, and had trouble sleeping at night. You heard him calling out in his sleep; He would wake up gasping for air, clutching his chest as the cold air of the night burned lungs.
It broke your heart to see him sink into a shell of who he used to be. He didnât smile. He didnât laugh. It was all business, all the time. He started to drink more. A whiskey in his hand became his normal. Tommy started visiting Lizzie Stark, much to your dismay. He hadnât touched you since his return.
It all changed though, when Grace Burgess started working at The Garrison. The petite blond captivated him, bringing out a bit of the old Tommy. Seeing the two of them together ripped you to pieces. You never had a good feeling about her. The way she looked at Tommy, then seemed to check her surroundings. You brought your suspicions Polly.
âI dunno, Pol. The girl is up to something. I jusâ know it.â You told her over tea one day. She just lifted a brow, and sipped at her cuppa. âIâm serious! Do you not notice how bloody shady she is, Polly?â You were frustrated. You thought if anyone would share in your worries, it would be Polly.
The brunette set down her tea cup with a sigh, lighting up a cigarette. âOf course, I donât trust her. You think a pretty girl like that just pops up in Birmingham randomly? No.â You felt a sense of relief at her words. "You don't worry about her. I'll take care of it." Polly put out her cigarette and left you alone in her sitting room.
You were at The Garrison with a couple of friends. It being the only pub that would let women drink without a male counterpart. You were drinking your whiskey on ice when the brothers walked in. Tommy walked straight to the bar, whereas John came to you.
âLadies, how are we this fine eveninâ?â He asked, with a flirty smirk on his face. You rolled your eyes. You were closer to Johnâs age. Maybe a year or two older. He was like your brother. He always told you he preferred you to Ada.
âWe are just fine, John. Now, go on. No one here is going to suck your cock. So please.â You were used to being so forward, especially with him. You had to be blunt with John for him to understand.
He looked at you with a feign hurt expression. âI was just being nice, love.â He smiled at you, before tipping his hat and walking to the back room. When you looked over his shoulder, you saw Tommy at the bar chatting up Grace. You did your best to push it out of your mind.
For the rest of the night, you and your friends had a great time, filled with laughs and stories. Of course, they asked about John. You shot that down quickly as he lost his wife not too long ago. You knew he had his hands full with four children and the Blinders.
Before you knew it, you were alone at your little table; Your friends were long gone. You swirled what was left of your watered-down whiskey in the glass. You heard the chair across from you scrape on the floor. âJohn, for the lastââ You looked up expecting to see Johnâs deep blue eyes; Instead you were met with anger burning in Tommyâs ice blue ones.
âCan I help you, Thomas?â You sneered, unable to get the image of him and Grace out of your head. Tommy inhaled a hit of his cigarette.
"Did you fuck my brother? Is that why he's gawking at you like you're his?" He breathed, as smoke billowed out between his lips.
You rolled your eyes, downing the rest of your alcohol. "No, Tommy. I didn't fuck John. But even if I did, would it matter? When you're out there putting your cock in every whore in Birmingham?" You harshly whispered, not wanting to attract attention.
Tommy returned your attitude with a scoff. "Oh. Piss off. You know that's not true." He didnât want this to be a fight, but he could see thatâs where it was going. âLetâs go talk privately.â He suggested, moving to stand.
You shook your head. The alcohol in your system was making it easier for you to be bold."So, it's jus' Lizzie then, eh? Because Grace isnât putting out. But I have to stay bloody celibate until you decide you want me again?!" You slammed your hands on the table, causing the pub to go quiet.
Tommy stood, moving around to pull you up by your arm. You stumbled over your heels as he dragged you out of The Garrison. Your skin prickled as the cold air washed over it. Tommy pulled you all the way down to the stables. "What's gotten into your âead, woman?" He groaned, ripping his scally cap off.
You plopped down on a hay bale, your legs going jelly as the whiskey worked its way through your system. Was he kidding? Was he fucking kidding? "You, Tommy! You! I fucking killed a man for you! I put a bullet through someone's fucking skull for you. And you-- you treat me like fucking property." You snarled, thinking back to that night in The Garrison. Tommy pulled you in, telling you that the IRA was coming to kill him. He hid you in the back with a gun. When your signal came, you walked out, seeing Tommy with his hands raised, defenseless. The Irishman with the gun aimed at you and shot. He missed by a hair, and luckily, you were trained by the Shelbys. And you donât miss.
The man swiped a hand down his face. âI never wanted that. It wasnâtâ Thatâs not how it was meant to happen. And you fuckinâ know that.â Tommy fumed, pacing back and forth in the stable dirt. He never meant for you to kill for him. The last thing he wanted was to mark your soul with a brand so dark, it never goes away.
You stood quickly, wobbling a bit before you steadied. You charged up to him, tears already falling. âThis isnât fair, Tommy! Either you want me or let me fucking go.â You bawled, grabbing the lapels of his jacket.
He wrapped his arms around you, holding you tightly to him. It killed you how calm he made you feel in his embrace. It shattered your soul knowing that he was your safe place and yet, you still could not have him as your own.
Tommy didn't know what to do. He wanted you, he always has. When he came back from France, he was different. He didn't sleep and when he did he had nightmares. He resorted to smoking opium before bed so he could get some rest; So that he didn't go insane.
He didn't deserve you, he knew that. He wasn't who he used to be, the man you fell in love with. Despite that, his skin crawled at the sight of you with someone else. You have been his since you were 15, and no one takes what belongs to Tommy Shelby.
Tommy slipped his hand into your hair, pulling your face up from his chest. He leant down, placing his pillow-soft lips on yours. He hadn't kissed you in months, not since the night you killed the Irishman. It was like muscle memory. Your lips molding with his like they belonged together.
His tongue slipped into your mouth as he tightened his grip on your hair. "Mine." He panted as he pulled away for a second. Then his lips were back on yours.
Your brain screamed at you to pulled away, to kick him square in the balls and tell him to fuck off, but you couldn't. Tommy's kiss was mesmerizing, intoxicating. Tommy had a way of making you feel like you were the only girl in the world.
But you weren't. He had Lizzie, often. He was trying to get with Grace. You were just the girl who has always been there; You were familiar and safe. You didn't want to be his second choice, or in this case, third. You pushed him away with a grunt. You ripped his hands from your hair, and he stumbled back. "I'm not a toy, Tommy!" You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. "Either be with me or let me go." You gave him the options or ultimatum.
Tommy looked at you with wide eyes. He wasn't going to let you go, he couldn't. You were his. Weren't you? "I can't be with you." He said, and you nodded.
"Then I'm leaving, Tommy. I'm moving to London." You had already decided to go. You knew Tommy wouldn't choose you.
He shook his head, "No. You aren't." His words were confident and it made you boil. You didn't give a damn if he was Tommy Shelby of the Peaky Blinders.
You turned to walk away from him, but he grabbed your wrist. "I want to go home, Tommy. I want-- I need to get away from you." You jerked your arm away, feeling the burn of his grip. âIâm drowning, Tom. Iâm drowning, and youâre just pulling me under.â Your tears were hot against your face as you started back to Pollyâs house; As you started toward a new life without Tommy Shelby.
The following night, you were in The Garrison with John and Arthur. You had told them you were leaving for London, and they insisted you have one more night of fun with them. The boys were wasted, per usual, while you sipped your first whiskey on ice.
John was affectionate when he was drunk. Normally, you would put him in his place, but you couldnât be bothered. You were enjoying the attention. He slipped an arm around you, pulling you into his lap, just as Tommy opened the door to their back room.
It all happened quickly. Tommy ripped you out of Johnâs weak hold before sending him crashing to the floor holding his busted nose. âIâve told you, John. Sheâs my girl.â Tommy told him calmly, before pulling you out of the pub and to his room. Despite your protests, he didnât stop.
He pushed you into the small room. You were speechless. He had punched his own brother, because of you. You sat on his small twin-sized bed, holding your head in your hands. The air in the room smelt of cigarette smoke, a hint of opium, and Tommyâs aftershave. Tommy offered you a glass of whiskey which you happily took, downing it in one gulp.
Tommy sighed, taking a seat beside you. âIâve told you, youâre mine. What do I have to do to get you to understand that?â He took a sip of his drink, âYou think John can take care of you, eh?â He gripped your face tightly, âDo you think John can please you?â He chuckled at the thought, he knew he couldnât. He finished his whiskey, placing the glass on his side table.
You werenât scared of Tommy. You had seen him at his worst, you had let him use you until you couldnât stand. You let him do unspeakable things to you, to satisfy the darkness that rose inside of him. Deep down, you knew Tommy would never let you leave. He needed you, no one else would understand what he needed, what he craved. He released your face, and you tried to speak.
âShut up.â He harshly whispered, before planting his lips to yours. The kiss wasnât gentle. It was all teeth and tongue. Tommy pulled you up to your feet, sliding off your coat, tossing it across the room where it clattered to the floor. His hands were on your hips, slowly sliding up your body. His thumbs brushed over your nipples, that pebbled under the satin brassiere you were wearing. When his large hands reached your throat, he gripped tight with his right hand, shoving you to the wall. âYouâre my property.â He said, before adding, âNo one touches my property.â
You were putty in his hands, and he knew it. âPlease, Tommy,â you struggled to whisper through his grip, which only made him squeeze tighter.
âPlease, what, eh?â He cocked a brow, arching over the darkness that was taking over his blue eyes. âPlease let you go?â You tried to shake your head, but his hold was too tight. Tommy released you, causing you to suck in a harsh breath.
Deep down, you knew your relationship with Tommy was sick, demeaning, and toxic, but you didnât care. You loved him, and he loved you, even if he didnât say it often. âMark me.â You met his eyes, letting him see the truth; You were just as fucked up as him. For a split second, his gaze softened, as he placed a chaste kiss to your lips. âBut Tommy, youâre mine, too. No more Lizzie, no fucking Grace. Jusâ me.â He nodded in agreement, something you werenât expecting.
Just like that, soft Tommy was gone. He stepped back from you, and you missed the heat of him on you. He shrugged out of his jacket, revealing his gun holster. He removed that, before unbuttoning his waistcoat, slipping it off until he was just in his white button up. He unbuttoned the sleeves and rolled them up to his elbows. You stood against the wall, watching, waiting.
He reached into his pantâs pocket, pulling out his switchblade. Your breath hitched, your thighs clenching together. Was he really going to mark you? You were so lost in thought, you didnât hear him speaking to you. âWhere do you want it, woman?â He asked, and you looked at him, confused. âMy initials, where do you want them?â He asked again, clicking the button on the handle. The swoosh of the blade made you jump.
âYour property, your choice.â You mewled, knowing that was the answer he wanted. A groan reverberated through him, causing a wave of heat to flow through you. He stalked you, blade toward you.
âDonât move.â He commanded. The blade was cold against the skin of your chest. It slid down to the fabric of your dress. Thomas Shelby didnât keep a dull blade, so it sliced through the cotton like butter. He pushed the ruined garment from your shoulders, letting it pile around your heels. He took in your flushed appearance, admiring your blush pink underwear and matching garter belt that held up your black stockings. âFuck, I am a lucky man.â He whispered to himself.
The blade continued down your body, to your hip. He kneeled down, looking back up at you, as if to ask you âdid you really want thisâ. âIâm yours, Thomas Shelby. I always have been. But it needs to be seen.â You slowly turned, slipping your brassiere strap down, moving your hair, baring your shoulder to him. He stood up and grabbed the bottle of whiskey off the table, dousing the blade, then your back. He gave you the bottle to take a swig, but you declined. You wanted to feel everything. Tommy gave you a rag to bite down on. He was quick. Five swift, deep, slices to permanently cut the letters T.S. into your skin. You heard him lay the blade on the table.
Tears sprung from your eyes, but you remained silent. âDeep breath, love.â You did as you were told as he splashed more whiskey onto your skin. You groaned as the alcohol washed over the open wounds. Then he licked your shoulder, taking in the taste of your blood mixed with the whiskey. Tommy wouldnât tell anyone, but it was a taste he could get addicted to. The feel of his tongue laving over your cuts made you wet. The idea of your blood on his tongue drove you mad with lust. You turned to face him, your simple makeup ruined by your tears.
Tommy cleared his throat and left the room, but quickly returned with some items. A dressing, some tape, and a bowl with sugar? No, salt. He was going to make sure his initials were embedded into your skin forever. You nodded, telling him to do it. He moved you to the bed laying you face down. He sprinkled the salt over his initials, before rubbing the granules into the wounds. This time you screamed against the rag. The harsh edges of the salt bit into the sensitive skin, burning deep. Tommy shushed you as he finished. He dressed the wound, covering it with a bandage. He rolled you onto your back. Tommy leaned over you, his face mere inches from yours.
âIâm gonna fuck you now. Make you scream, so that all of Small Heath knows, eh?â He promised, as he kissed down your body. Tommy removed your black heels, first. Then he unhooked your stockings, slipping them down your legs one at a time. He kissed back up your thighs to your clothed core. He slowly peeled down your panties, revealing your soaking wet cunt to him. âLooks like you enjoyed that as much as I did.â He teased you, as he ran a finger through your slick, causing you to jump.
âTommy, please. Fuck me. I need you.â You begged him, reaching out to grab him, to pull him to you. He leaned forward, flattening his tongue against your slit, licking a long stripe from your pussy to your clit. You moaned loudly at the contact, arching up into his face.
Oral sex was still a new concept to you, only ever doing it with Tommy. He loved it though. He loved how you tasted, the sweet and salty substance that leaked from your body only for him. It made him rock hard just thinking about it. Tommyâs tongue was talented, sending you over the edge quickly. You rode out your high, breathing deeply, but you needed more.
You sat up, grasping at Tommyâs shirt. You ignored the pain in your shoulder as you ripped it open, buttons scattering everywhere. He cocked an eyebrow at you. âFuck me now and Iâll sew them back on later.â You said, before placing kisses across his chest. You reached for his pants, unbuttoning them swiftly, letting them pool around his ankles. His underwear quickly joined them. He took off his shoes, so he could kick away his trousers.
You opened your legs, giving him complete access to your body, which he gladly accepted. He climbed onto the bed, sinking his cock into you. He fucked into with vigor. âFuckinâ âEll.â He moaned as you clenched around him. âLook at you, my good girl.â Tommy spoke in time with his thrusts.
You whimpered at his words, âAll yours, Tommy.â
Tommy pulled out of you, making you whine. âI told you I was going to make you scream.â He growled, manhandling you into position. He had you on your knees, holding onto the metal frame of his bed. He situated himself behind you. You could feel his cock hard against the inside of your thigh. âFuck. Canât wait for this to heal.â He swore, carefully running his hand over his handiwork. You felt him move to line himself back up with your cunt, which was still dripping with anticipation. Gripping your hips tightly, he sheathed himself, going deeper than before. You moaned his name. âThatâs it, love. My name on your lips and your body.â
He set a pounding pace, making the frame bang into the wall. âOh, fuâ Fuck.â You could barely get the words out. Your head was empty. All you could think about was Tommy, he was everywhere. You hissed as a sharp sting ran across your ass, a spank from the man fucking the life out of you. Another, causing a moan to erupt from your lips. You were so close, the smacks to the ass only pushing you closer. âPlease, please, pleasepleaseplease-â At this point you didnât know what you were begging for.
Tommy chuckled, slowing his pace and releasing his grip on one of your hips. He reached around, rubbing tight circles on your clit as began to grind into you. The change of pace had you feeling every little movement. The head of his cock hit that special spot inside of you with deadly precision. âI want you to come on my cock, got it?â He whispered in your ear. You nodded, letting yourself go, falling over the edge of pleasure. It was a long drop, hitting every single nerve in your body. You barely registered Tommyâs âGood fucking girlâ as he picked his pace back up. He fucked you through your release into another that pulled him over with you. You felt rope after rope of his release deep inside you.
His head dropped to your good shoulder, his hot breath cascaded down your spine. You were still too far gone. Tommy slipped out of you, and you felt him leak out onto your thighs. âIâll be right back.â He told you as he moved you to lay down. He came back with a towel to wrap around you. He lifted you in his arms, taking you downstairs to the bathtub. You could see the water was steaming. He set you down, removing the towel. He helped you step into the bath, before he followed right behind you. He held you tight against his chest, as he helped clean you up.
When he was finished, you rested your head back against him. What had you just done? You were trying to get away from this man you let him brand you, like fucking cattle. âTommy,â You started unsure of what to say. You heard him strike a match, then the air filled with the familiar smell of his cigarettes. âAre you still going to see Lizzie?â You asked, your voice was small and you felt pathetic even asking.
Tommy sighed, before he gave you the answer you had been wanting for months now, âI donât need Lizzie. Donât need Grace.â He placed a kiss to the junction of your neck, âNot when I have my girl.â
Tommy hadnât lied. He told Lizzie he wouldnât need her services anymore. Any interaction he had with Grace was business related and he always made sure someone else was with him. Your shoulder had healed, leaving T.S. seared into your soft flesh. Any time it caught your attention, you smiled.
You walked into The Garrison, seeing Tommy at the bar, talking with Grace over the books. He looked over at you, as you sauntered toward him. You didnât speak. Instead, you reached up, pulling Tommy down to you. You kissed him feverishly. You heard Grace scoff, but didnât care. Tommy ran a hand up your arm, accidentally pulling on the strap of your dress. It slipped off your shoulder, revealing his claim on you. The little gasp from behind you told you she saw it. You pulled away from him, before turning around to Grace. You smiled sweetly, before ordering a drink.
âOn the house.â She said, her voice laced with hate. âFor Tommyâs girl.â
Characters: Soldier Boy x Reader, Billy Butcher, Hughie
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Slight fluff, if your squint. Some angst.
A/N: Itâs been a while since Iâve been able to get any writing done but have been keeping up with The Boys and am completely obsessed with Soldier Boy so⊠yeah, this just happened đ€·đ»ââïž
đž cred: to rightful owners
Elleâs Library/Main Masterlist
âHey, Y/N, someoneâs looking for you.â
You sigh in frustration for the thousandth time today. What should have been a routine day turned into hell when the idiots at Vought decided to rush the release of merchandise for their latest egocentrically-fueled, completely-cheesy film starring the Seven. As manager of one of the most visited shops in the city, youâre used to chaos but, for whatever reason, today the chaos just seems never ending; running out of merchandise, dealing with annoying customers, resetting all systems due to an unexplainable loss of power halfway through the biggest rush of the day. Just one thing after another, and now⊠now someone is asking for you. Probably another disgruntled customer losing his shit because youâre all out of Starlight posters for him to jerk off to.
Tommy Shelby believes in womenâs equality. So it only makes sense that you do equal the amount of work in the bedroom, right?
This is about to be fucking filthy, so have fun you wonderful freaks! Inspired by Tommyâs speech in Season 2 about womenâs rights. I also want to dedicate this to one of my favorite authors, @earlgreydream. Grey is the one who got me watching Peaky Blinders in the first place and she writes THE BEST smut and fluff and angst for Tommy and a ton of other characters.Â
This is an NSFW preference for a female reader with the character Tommy Shelby of the show Peaky Blinders. This work contains smut and mature language and should not be read by those under 18 (or the age of majority in your locale). As a writer, I will attempt to make accurate warnings for each of my fics, however I cannot guarantee that I will identify each and every sensitive topic. My works regularly contain swearing, allusions to/mentions of sex, and canon level violence.
Warnings Include (but are not limited to):
A bit of 1920âs misogyny
Use of whore in a non-sexual way
Swearing
dom!Thomas Shelby
sub!reader
degradation/humiliation
dumbification
Tommy is mean
light impact play
Oral sex (male receiving)
Masturbation (female)
Vouyerism (Tommy watches)
P in V, unprotected sex
DISCLAIMER: This, like the series, takes place in the 1920âs, which was a time when misogyny was rampant and womenâs rights were just beginning to take shape. I do not condone misogyny, and I vigorously support womenâs rights. This is purely a work of fiction.
Please read at your own discretion and consume your fanfiction responsibly.
Characters: Soldier Boy x Reader, Billy Butcher, Hughie
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Slight fluff, if your squint. Some angst.
A/N: Itâs been a while since Iâve been able to get any writing done but have been keeping up with The Boys and am completely obsessed with Soldier Boy so⊠yeah, this just happened đ€·đ»ââïž
đž cred: to rightful owners
Elleâs Library/Main Masterlist
âHey, Y/N, someoneâs looking for you.â
You sigh in frustration for the thousandth time today. What should have been a routine day turned into hell when the idiots at Vought decided to rush the release of merchandise for their latest egocentrically-fueled, completely-cheesy film starring the Seven. As manager of one of the most visited shops in the city, youâre used to chaos but, for whatever reason, today the chaos just seems never ending; running out of merchandise, dealing with annoying customers, resetting all systems due to an unexplainable loss of power halfway through the biggest rush of the day. Just one thing after another, and now⊠now someone is asking for you. Probably another disgruntled customer losing his shit because youâre all out of Starlight posters for him to jerk off to.
Summary: Jensenâs held up his âfamily/good guyâ image for a long time. When that image is gone or threated, then heâs forced to do something he really doesnât want to do. Can he learn to love her before itâs too late, and can she forgive him for the way heâs treated her since the bigging?
Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Reader
Chapter: Borderline Domestic Violence, Language, Smut, Unprotected Smut, Jensen is a dick for a large part of this series. *Chapters will be warrened accordingly.*
A/N: This fic is completely unbeta, so all mistakes are mine! Please do not copy my work! Feedback is golden! Enjoy!
Summary: This isnât the first time Y/Nâs done Jensenâs hair for a shoot, but thereâs something about this shoot thatâs making things pretty rough for her.
Warnings/Explicit 18+: Smut. All smut. The tiniest fluff at the end, but pretty much all smut. Unprotected sex, PinV, Oral (m/f receiving) fingering, edging, light orgasm denial, slight Dom! Jensen, face and throat fucking. I think thatâs everything.
Pairings: Jensen Ackles x Y/N
Word Count: 3,346
A/N: So, this is the very first time Iâve ever written RPF, hope I donât disappoint. I donât know how often Iâll be writing for Jensen, so I think Iâll keep my taglists as is right now. Gonna tag my Dean Fics list in this one, but please let me know if you donât want to be tagged in any future Jensen fics and Iâll make a note not to include you if thereâs a next time.
I wholeheartedly blame the gif below for this fic and for forcing me to finally write a RPF. I just couldnât help it. I know the shoot below was actually a bunch of the boys cast, but I left them out of it! Lol!
Iâm going to say that the Jensen Iâm writing about in the story is, of course a complete work of fiction made up out of my own horndog brain (letâs say heâs a Jensen from somewhere else in the Multiverse! đ) and this fictionalized Jensen is single.
Finally, I wrote this pretty quick, so sorry for any mistakes!
The beautiful divider at the bottom was created by @talesmaniac89
(x)
âThatâs great Jensen - this all looks amazing! Just hold that same pose. Good, good.â The photographer, Jordan, was calling out encouragement to Jensen as he sat on the floor in his ripped up wardrobe.Â
Summary: One afternoon, you go visit your boyfriend, Jensen on the set of The Boys. But when youâre there, you canât help but flirt with a certain New Zealander actor. What happens next is you and Jensen behind his trailer, him teaching you who you belong to.
Pairing:Â Jensen x F!reader / Karl Urban x F!Reader (implied)
Word Count: 1957
Rating: 18+
Warning: Smut, public sex, outdoor sex, p in v, unprotected sex, voyeurism, teasing, dirty talking, rough sex, implied cockhold
A/n:Â I havenât written in a while, so in the meantime, hereâs a little sexy thing I wrote!Â
PS: I had no idea what gif to put on this fic, so here have more of him.
Characters: Soldier Boy x Reader, Billy Butcher, Hughie
Word Count: 3.2k
Warnings: SMUT - 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Slight fluff, if your squint. Some angst.
A/N: Itâs been a while since Iâve been able to get any writing done but have been keeping up with The Boys and am completely obsessed with Soldier Boy so⊠yeah, this just happened đ€·đ»ââïž
đž cred: to rightful owners
Elleâs Library/Main Masterlist
âHey, Y/N, someoneâs looking for you.â
You sigh in frustration for the thousandth time today. What should have been a routine day turned into hell when the idiots at Vought decided to rush the release of merchandise for their latest egocentrically-fueled, completely-cheesy film starring the Seven. As manager of one of the most visited shops in the city, youâre used to chaos but, for whatever reason, today the chaos just seems never ending; running out of merchandise, dealing with annoying customers, resetting all systems due to an unexplainable loss of power halfway through the biggest rush of the day. Just one thing after another, and now⊠now someone is asking for you. Probably another disgruntled customer losing his shit because youâre all out of Starlight posters for him to jerk off to.
âIâm busy, Joe. If itâs just another asshole whining about us not having something, just send them away.â
âNot just any other asshole, luv,â says a voice with a thick Cockney accent.
Fuck.
âButcher.â You turn in your chair to face the Londoner leaning against the frame of the doorway with a shit-eating grin that told you he was here to ask you for yet another favor. âYou know youâre not supposed to show your mug around here. If anyone at Vought finds out we know each other-â
âI know, I know,â he interrupts. âBut, I wouldnât be here if I didnât have a good fuckinâ reason now, would I?â
You glare up at him, waiting for him to state said reason while he just stands there, looking at you expectantly. Rolling your eyes, you stand up and grab your jacket. He wants you to follow him, and while youâre not always so willing to do as he asks, you know he must have a very good reason for coming all the way into the Vought tower merch shop instead of calling you. Whatever it is, itâs good enough to risk your job and possibly both your lives.
You follow him out the back after telling your assistant manager, Joe, to take over for the rest of the day since you had a family emergency. Butcher says nothing as he climbs into his car, and even as he drives out to fuck-knows-where.
After about ten minutes of silence, you canât stand the suspense anymore, âOkay, out with it.â
He chuckles, âyou are an impatient one, ainât ya?â
âButcher,â you warn. âIâve heard nothing from you, or Hughie, or even Frenchie since yâall went legit and now all of a sudden youâre here being all mysterious? Forgive me for being a little impatient with your sorry ass.â
âAlright, fair enough.â Butcher reaches behind you and pulls a file from the backseat of the car, âitâs a long story but, we ainât legit anymore, turns out Neumanâs a bloody supe, Kimikoâs in the hospital, and we just got back from a little field trip to the former Soviet Union that tore the group apart.â
As he flops the folder down on your lap, you canât help but be shocked by the information Butcher just dropped on you. True, youâd been through some serious shit with the boys ever since you joined their cause after some asshole C-list supe had decimated your best friend, Ashe, for just being in the wrong place at the wrong time, but after everything, youâd really thought things had turned a corner.
Butcher had found you after you exacted your revenge on Asheâs murderer and convinced you to join the team. You were apprehensive at first but after thinking about it all - the deaths, the lack of accountability, all the collateral damage that kept getting covered up - you decided to help the cause. It wasnât a great arrangement; to be honest, everything was shit considering the fact that it took a long time for the boys to warm up to the idea of working with a Supe, even one as half-decent as you, but each time you were able to rid the world of yet another asshole Supe with Butcherâs help, you knew at least you were saving some lives. Which, apart from avenging Ashe, helped you remember why you agreed to be injected with Compound V all those years ago. Though you were gifted with the ability to shoot literal fireballs through your hands, you somehow managed to stay under the radar enough with the morons at Vought that they never really knew of your existence. Or if they did, they didnât find you threatening in any way. So much so that youâd been able to go nearly 40 years jumping from one job to another within the conglomerate without detection, always using different names and changing certain aspects of your appearance just enough to not raise suspicion. It was this ability to have access to Vought property that had brought you to Bucherâs attention, that and your thirst for vengeance. After years of running with him though, when the Stormfront scandal hit and the group disbanded, you went back to your old ways, having thought that finally things would be better.
You did keep your job with Vought because even as a lowly shop manager, you still had access to certain individuals who could provide invaluable information but over the past few months, having heard nothing but silence from everyone but M.M., you were nearly convinced that the worst was over. Oh well, you shouldâve known better.
Still, none of the events that Butcher has just relayed to you explain why heâs come to you only just now. You figure the answer lays in the folder on your lap and when you open it, you understand.
âWhat is thisâŠâ you look through the entire file in disbelief.
The car stops and you look up to find yourself in a motel parking lot, far from the center of the city where Butcher picked you up. You look at him, puzzled, wide eyes silently asking for an answer to the question youâre terrified to ask.
âHeâs alive,â Butcher answers and you feel time freeze. Thereâs a ringing in your ears.
Heâs alive. The words dance in front of your tunnel visioned eyes and you feel sick to your stomach. Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy is alive.
No one else knows your connection to the famous superhero - Americaâs former sweetheart and defender. No one but Butcher.
New York City, 1980
Pain. Spreading throughout your entire body, like an unforgiving wildfire, burning everything in its path. You writhe on the floor, crying out for help, holding on to Benâs hand for dear life. Though your vision is blurred, you can see him next to you, a smile on his lips as you struggle to breathe. Heâd told you, warned you how much it would hurt, but you didnât care at the time, and even now you try to convince yourself that itâs the right thing. Because itâs the only way to be with him, the only way to stay with him⊠forever.
Present Day
âBut howâŠ? No,â you shake your head, âthis canât be. He was gone, he died, thatâs what they all said⊠the twins, a-and Gunpowder. They grieved him, even Crimson CountessâŠâ
You feel your chest tighten as the air becomes too thick around you, making it hard to breathe. Butcher places a hand on your back, an awkward attempt to soothe the anxiety creeping up on you.
âThey lied. There was a plan, they wanted to get rid ofâim. He didnât die, he was taken by the Ivans.â With every word coming out of his mouth, Butcher only makes your world spin more. It doesnât make any sense, youâd talked to them, all of the Payback team were there at the memorial service, they mourned the loss of their captain. You knew, of course, that they didnât always get along, especially with Countess since sheâd been forced to fake a relationship with Soldier Boy, but they wouldnât dare try to hurt him. He was too strong, they couldnât haveâŠ
You look down at the picture in the file, and somehow find a way to ground yourself. Anger replaces anxiety, a seething rage simmering under your skin. Those bastards; ungrateful, talentless, useless. They were always jealous of Soldier Boy, itâs no wonder they stooped so low as to team up with the Soviets to bring him down.
âDid you find him?â you ask.
âYâknow, he ainât no angel neither,â Butcher comments and you look at him angrily.
You do know that, of course you do. It was one of the reasons youâd struggled so much working with the boys. Especially M.M. You knew what happened to his family, you knew what Soldier Boy did to him, and yet you couldnât help but excuse him in your mind. Yes, Soldier Boy had a dark side to him, but nobody before, and certainly nobody after, loved you the way he did. No one made you feel like you were on top of the world with just one look, no one made your body tremble and your soul reach heaven the way he did. But that wasnât Soldier Boy, that was Ben; your soulmate, your lover, your everything.
âYou donât know him like I do, Butcher. I know, okay? I know what heâs done but⊠heâs my Ben and I- I canât turn my back on him. Just please, tell me you found him.â You know begging is pathetic but if thereâs a chance to see him again, you have to try.
Butcher says nothing but nods at one of the rooms in the motel. He takes his phone out and sends a text, and not thirty seconds later you see Hughie come out of the same room. Gathering all your strength, you force your body to get out of the car and go towards the door. Your legs are like lead, each heavy step taking you closer and closer to a moment you never thought would come.
You reach out and grab the doorknob, taking a big breath before turning it and opening the door.
Though he has his back to you, you immediately recognize him. Those broad shoulders, that silky, dirty blonde hair, his laughter as he mocks one of the commercials playing on the small TV. He doesnât even bother looking back at the door to see whoâs come into the room.
You close the door behind you and take a couple more steps, but stop just a few feet short. You canât get any closer and though you know it's been only seconds, it feels like decades that you stand there before you finally get the courage to speak.
âB-Ben?â you whisper, barely audible but that doesnât matter because he can hear you. His body tenses up and he stands up immediately, the chair heâd been sitting on falling to the ground. He turns around and you swear heâs gotten even more beautiful than you remember. He hasnât aged a day, and while you havenât either, itâs striking; he looks amazing, standing in front of you in a Giants jersey and sweatpants. Looking so normal, so innocent, so⊠Ben.
If heâs shocked to see you, he doesnât show it because almost immediately he smiles and crosses the short distance between you. Before you know it, you feel his lips against yours and you canât help but melt in his embrace. The kiss is rough, bruising, filled with pent-up need. In a flash, he lifts you up and you instinctively wrap your legs around his waist. Your movements are swift and expertly, your hands tearing at his clothes as he carries you to the creaky motel bed. He practically throws you onto it, you land unceremoniously but waste no time in removing your own clothes as he lifts his shirt over his head. You sit up and reach out, your fingers dancing across his perfect skin. He looks down at you, lust-blown pupils staring as your fingers dip under the elastic of his sweatpants, pulling them down along with his boxers, allowing his impressive erection to spring up against his abdomen. Without hesitation, you lick your lips in anticipation, practically drooling at the sight in front of you.
As his pants hit the floor, you wrap your hand around his shaft, guiding it to your open mouth. Pre-cum leaking from the tip paints your lips, and you feel the weight of his throbbing cock against your tongue. Soldier Boy groans at the sight, but patience has never been his forte and he quickly snakes his fingers through your hair, pulling at the strands as he pushes your head towards him, forcing you to nearly swallow him whole.
He holds you in place, moving his own hips against you, each thrust allowing him to hit the back of your throat, making you gag around him. Your eyes meet his beautifully green ones and you can feel tears beginning to form as he makes it hard for you to breathe. Saliva seeps out the sides of your mouth and Ben groans, this is the sight he missed most. You moan and the vibrations are nearly enough to make him undone but you know heâs only just beginning, your body responds to him on its own accord, as if no time had passed at all since the last time you found yourself in this position. As he finally pulls out of your mouth fully, you gasp, catching your breath while guiding his manhood downwards, slowly making its way down your neck and stopping in the valley between your breasts. He lets go of your hair, his hand sliding down the side of your face, thumb resting against your bottom lip as you push your breasts together, rolling your nipples between your fingertips as he begins thrusting up and down, his cock sliding easily between your tits. His thumb makes its way into your mouth and you suck slightly, all the while looking straight up at him, admiring his features, basking in the glory of the groans of pleasure escaping those perfectly parted, kiss-swollen lips of his.
While he loves the sight and feeling, he canât wait any longer. He needs to feel your heat around him, needs it more than anything in the world. Before you can react, his hand leaves your face and he grabs your wrists, pulling you upwards so he can push you down on the bed. His body covers yours, his chest against your own, his mouth on your neck leaving angry, visible marks as his hand travels down to your core. Thick fingers slide down your wet center making you moan loudly as he inserts one, then two digits into your dripping pussy.
âFuck, babygirl,â he groans in your ear, âso fucking tight and wet for me.â
You nod incoherently as he adds yet another finger and begins moving them in and out of you. Itâs been so long since youâve been touched in any way like this. After Soldier Boyâs âdeathâ, it had taken you a while to start dating and when you did, it was always a disaster. No one compared to him, no one even came close; he ruined you for every other man on Earth. And now heâs back in your arms, the one man that knows what makes you tick, how to turn you into a blubbering mess underneath him using only his fingers. Fingers that curl directly against your most sensitive spot with just the right pressure that sends you unexpectedly crashing against your first orgam. It hits like a freight train, just waves of unimaginable pressure washing over your entire being; your eyes roll back against your head and you loudly scream his name. So loudly, you wouldnât be surprised if they heard you all the way to Vought Tower.
He continues finger-fucking you through your orgasm, never quite letting you come down. Oh how he's missed this, how many times he dreamt of you in this position, beneath him, writhing and screaming his name in pleasure. Sometimes it was the only thought that kept him from going insane every time the Soviets devised a brand new plan to try and break him.
Without missing a beat, he pulls his fingers out of you and presses them against your lips, groaning as you suck your own juices from them, lapping at them like you were starved. He canât wait anymore, he needs to be inside you. Kneeling on the bed now, Soldier Boy grabs you by the hips, your legs on either side of him and pulls you towards him. He uses your wetness to coat his painfully hard cock and the moment you feel him enter you, you swear you see stars dancing across your vision. Heâs big, thick and delicious as he stretches you out.
Soldier Boy throws his head back as he pushes his way inside you, your velvet heat wrapping around him perfectly, like you were specially made for his cock. He takes a moment to revel in the feeling, yet soon his body demands more and he begins thrusting. His hips expertly move against you as he holds one of your legs against his front while the other fondles at your breast. It doesnât take long for your second orgasm to hit, and when it does your entire body convulses, your hands holding on to the bedsheets for dear life, your back arched and your head thrown back. He loves to watch you cum, loves to see you come completely undone because of him. He loves the feeling of your cunt pulsing around him even more, it's intoxicating really and itâs been so long he knows he wonât be able to last much longer. He needs to cum inside of you, to coat your walls with his seed and make you unconditionally his again.
As wildfire-like pleasure continues to spread throughout your entire body, he keeps thrusting in and out of you, now desperately chasing his own release. He needs it, you can see it in his eyes. And you need it too, you need to feel him let go inside you.
As best you can, you move your hips against his, egging him on until his thrusts are erratic and unforgiving. You can feel him in places you never thought you would again. The bed creaks loudly beneath you, but itâs barely audible in comparison to your combined moans and groans. Heâs close now, you can feel his cock throbbing inside you as he nears release when you suddenly hear the sound of wood breaking and feel the bed dip beneath the two of you, the frame being no match for the strength of Soldier Boyâs final push that feels as though he may split you into two, and he growls as he lets go; a deep, guttural sound that fills the air as he fills your insides completely. But thatâs not all, the room suddenly becomes a thousand times brighter and you feel an intense heat all around you as his chest illuminates and sends what seems like a supernova against the windowed wall of the cheap motel room. You cover your eyes, nearly blinded by this light and uncover them as you feel him collapse against you.
Perplexed, you look around you and find yourself in full display of the parking lot. Whatever it was that just happened, Soldier Boy destroyed the hotel and what seems like a few cars parked out front. You hear hysterical screams before you see Butcher and Hughie run into your field of sight. Concern is etched in Hughieâs features as he takes in the damage, while ButcherâŠ
Well, fuck. Butcher is definitely going to kill you.
This is an edited, reworked, name changed version of my series Regret and Redemption! Iâve been working on this for a while now.Â
Most countries are available to ship to, if not, I will find a way to get you a copy if you want one! Itâs free until July 24th for Kindle Unlimited users.Â
Buy a copy here
I would really appreciate a signal boost if you donât mind!
Check out this story, get the book if you can, share!! Regret and Redemption is absolutely AMAZING and I canât wait to read this version of it. Brandy is a wonderful author!
I've thought about doing this for awhile and was too scared to for fear my husband would see this post but I can't do it anymore. I need help to get myself and my son out of an abusive situation. I'm going to place my story below a cut because it will contain topics that can be triggering.
I've been with my husband for 17 years, married for 11 and for 15 of those years I've been emotionally abused and raped. The very first time he held me down and raped me anally I thought it would never happen again. He'd just lost his job and he lost control. But that wasn't the last time. Over the course of a decade he broke me down emotionally, made me think I was nothing but a sex toy to him. He took my fantasies, many of which I've written about and he twisted them. Tying me up and blindfolding me so I couldn't see or escape what was coming. The spanking/punishments that I would get would go from pleasurable/light hearted to out right torture leaving me bruised, bleeding and sobbing for him to stop. Which he wouldn't until he was satisfied. He'd vaginally insert sex toys, his fingers or his penis, raping me usually unlubricated until I was torn and bleeding. He'd take photos that I never consented to for his own pleasure later. When I mentioned wanting a safe word the answer was no because we didn't need one. He didn't but I did.
He controlled so much of my life inside our home. What I could wear, how I did my hair, I could never wear make up, even during our wedding when I did wear light makeup he told me I looked disgusting and I shouldn't have put any on. I lost touch with my friends and rarely spoke to my family. Hell, I couldn't even pick what we watched on TV because if he wasn't interested I wasn't allowed to be either.
When I told him I wasn't interested in marriage, he told me I wasn't committed to him and that our relationship meant nothing to me if we didn't get married, so to prove my commitment I got married. Within a couple years we had our son and I thought maybe he would change cause he was a dad now. But no, the emotional abuse was brought upon our baby.
There isn't a day that goes by that he doesn't yell at our son about something. He's playing too loud, he's watching too much TV, he didn't clean up fast enough, he didn't move fast enough, he's asking for too much help with homework, he eats too much/not enough and the list goes on. My son is 9 years old and he's never known that dad's aren't like that. That other kids have dad's that don't yell at them when they ask for something to eat.
I can't keep raising my son in this house and I can't keep being abused either. I hate to do this but I need help. He takes my paychecks and I've been saving what I can but the cost of living keeps going up. Shelters in my area are more than full. Below is my PayPal, the only place I can save money that my husband doesn't have access too. If you can spare a dollar or even a reblog I will be eternally grateful. Please help us and thank you.
