#anthony boyle smut

[scuttle-buttle]

Co-Pilots

Nobody asked for this. I have the flu. I needed something nice to focus on and apparently this was it. Blame @lorna-d-m my partner in crime :) also kudos to winniemaywebber and sagesolscitcewrites because i def read all their stuff and was vibing it and the pet names and stuff sooo hard

Rated: 18+

Word Count: approx. 3k

Tags: MMF, fluff and reassurance, mentions of wartime ptsd, body confidence issues, mentions of having children, PiV sex, female receiving oral, male receiving oral, voyeurism, no stated use of contraception

A/N: Croz is referred to as Crosby, Harry, and Bing in this (so as not to confuse). And idk what rank Rosie is by this point so were just going with Major

✈️

The bright lights blinded you the first time you walked through New York City; tonight was no different. Flashes of neon whites, golds, blues, reds, lit up your path as you entered the lobby to the Ritz hotel. Your husband had made arrangements for you to meet him in the city much as he had a near 2 years ago during the height of the war. You wanted to meet him at the airport. Crosby insisted he find you at the hotel. And now, with Hitler defeated, he was on his way home. For good. 

His phone call had startled you. Usually, you wrote him weekly, sometimes more if you felt lonesome. Harry’s letters were less frequent, but no less loving. Little Steve kept you more than busy most days, back home safe terrorizing your mother and father while you got some rest and relaxation with your Bing in the big city. The toddler was a shining light in your dark days. He had the same dark curls, the same downturned eyes as his father. A piece of your love that was yours no matter what the war brought - or took.

You’d nearly lost your footing when you heard his voice, gruff and mellow, across the line. Darlin’ it's me, he'd said, I'm coming home but I've got some business to finish in the city, meet me there. I'm bringing Rosie, you remember him yeah? Said he'll take us dancing at the best jazz spots. I love you Mrs. Crosby. See you soon.

Now you wait in the lobby for your love and his friend.

Minutes tick by as you wait. Maybe the plane was late? Maybe they had to meet somewhere after landing to debrief? Maybe there was a problem with the engine? Just as your maybes started to drown out the chatter and bustle around you a voice rang out.

“Well ho-ly mackerel, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes Mrs. Crosby.”

The sight of your husband had you dashing into his waiting arms. Tears streamed down your face as you kissed him senseless over and over and over. Crosby couldn’t contain his laughter at your reaction, nor did he bother hiding it when he wiped his eyes dry. 

“I’ve missed you so much Bing.”

His forehead rested on yours. “God how I’ve missed you too, Darlin’.” 

Over his shoulder you notice a taller man, stylish moustache and curls neatly gelled into place, attempting to avert his eyes and give your reunion privacy. You were struck by how attractive he was. “Bing?”

“Oh!” Harry takes a step back. “Darlin’ this is Robert Rosenthal - or Rosie as us boys like to call him.”

Rosie gives a toothy smile and holds out his hand for a firm shake; “so nice to meet you, Mrs. Crosby. Croz here has told me all about you.”

Giving your husband a raised eyebrow, you ask “all good things I hope?”

Both men chuckle. “Only the best, ma’am.” 

The three of you settled into your rooms before deciding that a celebration was in order. Rosie commandeered the evening, promising only the best jazz New York had to offer. Drinks flowed, the band jived, and couples danced the night away. 

Night after night, Rosie took you somewhere new. You’d split your time whirling the dancefloor between both your husband and his pilot friend, never satisfied until your feet ached. Harry claimed all the slow dances, nestled up close to your body. But Rosie? He got the fast-paced, jumping, hip swaying swing that Crosby claimed he couldn’t keep up with. Two left feet, he’d claim. Each morning after you slept in the plush, luxurious Ritz bed until lunchtime while they attended to their military duties. 

Friday rolled around. It had been a week of this routine. You should’ve been exhausted, you should’ve wanted to slow down - after all you were no spring chicken anymore. Yet, something about being in the arms of your husband and Rosie as you swayed to Duke Ellington, Benny Goodman, and Glen Miller felt so right. 

When the barkeep yelled for “last call” you knew it was time to retire for the evening.

“Say, why don’t you come have a nightcap in our room, Rosie? Crosby asked.

The three of you settle into the living room of the suite assigned to you and your husband. Bing plops into an armchair with a satisfied huff. You join Rosenthal on the loveseat, a respectable distance inbetween. A bottle of whisky sits open on the fireplace mantle. Conversation comes and goes as the trio fall from the high of the night. It’s easy. Almost makes the boys forget the horrors they endured in Europe. 

Around 1am the conversation begins to lull as you finish regaling the group with a story of the shenanigans you and your girlfriends would get up to during university days. “-You think you boys were bad flying all around in your skivvies, but it was nothing compared to us girls that night!” Laughter filled the room until all had let it trickle to a close; the silence was warm like the fireplace embers. Robert sat enraptured by your story, by your beauty, by the thought of you under that blue dress and all your curves. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed…..he was just a man after all. And with the things he’d seen? Could you really blame him?

“How long’s it been Rosie?” The question broke the man’s gaze from you and directed it towards Crosby. He didn’t know it was so obvious. 

Rosie was about to stumble out an answer, an apology for looking at you like that, he doesn’t know, when Croz interrupts again. “When’s the last time you felt the touch of a good woman, Rosie?” Harry waits for an answer. Rosenthal can feel his face heat; he runs his fingers through his hair mussing the curls out of place. This confident Crosby was much bolder than the one he’d met when he first shipped out to the 100th. “Before the war?” There is no judgment in his eyes, no disdain or hesitation towards his comrade as he asks. Rosie shakes his head in affirmation. His glass clinks against the table as he sets it down, whisky unfinished.

Crosby sighs. “Too long.”

“Too damn long…” Rosie agrees in a mumble. 

You sit and watch the boys in rapt attention before meeting Bing's chocolatey eyes. Rosenthal is a good man, a great one from what your husband’s letters proved, and he deserves kindness and softness after all he’s been through. They both do. A delicate hand moves to rest on Rosie’s knee where he sits next to you. His brow furrows. The Major flits his gaze between you and your husband.

In all seriousness Crosby says “It’s alright, I don’t mind.” He tilts his head forward in permission, a silent go ahead. 

The navigator noticed how Rosie looked at you all night, how you returned the glances like a game of chicken. Each admiring but neither willing to do anything about it. How the two of you danced around the club without a care in the world at his insistence. He hadn’t seen Rosie smile like that in ages. He knew you hadn’t laughed like that since before he announced he was heading to the front. You definitely were reveling in the attention of both men tonight. This was never something you had discussed with your husband; somehow you just knew each other well enough even after so long apart to know that it was okay. It was something you both wanted.

Your fingers drifted higher on Rosie’s thigh; not enough to be indecent, but enough to get the message across. His larger palm came to rest atop yours, stopping the movement. “You uh- you’re okay with this?” the Brooklyn native questioned. 

Without hesitation you reassure “I am.” 

In a measured, almost odd approach Rosenthal shifts towards you. His lips hover over your cheek for a moment before the softest kiss brushes your skin. The whiskers of his mustache tickle. You can’t help the grin that threatens to break. He continues to kiss along your cheek, once, twice, thrice, each getting closer to your waiting lips. Finally, his chapped lips meet yours. This kiss is awkward at first as he gathers his bearing, quickly finding a rhythm as if no time had passed since he last kissed a pretty dame.

Crosby sunk deeper into his chair as he watched. He could feel the tell-tale sign of his slacks becoming tighter as he watched his best girl and his best friend. “She loves it when you kiss her neck,” he instructed with that smirk of his. Rosie dragged his lips to your throat. “Little lower-” again he shifted “-right there.” A moan slipped from your parted lips as your body warred with the directions from your husband and the attentions from your lover. 

The room felt stifling. Rosie’s coat, your dress, his shirt, your stockings, his trousers, your brassiere - each fluttered off to the floor one by one. Even Bing had lost his button down. 

The Major guided you onto your back along the couch, trailing open mouthed kisses down your sternum, along your breasts. A moment of clarity passed your mind that your body was different now than the last time you had been made love to, whether by your husband or not, since the baby. Your breasts weren't as pert, your stomach was softer than it used to be. Lips pursed, you let out a small sigh. 

“What’s wrong darlin’?” Bing asked. The navigator leaned towards you, brushing a strand of fallen hair from your face. “You know I can read you better than any map.” Rosie stopped and rested his chin on your abdomen to look up. 

“We can stop,” Rosie offered.

“No, It’s silly…” you tried to brush off.

Both men came to your defense immediately. Looking between the two you finally settle on your husband’s face. “It’s just that… since the last time we saw each other I’m different. My body changed and- I don’t know. I want it to be enough for you. For you both,” you add with a look to Rosie.

Crosby drops from the chair to his knees before you. “My pretty girl.” He kisses you slowly. “We’ve all changed.” From below Rosie adds nothing is the same. “You are still the most beautiful, most incredible, woman I’ve ever seen. Gosh - you’re my wife. Mrs. Crosby! I would fight to the ends of the earth to come home to you.” Softer he adds “I did fight to come home to you… and to bring this flak-happy bastard along too,” he laughed, nudging his elbow at his mate. “Now be a good girl and let us treat you right.” At your nod Rosie resumes his ascent down your waiting body. 

With a flourish your panties are gone, your dripping center exposed to his hungry stare. “What does she like, Croz? Because I'm not stopping until she comes begging all over my tongue.” He licks a deep stripe along your slit. “Sweet as sugar, babydoll.” Gone is the man unsure of himself, and in place is a god amongst men who knows exactly what he wants. It’s all you can do to hold on as Rosie devours you at your husband’s suggestions. Fingers dig into the cushions, tangle into his curls as you writhe under him. 

Rosie puts in his best effort to undo you; your husband saunters up to your face, his pants long forgotten. Cock stiff and ready, dripping with need, he runs the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip. Your teeth nibble at the pad.  “Think you can take me too, darlin’?” A whimpered please is all that comes out.

A cacophony of moans fills the air as your senses are assaulted - Rosie latched to your pussy like a lifeline and your Crosby’s cock deep inside your mouth. “That’s it darlin’, just like that. I bet you missed me, huh? I can tell you did, sweet girl. Fuck I missed you….” 

You gave him everything you had as you licked and sucked at his length. You could have sworn it was bigger than you remembered. He could tell by the look in your eyes you were getting closer, hell he was too. Lord knew he didn’t want to finish like some schoolboy in your lovely mouth. Crosby pulled himself out and you gasped for air. Cheeks flushed and sweat dripping down your temple he turned to his partner. “Use your fingers Rose, drives her wild when you crook them up inside her ‘n don't be afraid to get rough - give her a nip.” He punctuated the end of his command with a nip of his own to your throat. Rosie did exactly as instructed, sending you careening further to the edge and hips bucking.

“Oh- please Rosie- oh god don’t stop-” tumbles out as you start to fall. You swear you feel him humming against your clit as his fingers burn pleasure into your skin.

“That’s it darlin’, just let go for him. Being such a good girl for us,” croons your Bing.

When it all gets too much you gently push him from you. He goes gracefully, dropping chaste kisses to your thighs and hips. Despite feeling like a bowl of jello you remember your purpose tonight - to give Rosie a proper homecoming. 

Sitting up you demand he rid himself of his trousers. 

He grins. “Yes ma’am.” 

Just as Rosie goes to cover your body again you place your hand on his broad chest, pushing until he is in a sitting position. You quickly seat yourself over his lap, his length resting against you. Grinding down, he grunts. “Let me take care of you Rosie, it’s okay.” Kissing his temple, the corner of his mouth, his Adam's apple, you repeat “I want to take care of you dear, let me.”

With another roll of your hips he enters you. He feels different than your husband, but no less wonderful. Rosie’s hands land firmly on your hips as you rock above him. He knows he won't last long, you feel too good. “God Croz how do you do it? She’s so- ugh fuck” he grunts, head tossed back as you squeeze his length. 

“I know, Rose, I know. Just like heaven.” Your husband rubs your back as you move.

Rosenthal buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whimpers muffled so that only you can hear. There are no words for him to describe this feeling: the feeling of being comforted, the feeling of warmth, the feeling of home inside you, even if just for tonight. He almost feels a tear spring to his eyes. Circling your arms around his shoulders you remind him that you’ve got him, that he’s safe, that you're here. You pick up the pace as you ride him, bringing him closer and closer to his fate. His pelvis bucks up to meet yours with every roll.

“Honey I- I’m getting real close.”

You seal your lips on his; “I’ve got you, Rosie. I want you to come for me dear.”

With a deep groan he lifts you off his cock, his spend covering your stomachs and lap in a sticky mess. You hold him as he comes down from his high. 

“That was wonderful, thank you…just, thank you.” You kiss him once more; he knows he doesn’t have to thank you for anything, but he does because he’s Rosie. He carefully cleans you of his come with his discarded undershirt.

Crosby drops his lips to the crown of your head, beginning to pull the pins out of your carefully styled hair. “Come here, Darlin’.” He helps to lift you from his colleagues’ lap. “I wanna make love to my wife.” 

In seconds you’re on the floor under Crosby, his cock already buried to the hilt within you. Neither of you move as you both enjoy the feel of each other reunited as husband and wife. Whispered streams of I love you and I missed you and fuck you feel so good tumble from your lips, barely an inch apart. Harry would never need a map to know the curves, the sensitive spots, the constellations of beauty marks on your body - he knew it better in his memory than any map he could chart.

Besides you on the couch Rosie has slumped over to lay down, his arm hanging off towards you. Every breath of your husband’s puffs against your neck, every tickle of hair from across his chest reminds you that he’s here and he’s alive and he’s yours. Emotion overwhelmed you; “Bing, love please, I need you.”

Crosby hitches your thigh up and around his hip; “I’m here Darlin’.” With that he starts to thrust within your walls. His lithe body moves with a power you had nearly forgotten. Each roll of his hips he pounds into you harder, faster, with abandon; his dog tags cool against your breasts where they hung. Harry was a gentle man, but held so much emotion inside. He could let go with you. 

Your next orgasm was building, hotter and faster than the first. Nails raking down your husband’s back, you reached out your other to grab hold of Rosie’s outstretched palm. The slap of skin echoed around the room, mixed with the crackle of the fire and the sound of heaving breaths. 

An inferno raged within you. Every touch, every movement atop you sent sparks down every nerve ending. You didn’t know where you stopped and your husband began. “Fuck Bing mmmm- Harry please-” The rug beneath you rubbed your back raw but you couldn’t bring yourself to care as long as he kept going.

Crosby had his thumb rubbing quick circles on your clit in an instant. “Tell me you’re close, I need you to come Darlin’.” You couldn’t catch your breath so you nodded the best you could while squeezing the life out of Rosie’s fingers.  

Another snap of his hips and you’re gone, obliterated. Everything felt euphoric and white-hot. Crosby follows suit, his release filling you and your name on his tongue. Bruises will surely linger on your thighs. 

There you lay, tangled in the afterglow, your loving husband above you stroking his knuckles against your side and your new lover’s hand in yours. No words needed to be spoken. The moment you shared would be seared into your mind forever playing on repeat. God forbid another crisis happened that would ship your boys out and away from you - yet if it did you would hold on to tonight like a talisman. It had been a long four years, and longer so for them. But the war was won, with spoils a plenty. 

Finally. 

Lips meeting your Bing’s sweat-slicked forehead, your grip on Rosenthal tightens. “Welcome home my boys, welcome home.”  

Tags: @sagesolsticewrites @winniemaywebber @sailorscuttle @thirstyvampyr @hellfirequinnie @lorna-d-m

#masters of the air #mota #masters of the air fanfic #robert rosie rosenthal #harry crosby #harry crosby x reader wife x rosie rosenthal #rosie rosenthal smut #harry crosby smut #masters of the air smut #anthony boyle #nate mann #anthony boyle smut #nate mann smut #scuttle-buttle

[sagesolsticewrites]

Sundress (Anthony Boyle x Reader)

In which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen

Special thanks to my bestie @winniemaywebber for this idea and for being my spicy Anto/Croz hypewoman <3 ily girlieeeee 👏👏 👏

content warnings: mature content (thigh riding, oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), slight dom/sub dynamics if you squint, praise kink, swearing, Anthony Boyle being entirely too sweet and sexy for this world 🥴 (again: this is for mature audiences only!! 18+!!)

word count: 2.7k (ANTHONY BOYLE WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO ME 😩)

Masterlist

You stand in front of your closet, fighting off a grin of anticipation.

The press tours for Masters of the Air and Manhunt had finally come to a close, and you had a few days of respite before your boyfriend went off to his next project.

Of course, with Anthony, this meant date night.

You linger near your reliable jeans-and-a-nice-top combos for a moment before the sundresses hanging near the back catch your eye.

The weather has been getting warmer, you think, and it’s been a while since I’ve gotten to wear these…

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you snag one of your favorites off the hanger and change into it, twirling to see every angle in front of the mirror.

It complements your curves perfectly, hanging at just the right length that won’t make you nervous about walking up any stairs but isn’t too modest.

You make quick work of your makeup and jewelry, making sure to include the delicate necklace that Anthony gifted you for your first anniversary together, and before too long there’s a knock at the door.

Your boyfriend, fresh from some last-minute press responsibilities, was right on time.

You rush towards the door, the clacking of your heels on the floor surely announcing your excitement to Anthony as you fling it open.

“Hi,” you say, barely able to speak around your grin.

“Hi, sweetheart,” he says, pulling you in for a swift kiss— the first you’ve shared in weeks. Reluctantly, the two of you eventually pull away for air and he steps inside, eyes raking over your figure, “You look… absolutely fantastic.”

“Well, thank you,” you say, twirling so he can see how the dress fans out around you. “You don’t look too bad, yourself.” You add, eyeing the rolled-up sleeves of his white button down revealing entirely too attractive forearms and the patch of chest hair just visible underneath the effortlessly unbuttoned top buttons — bless his stylist, who had clearly attended the Austin Butler School of Buttoning Shirts — all complemented perfectly with sleek black pants.

“Thank you, my love. I’m, uh…” he trails off as he watches your dress settle around you, then seems to jolt back to himself after barely a second, “I’m just gonna go grab a jacket and then we’ll head out, alright?”

He returns soon, now armed with a black suit jacket, and you glance down at the sundress that now seems a bit too casual for what he’s wearing.

However, when you ask if you should change, his answer is a swift, decisive, “No.”

“You look stunning just as you are, darling,” he amends his sharp response, pressing a quick kiss to your lips before escorting you out the door.

Anthony is his usual gentlemanly self while you’re out: he pulls your seat out and waits for you to sit down first when you arrive at your favorite Italian restaurant, happily splits a dessert with you (though if you happened to end up with the bigger half, despite your insistence that you split it equally, well… it wasn’t a crime to treat his girl, was it?), and when Frank Sinatra starts playing on the speakers overhead, he jumps to his feet and extends his hand to you, twirling you around the floor with not a single care for the eyes watching when you gladly accept and pulling you in for a sweet kiss as the song ends, his hand tangling in your hair as he pulls you close.

“So… ready to head home, sweetheart?” He asks as the two of you return to your seats.

“I— yes, I guess so?” You reply, slightly confused. Normally Anto loved to keep you out with him for as long as possible; returning home directly after dessert was a rarity.

He scrambles to assure you that he would be more than happy to stay out if you want, but something about the way his fingertips dance over your knee under the table, toying with the lace edging of your dress, makes you agree that it’s time to call it a night.

The air between the two of you as you head home is thick and hot, the anticipation of something building.

And that anticipation comes to a head as you enter the privacy of your home, finding yourself pinned to the inside of the door as soon as it closes.

“Sweetheart,” Anthony nearly growls against your lips, hands firm on your waist as his voice grows increasingly more strangled, “Are you trying to kill me?”

“I don’t—” You just barely choke back a moan. You haven’t the faintest idea what he’s talking about, but if it’s getting him to manhandle you like this after so long away…

“This dress,” he groans, bunching the flimsy fabric in his fists, “I’ve been gone for weeks, and the first thing I see is you in this little thing—” he moves as he speaks, from murmuring against your own lips to traveling down back to your ear and along your neck, “— and I take you out to dinner, and dessert, and dancing—” he punctuates each item with a light nip to your skin, making you jolt.

“—when all I really want to do,” he returns to speaking directly in your ear, his voice a soft growl that does startling things to your heart rate, “is see how pretty you look in this dress when I fuck you in it.”

Your entire body turns to jello, and the only thing keeping you upright is Anthony’s hands on your hips and his leg wedged in between yours. You can’t help but let out a sharp gasp when your core comes into contact with his leg, and his already dilated eyes turn almost entirely black at the sound.

“C’mere, baby,” he whispers, pulling you along to the bedroom, discarding his jacket somewhere in the house as he does.

You scramble to kick off your heels as you enter the dimly-lit room, your boyfriend wasting no time in untucking and unbuttoning his shirt from his perch on the edge of the bed.

“No,” he says sharply when your fingers move to the straps of your dress, “Keep it on.”

Your breath catches, biting your lip to stifle a moan as you realize he was serious.

He wordlessly beckons you closer, and you step forward obediently, standing between his spread legs. Pinching your chin, he tugs you down for a gentle kiss that’s fairly at odds with his dominating persona at the moment.

“This okay?” he murmurs softly against your lips, and somehow the gentle check-in combined with the events happening now are enough to make you even wetter than you already are.

You nod, adding a soft “Yes” when you remember he won’t do anything unless you’ve given a verbal okay.

That settled, he captures your lips in a decidedly more heated kiss, hands moving down to grip your hips as he adjusts so you’re straddling his thigh.

You meet his scorching gaze, practically feeling yourself melting as you realize what he intends to do.

“Noticed you seemed to like this earlier, my love,” he murmurs against your lips, smirking.

You quickly move to clutch at his shoulders as he drags your clothed core along his quadricep, mouth opening in a silent moan.

He huffs out a laugh, nudging your nose with his own as he bunches up the soft fabric of your dress.

“I was right, you do look very pretty like that,” he mumbles, “but I don’t even get to hear your pretty noises? C’mon, honey…”

He flexes his thigh, the new angle making you jump as you gasp, “Anthony, oh my god—”

“Just like that, sweet girl,” he growls into your mouth, scattering kisses all down your neck and chest as your pace speeds up.

A familiar tension builds just below your belly as you clutch yourself against him, throwing your head back and rolling your hips against his still-clothed thigh faster, faster, faster, Anthony murmuring soft praise and encouragement all the while.

“Anthony,” you gasp into his mouth, one hand clutching at his shoulder while the other buries itself in his dark curls as you feel yourself teetering on the precipice of your release, “‘M gonna—”

Your warning is cut off by a sharp, keening whine when Anthony grips your hips firmly, stopping their motion just before you tip over the edge.

“No, Ant—” you whine, struggling against his grip as your almost-orgasm fades, “Please, I was so close…”

“‘Msorry, sweetheart,” he mumbles against your skin, rising with you as you stand on wobbly legs, “I promise I’ll make this next part worth it,” He murmurs teasingly as he gently lays you back on the bed.

He shucks off his shirt before climbing on top of you, giving you a knowing smirk as you eye the exposed skin, your gaze lingering on the fully-revealed chest hair and the wet patch just barely visible on his thigh. The bed dips with his weight as his limbs cage you in, one hand delicately tracing the curves and lines of your body, making you shiver.

He captures your lips in a searing kiss, your hands eagerly traveling along his skin.

“If you’re gonna cum, sweetheart,” he breathes in a low, gravelly tone that sends heat straight to your core, “it’s gonna be on my mouth before anything else.”

You’re fairly certain you’ve truly actually turned to liquid, especially if the increasing wetness between your thighs is any indication, but your boyfriend proves you’re still deliciously solid, his lips tracing a path down your neck to where the tops of your breasts are just barely exposed by your dress.

Your fingers creep up to pull your dress down, to fully expose your chest so he can scatter kisses over every inch of you, but Anthony stops you.

His pretty brown eyes, molten with heat, meet yours as he stops you from tugging desperately at your dress.

“I told you, baby,” he says, keeping eye contact as he drags his lips over your clothed chest, paying special attention to your quickly hardening nipples peeking through the fabric before moving lower.

“Keep. It. On.” 

You throw your head back, gasping softly as his lips travel down, down, down, along your stomach and hips down to your thighs.

He carefully slides the now irreparably wrinkled fabric up, flipping up the hem to reveal your hips and thighs and the lacy fabric covering your core.

He wastes no time in pressing kisses to you over your underwear, your hips bucking up into him as you chase the feeling of his mouth on you.

Little tease that he is, he keeps his mouth just out of reach as he peels off the soaked lace fabric

“Oh sweetheart,” he breathes, your own breath catching as he drags his fingertips through your folds and they come away dripping, “All this for me?”

You can only whine, having long ago lost the ability to form words.

He prolongs your torment by kissing a slow, torturous path up the inside of each of your thighs before finally — finally — diving into you, eagerly licking into your folds.

You let out a choked gasp as he licks a thick, fat stripe up your center, gathering the moisture collected there before darting up to flick at your clit, an action that has you gripping the sheets like a lifeline, a stuttering moan that sounds vaguely like your boyfriend’s name escaping from your lips. His arms hook around your thighs, pulling you close in an attempt to keep your hips grounded, and he continues a few more passes of the same lick, flick pattern until you’re a writhing mess underneath him.

“Fuck, darlin’,” he groans against you, his voice sending vibrations through your core, “Taste even better than I remembered.”

“A-Ant—“ you stutter out a warning, that familiar tension building once again.

You feel him grin against you, and lord if that doesn’t send all kinds of sparks racing through your body, a feeling that only intensifies as his thumb comes up to circle your clit, a litany of praise and encouragement falling from his lips.

“‘M not gonna stop you this time, sweetheart, just let go,” he murmurs against you, fingers and tongue working overtime on your core, “C’mon baby, please, wanna taste you—”

You cry out as your orgasm rips through you, Anthony dutifully guiding you through your climax.

You come back to yourself, shuddering, as your boyfriend pulls away to brush a gentle kiss to your hipbone, mouth glistening and eyes nearly black with desire.

“You’re fucking perfect, sweetheart,” he groans, trailing back up to capture your lips with his.

You moan into his mouth, tasting yourself on his tongue.

The two of you stay like that for a while, Ant letting you recover, until the bulge pressing into your thigh becomes too much to ignore.

He gasps into your mouth as your hand moves down to palm at him through his slacks.

“Darlin’— shit, you’re ready for me already?”

As if your furious nodding wasn’t enough of an answer, you move your hand more insistently against him.

“Fuck, fuck, okay—” he hisses, moving off of you to rid himself of his his pants and boxers.

You watch, bottom lip caught between your teeth, as his length springs free from his underwear, tip already leaking.

He returns to hover over you, brushing kisses all over your face and neck as he strokes himself a few times.

You can’t resist touching him, and your fingertips grazing along his length has his eyes fluttering shut.

“Not gonna last long if you keep doin’ that, sweetheart,” he warns with a gasp, breath hot against your cheek.

You reluctantly retract your fingers, barely stifling a moan when his tip brushes against you as he positions himself at your entrance.

His eyes lock on yours, watching your face contort in pleasure as he slowly, slowly, enters you.

“You ready, darlin’?” He breathes against your lips after a moment to let you adjust.

The frantic “yes” that escapes you isn’t so much a word as a gasp, and your thoughts turn to static as he begins to thrust into you with slow, languid strokes.

Your breaths mingle, his exhales becoming your inhales, the thin fabric of your sundress providing a delicious friction as you feel every inch of him pressed against you.

“You’re so tight,” he gasps, increasing his pace as your breathing becomes heavier, “Fuck, I missed this, I missed you.”

“Missed you, too,” you whine into his mouth, your hand fisting his soft dark curls, “Missed you so much, Ant—”

His mouth closes the millimeters of distance between the two of you, crashing onto yours in a fierce, heated kiss.

You let out a muffled moan as his hips grind against yours faster and faster, feeling your second orgasm of the night building.

“I’m close, sweetheart,” Anthony groans, hips stuttering, letting out a soft “fuck” when you tell him you’re almost there, too.

“C’mon, come for me darlin’” he grinds out against your mouth, “‘M right behind you, please, please, come for me, honey…”

You reach your second climax with a cry, Anthony muffling his own in your neck as he spills into you, thrusting slowly until he’s spent.

The two of you stay there for a moment, trying to catch your breath, until Anthony lifts his head to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“So,” he says breathlessly, toying with the hopelessly wrinkled fabric of your dress, “You’ll be wearing these more often, yeah?”

You huff out a laugh. “If you promise not to ruin them, absolutely.”

“Sweetheart,” he says, “I’ll buy you a thousand more of these. Whatever you want. As long as I know there’s at least one in your closet for me to enjoy.”

He murmurs the last sentence against your lips, punctuating it with a long, slow kiss that has you grinning against him.

You bump your nose against his as he pulls away, your thumb stroking his cheek.

“Welcome home, honey.”

His gaze softens, pulling you in for another brief, gentle kiss.

“Thank you, my love.”

#winnie said one (1) thing about thigh riding anthony in a dress and the hornybrain took it and RAN fjskfj #hope y’all liked it ☺️ #my writing #anthony boyle #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle smut #masters of the air #masters of the air cast #anthony boyle fic #anthony boyle imagine

[precious-little-scoundrel]

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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#mota fanfic #masters of the air fanfiction #masters of the air #mota #harry crosby #anthony boyle #Harry crosby x Jean Crosby #Harry crosby fanfic #Harry crosby imagine #mota smut

[sagesolsticewrites]

Better Kind of Best Friend

Anthony, your friend-with-benefits, stops by for an impromptu visit after an interview.

a/n: Alexa, play Style (Taylor’s Version) by Taylor Swift 😏 And once again hugest of shoutouts to my darling Winnie for another fantastic playlist!!

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), PinV penetration, Anto being a tease), swearing

Word count: 2.1k

Masterlist

“Stupid—” You grumble, shoving the closet door closed. 

You had just finished your fight with the broom, who simply refused to fit in the tiny storage closet where you kept all of your cleaning supplies, when your doorbell rang.

Sending up a silent thanks that whoever decided to call on you had done so after you had finished your fairly productive cleaning day, you moved to answer it.

And you couldn’t stop your jaw dropping when you saw who was behind it.

“Anto?”

“Hey,” he breathes, scanning you up and down, and it’s at that moment you realize just how little you’re wearing, having opted for a simple tank and your comfiest pair of shorts.

You step aside to let him in, taking in his appearance as he does so.

Messy hair, but messy in a way that lets you know it was styled that way. A simple, well-fitting white t-shirt, and what you had to admit were the best-looking jeans you’d ever seen in your life. 

As he turns to you, you note his face looks smoother, almost matte— makeup.

“I— did you just come from an interview or something?”

“Yeah,” he says distractedly, “It finished, and I realized how close I was to your place, and I just… I wanted to see you.”

You both know he means something other than “see”, there.

“Is it, uh…” He glances around, seemingly realizing that he’s dropped in on you with zero warning, “not a good time?”

You shake your head.

“No, it’s fine.”

It could be 3am on a Wednesday, and you’d still be happy to see him.

“You want a coffee— or, sorry, tea?” You ask, nodding towards your now-spotless kitchen.

A minute later, he’s leaning against your counter as you rummage through the cabinets, though you know the mugs will likely be left to go cold sooner or later.

As you go through the motions of tea preparation, your mind drifts back to how this… arrangement started.

You had met on set several years back, and there was an instant connection between you two. Neither of you were looking for a relationship at that time, but what was supposed to be a one night stand turned into two. Then three. And now when he was in town every so often, he’d stop by. No matter how many times you swore to yourself that this is the last time… when he showed up with those damn puppy eyes practically begging to take you to bed, you couldn’t find it within yourself to say no. Even if it hurt every time he left again, because somewhere along the way you’d started wanting to be more than friends. And you’d kept that wish tucked close to your heart, because it had been a while since the last time he stopped by, and doing so right after an interview? You were sure he just wanted to… destress after a long day.

You hand him his mug, moving to lean against the kitchen island across from him.

After several minutes of silence, you speak, hyperaware of his gaze pinning you in place.

“So how’d the interview go?”

“I don’t think I wanna talk about the interview right now,” he replies in a low voice, and the way he scans you up and down has you squeezing your thighs together as if your life depends on it.

You try to think of something, anything to say in response, but your mind goes blank as he moves towards you — mug abandoned like you knew it would be — pinning you against the counter as his hands trail up your sides.

Your body goes loose and pliant under his touch, your head falling to the side to expose your neck as he noses at your jawline.

“Been too fucking long,” he breathes against your skin, and you barely have time to sigh his name before his lips are on your neck.

You arch into him as he scatters kisses all along your skin, making liberal use of his teeth to leave deep purple marks all over your neck. Your hand finds its way into his hair, fisting his curls as his mouth trails along your collarbone.

“Wanna taste you,” he murmurs against your skin, your spine tingling at the heat of his tone and the utterly molten look in his eyes as he looks up to meet your gaze, “Can I? Please?”

You nod furiously, your “yes” escaping as a soft moan.

He grips your hips firmly, lifting you onto the counter with an effortlessness that has heat pooling between your thighs — an effect heightened by the way his mouth remains on your skin as he steps between your legs and begins fiddling with the hem of your shirt.

You lift your arms to allow him to peel it off of you, your nipples pebbling in the cool air of the kitchen.

Anto swears softly as he drinks you in, eyes darkening, and you draw your bottom lip between your teeth as you wait for him to do something.

His mouth returns with a vengeance to attack your collarbone, quickly moving south to skim along the tops of your breasts.

“God, you’re fucking gorgeous,” he murmurs in a tone that has you letting out a moan even before his mouth moves to capture your nipple, the hand that isn’t still firmly attached to your hip moving up to toy with your other breast.

You whine his name as his tongue swirls expertly around you, his hand quickly replacing his mouth as he pulls away to repeat the action where his hand just was.

His ministrations soon have you grinding against nothing, hips bucking desperately against the air, and you can feel the teasing bastard chuckle against your skin as he mouths his way down your stomach.

“Impatient, are we?” He hums, something sparking in his eyes at the yelp that escapes you when he digs his teeth teasingly into the soft flesh just above the waistband of your shorts.

“You said yourself it’s been too fucking long,” you pant, sighing out a “finally” and lifting your hips as he makes quick work of removal your shorts and panties.

Your relief is soon replaced once again by impatience as he kneels between your legs, fingertips lightly dragging through your slick folds, and then putting his mouth…

On your fucking thigh, nibbling and sucking his way almost to your core before repeating the motions on your other thigh.

“Anto, you fucking…”

You can’t even finish your complaint, words escaping you as you whine at the feeling of his teeth grazing against your skin.

“What was that?” He hums, a teasing glint in his eyes as he looks up to meet your gaze, “Something you wanna say?”

“Quit being a teas— oh my god.”

Your plea is cut off with a cry as his mouth finally reaches your core, licking deep into your folds.

He lets out a groan, the vibrations of which send delicious shivers throughout your body as he drags his tongue through your core. 

You moan, long and loud as your hand finds its way into his messy waves, pulling him closer. One of his hands remains on your thigh, keeping your legs spread, while the other moves upwards, his thumb expertly circling your clit.

“Fuck, Anto,” you whine, your head falling back as his mouth and fingers work overtime on your core, tightening the growing tension just below your belly.

He hums in satisfaction against you, recognizing the signs of you reaching your peak, and it takes no time at all for him to guide you through your climax as you release with a cry of his name.

Legs shaking, your eyes flutter open in time to see him mouthing his way back up your body, lips dragging deliciously against your skin.

He sucks at the tender skin of your neck, and you can feel him grinning against you at your shaky exhale.

“Oh Y/N, you didn’t think I’d forgotten what you liked, did you?”

Fucking tease.

“Oh Anto, you're not done already, are you?” You manage to quip back, squeezing his hips between your thighs.

“Definitely not,” he says lowly, pulling away to shuck off his shirt as your hands move to fumble with his belt.

You lean forward to drag your mouth along his neck, lips gliding up the hollow of his throat and along his jawline as he retrieves something from his pocket before his remaining clothes join the pile on your kitchen floor.

A huff of a laugh escapes you as you see the familiar foil packet in his hand.

“You came prepared, huh?”

“Don’t I always?” He says, mouth twitching up into the smallest of smiles.

You expertly tear it open and roll the latex onto him, unable to hide your smirk at the way his breath hitches when you drag your fingers teasingly back up his shaft.

He swears under his breath at your touch before planting his hands on the counter on either side of you, caging you in. He leans in, his breath hot on your skin as he lines himself up at your entrance with a whisper of “I’m gonna fuck you now, yeah?”

You just barely bite back a ragged moan, settling for a shaky “yes, please” as he slowly presses into you.

“Look at you, getting your manners back as soon as I’m inside you,” he teases once he’s fully entered you, hips pressed flush to yours, “You missed me that badly?”

I did, I really did, is what you long to say, but you can’t bring yourself to say the words that could ruin the delicate balance of your relationship, so you settle for stammering: “Shut up and fuck me already.”

A wicked grin crosses his face, and he slowly pulls out and thrusts back into you, your breath hitching as his hips snap into yours repeatedly.

He buries his face in the crook of your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he pants against you.

“Fuck, you feel so good.”

Your only response is a desperate whine, your fingers tugging at the curls at the nape of his neck.

He mumbles praise against your skin, the tension within you building with every thrust.

Your ankles lock behind his back, pulling him closer as he drives deeper into you, your nails grazing down his back as you let out a loud moan.

“Anto— Anto, fuck, ‘m gonna—”

“Oh, yes,” he growls into your ear, continuing the punishingly fast pace, “C’mon, Y/N, come for me—”

His thumb moving to circle your clit as he continues to pound into you is the thing that sends you over the edge, your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave.

With a muffled groan, Anto quickly follows suit, spilling into the condom after two more erratic thrusts before slumping against you, utterly spent.

He presses sloppy kisses up your neck as the two of you attempt to catch your breath, swearing softly as he pulls out of you and huffing out a laugh as you whine at the sudden emptiness.

“You alright?” He asks softly once you’ve both got your breath back, wriggling back into his boxers and t-shirt after he’s discarded the condom.

You nod, slipping back into your tank and shorts.

“Wanna hang out for a bit? I’m on a bit of a Bake-Off binge right now…”

Your heart soars at the way his eyes light up at the chance to watch something mindless after a day of answering endless questions about his career— he loves it, you know he does, but you also know the toll it takes.

“I’d love that,” he grins, making quick work of wriggling back into his jeans and following you to the living room.

You find yourself curled up next to him, his arm around your shoulders as you both point out the clear mistakes each contestant is making (mistakes that you both would definitely make, but that’s not important right now).

— — —

You groan, eyes fluttering open against the bright sunlight streaming through your windows, a blanket that you didn’t remember pulling over you falling to the floor as you sit up. Blearily, you glance around, feeling like something’s missing…

Your heart sinks the tiniest bit as you realize he must have left at some point in the middle of the night.

It would’ve been awkward if he stayed, you scold yourself, it’s better this way.

That logic doesn’t stop a smile growing on your face as you notice a thermos of tea on the coffee table, next to a scrap of paper with Anto’s signature scrawl.

Y/N,

Thanks for letting me barge in yesterday. Sorry I couldn’t stay, but I promise I’ll drop by again soon. Thanks for the tea and… everything else ;)

Yours,

Anto

You take a sip of the tea— just the way you liked it, of course— relishing the ache between your legs. If this was all you could have of him for now, well… 

You’d take it, happily.

#don’t worry i do have a part 2 planned y’all <3 #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle smut #anthony boyle #anthony boyle imagine #anthony boyle fic #my writing #anthony boyle rpf

[sagesolsticewrites]

The Stache Fic

Anto grows a mustache. You like it… a lot.

a/n: Happy Saturday, y’all 😊 How are we liking Manhunt so far?

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), swearing, Anthony Boyle’s JWB Mustache (genuinely how the fuck did he make a Civil War-era stache look hot. I’m upset. Anthony how dare you.) (This is an 18+ fic! Minors begone!)

Word count: 1.5k

Masterlist

“Got it!”

Your boyfriend drops the dramatic pose he had pulled with a laugh, his smile widening as you turn your phone so he could see the result.

“Oh that’s goin’ on Insta for sure,” Anthony declares with a grin.

“Just remember to give me credit,” you tease with a playful poke at his arm.

“Wouldn’t dream of doing anything else, darling.”

He grins at you from across the table, the midmorning sun turning his brown eyes the prettiest shade of amber.

Your eyes latched onto the one new part of his appearance you hadn’t quite gotten used to yet.

The mustache he had grown for his latest role— a period drama miniseries on Apple TV.

“What is it, darling?” He asks, stroking the aforementioned facial hair nonchalantly.

“Nothing,” you say, pressing your thighs together.

You were out for a nice brunch with your boyfriend, you were not going to disrupt it by getting turned on by something as silly as a mustache. Even if it did look… very, very good on him…

You don’t realize you’re almost melting in your seat, bottom lip caught between your teeth, until Anto’s fingertips graze yours from across the table and you snap back to reality in time to see his eyes darken.

“Nothing… you sure about that, sweetness?” He says, and the way his eyes flick down to your lips then back up let you know you’ve been caught. “Y’know, I don’t think I’m quite that hungry anymore.” He says, briskly snapping his menu shut and setting it aside. “I’m thinking we should head home.”

“What—? Honey—”

He ignores your protests as the two of you stand, tossing a few bills onto the table to pay for your drinks and leaving you to give frantic apologies to the waitresses as you rush out.

“Anto, my love, what about breakfast? You need to eat—

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you as he leads you to the car.

“Besides,” he adds, scanning you up and down with a predatory look as he leans to whisper in your ear, “I’m sure I can find something much better to eat at home.”

A shiver runs through you at the implications of that, and you find yourself scrambling into the car despite your now-wobbly legs.

When you arrive home, you barely have time to toss your purse on the counter before you’re slammed against the now-closed door.

Anthony’s hands are firm on your hips, his body pressed flush against yours though his mouth remains frustratingly just out of reach.

“I know you said you liked the mustache before, angel,” he murmurs softly, “But I don’t think you were clear on exactly how much you liked it.”

He steps back for a moment, scanning your face as he taps your hip twice— a check-in.

You tap the back of his hand twice in return; you’re very okay with this, you want to keep going.

His mouth twitches up into a smile— as does that damn mustache— before stepping forward to cage you in once more.

“So,” he continues softly, pretty brown eyes locked on yours, “you gonna tell me?”

A soft whimper escapes you at the heat in his tone, and you find yourself rambling.

“Fuck, I like it so much, Anto, I like it so fucking much.”

“Hm.” He scans your face carefully, then lowers his mouth to hover just above your bare shoulder where the strap of your tank top has slipped off, “So you’ll like it when I do… this?”

His lips brush your skin, the coarse hair on his top lip adding to the sensation in ways that has wetness pooling between your thighs.

“Yes,” you breathe, “yes.”

“And this?”

His lips land on your neck next, and you once again respond in the affirmative as he leaves a series of pretty purple marks on your skin.

“What about this?”

His lips brush along your collarbone down to the tops of your breasts peeking out from the neckline of your shirt, accompanied by the light scratchiness of his mustache.

You gasp, nodding frantically as you momentarily lose the ability to form words.

His hands find the hem of your top, peeling you out of it in one swift motion. If you thought you were losing it at his lips on your neck, you were entirely unprepared for the feeling of his mouth latching onto your nipple, that fucking mustache brushing at the sensitive skin around it.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” you keen, throwing your head back as his tongue swirls around you.

He pulls away with a pop to tend to your other breast, your legs turning to jello at the heated look in his eyes as you moan his name, your fingers raking through his soft curls.

Once you're almost completely weak in the knees from his ministrations, he pulls away and you barely have time to suck in a breath before his mouth crashes onto yours.

Your groan turns into a gasp, quickly swallowed by his mouth, as he effortlessly lifts you into his arms. Your mouths clash hungrily as he carries you to the bedroom, your legs wrapping around his waist on instinct.

“Fuck, Ant—” you groan as he lays you down on your bed, hovering over you as his lips travel deliciously over your body, peeling off your shorts and panties as he goes.

“What is it, angel?” He hums, pressing kisses to the valley between your breasts.

“Need your mouth on me,” you whine, trying to grind up into him to release the pressure in your core.

“My mouth is on you, darling,” he says, and you can feel the smug bastard smirking as he scatters kisses all along your stomach.

“I— shit, not— you know what I mean, Anto, please.” You beg, his lips traveling even lower to brush against your hipbone, his mustache tickling your skin as he moves.

He hums, his mouth moving lower, lower, lower…

You whine, fisting the sheets, as he stops just above where you want him.

“I like hearing you beg, sweetness.” He murmurs against your skin in a low tone that has every part of you turning to pure liquid, molten chocolate eyes meeting yours, “I think you should do it again. Just so I know exactly what you want.”

With a desperate moan, the words come tumbling out of you.

“Fuck, I— I want your mouth on my pussy, baby,” you whine, squirming under the heat of his gaze and the heat of his mouth pressing chaste kisses up and down your thighs, “Want you to eat me out, please.”

“Good girl,” he mumbles against you between kisses, working his way back up your thigh, “That’s all you had to say, darling.”

There’s a flash of something predatory in his eye, and then his mouth is on you— really on you.

His name leaves your mouth in a cry as he dives in, licking deep through your folds, that fucking mustache tickling at your most sensitive parts.

You gasp, hands flying to his hair as his thumb comes up to circle your clit, licking into you like a man starved.

He lets out a groan as you tug at his roots, his hand that’s not preoccupied with making you cum digging into your thigh to keep you still.

“Fuck, you taste fucking amazing, sweet girl,” he gasps against you, breath catching as you try to tug him impossibly closer, “Shit, you really wanted this, huh?”

You can only whine in response, rendered speechless by the tension building in your core. Anthony lets out a soft chuckle at your wordlessness, making your hips buck up at the feeling.

The only sounds in the room are Anto’s murmurs of praise and your gasps and whines and moans, until his tongue brushes a soft, spongy spot inside you and your world goes white.

You come back to yourself a shuddering, gasping mess, gripping your boyfriend’s hair like a lifeline.

Realizing the strength of your grip you quickly let go, chest heaving. Anthony presses a quick kiss to your overstimulated clit, making you jump, before lifting his head to face you.

A soft “fuck” escapes you as you take in his face: pretty mouth glistening, mustache damp with your release.

He climbs back up to lay next to you as you both catch your breath.

“So,” he asks, a cheeky grin lighting up his face, “you like the mustache, huh?”

“Shut up,” you swat playfully at his chest. “Yes, I do,” you say genuinely, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips.

“I’ll keep that in mind for when I’m between projects,” he laughs, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into his chest. “How about I go and make us some breakfast? As an apology for dragging you out of brunch.”

You shake your head, nuzzling into his neck, “Let’s just stay here for a bit.”

“Alright, my love,” he replies, smiling as he presses a kiss to the crown of your head, “Whatever you want.”

#this man has actually ruined me #who does he think he is getting me to write smut about his fucking mustache dkhgksh #anthony boyle #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle fic #anthony boyle smut #manhunt apple tv #manhunt 2024 #manhunt #my writing

[sagesolsticewrites]

Lipstick Kisses

The sweetest spiciest Anthony fic y'all ever saw 🥺🫠 written by my bestie Winnie! (complete with a playlist!!!) @winniemaywebber

Warnings: mature content (fingering, oral (f receiving), PinV penetration, car sex), paparazzi being annoying, Anto being the sweet sexy dork he is (18+! Minors begone, etc etc)

“Almost ready for home, pretty girl?” 

“Mhm,” you slur, placing your half full glass back on the table. “With you? Always.” You smile at him, his brown eyes shining in the dim light of the bar. You walk the two steps between you both and place your hands on his beautiful face, taking in every part of him. Before you can stop yourself, you're kissing his cheeks, his nose, his chin. Scrunching his face up, but not stopping you, he giggles lightly. 

“You're so pretty, baby,” you murmur, trying to come up for air. “How on earth did this happen? You and me?” He shakes his head, clutching you close to him and smiling, the light once again catching a glint in his eye. 

“You know how, darling. You swept me off my feet.” He kisses you lightly on the forehead and takes your hand to exit the bar. 

Outside, you're both surprised by a hubbub of photographers. 

“Ah, shit,” he says, hesitating at the door. You feel his hand tighten around yours as he bends at the knee to come to your height to make eye contact with you. With his free hand, he touches your cheek and looks at you reassuringly. 

“We'll be quick, we'll run through and we'll be in the car before you know it. Breathe, okay?”

“Okay,” you squeak, knowing he'll keep you safe. “Anto, wait! Your face, my lipstick is all over it!”

“Oh, well. Gives them something to talk about.” He winks at you as he opens the door, taking his usual position in front of you, your protector, his tall body blocking you from most of the cameras. 

He was right: two minutes later, you're at his car, both breathless from the adrenaline and rushing through the solid crowd. You wait by the passenger door, turning to face him. He takes you by surprise when he walks up to you, places his hands on the car roof almost pinning you against the vehicle, and kisses you deeply, your breathlessness thick in the night air.

“Darlin’,” he starts, talking in between kisses. “Did I tell you how beautiful you are?”

“Hmmm,” you joke, smiling underneath his mouth. “No, you never ever tell me. Maybe you should,” you tease, feeling him almost growl in front of you as he adjusts his body weight. You wrap your hands around the back of his neck, pulling him in even closer.

“Oh, pretty girl,” he murmurs, his lips catching yours at every possible chance. “You're the most beautiful girl I've ever seen. And you're mine.” 

“Yes,” you giggle. “All yours.” With that, he opens the door and waits for you to be seated before he closes it. 

He takes his usual position: one hand on the steering wheel, the other placed gently on your thigh. But tonight, his hands are drifting, further and further up the skirt of your dress, softly caressing the skin, his hand almost brushing your panties. 

“Sir,” you flirtingly scold. “What are you up to?” You take a sharp intake of breath as his hand reaches even further up your skirt at a red light, feeling how wet you are just from his touch. 

“Oh…” He growls, an undertone of surprise lingering in his voice. “Do we really have to wait to get home?”

“No,” you answer quickly, the fastest answer that's ever left your lips. He cheekily smiles at you as he figures out a detour. 

The car stops abruptly, apparently at the chosen destination. In one swift movement, he's turned off the engine, pulled the passenger seat into a lying position and is on top of you. Your breath shudders as he eases his body on to yours, making sure to evenly distribute his weight in the cramped space. He kisses you deeply, sending shivers up your spine as he places his hand on your neck. 

“Still ready for me?”

“Ugh, darling. Even from looking at you, I'm in pieces.” He grins.

“Good girl.” 

You whimper as he praises you, his kisses going from your jaw, to your neck and lower. You feel him gently pull your dress up, and move your soaked, ruined panties to the side. He slips a finger into you and watches you unravel at his touch.

“There’s my girl. There you go,” his voice barely above a whisper. His breath matching yours, his glistening fingers working their way in and out of you, him gleefully looking on as you absolutely lose it underneath him. 

“Wow…you're doing so good. Just like that. Again. Again, baby.” You whimper at his words, trying your best to do as you're told - not like it's hard. He makes you O again and again until your legs feel like jelly and your vision is blurry. 

Slipping his fingers out of you, he gently eases you up to put your seat in the regular position. You wipe your brow and puff out air, hardly believing this is your life. You can barely keep your hands off him as he drives, speeding to your place. 

As you struggle with the key, adrenaline rushing through you as your door finally opens, he picks you up, still kissing you with the same urgency as he had in the car. Your legs wrap around him as he carries you over to the bed, where he sits you down and begins undressing himself without missing a beat. Taking it as a cue, you do the same, pulling your shoes off as quickly as you can, throwing your tight black dress over your head, revealing the black and pink lingerie you had so carefully chosen should this moment take place. 

He looks up and down your whole body as you lean back on the bed, your head resting on the pillow, your eyes hungrily gazing at his naked body. The soft pale skin, the patch of chest hair that drives you wild.

“Jesus fuck,” he murmurs, walking over to you. “You are fuckin’ beautiful.” He climbs on top of you as you giggle at his compliment, the gorgeous cologne smell radiating from him as your bodies meet, the heat from both of you causing a gasp to leave both your mouths. He lifts you up and unclips your bra, it taking minimal effort. He kisses your neck as you lay back down, his mouth getting further down your body to find your nipple. He places it in his mouth, sucking ever so gently as he sees your body lift and buckle in pleasure. Making his way further down, he removes your panties, seeing how glistening and ready you still are for him. 

“Wow,” he purrs. “She's so pretty.” He slowly enters a finger into you again,  looking on intently as your face contorts in pleasure, taking your breath away. 

“Sweet Lord,” you gasp, feeling your eyes roll back in your head. He laughs mischievously, opening your legs with his elbow and going down to kiss your thighs. You can feel his breath on your vulva every time he goes near it, making you suck your breath through your teeth in anticipation.

“Quit teasing me,” you moan. “I'll fucking die if you don't fuck me soon.” He makes his way over again, holding his face there for just a moment, wanting to make eye contact as he gently, teasingly, licks your clit. You gasp, surprising yourself with the sound and slapping a hand over your mouth in shock.

“No, baby,” he says, gently removing your hand from your mouth. “I wanna hear every noise.” You nod as he resumes his position, his tongue now flat so he can lap you up. “I wanna drown between your thighs.” 

Within minutes, you have almost reached your peak, him slipping two fingers inside you and finding your g-spot as he watches you make a mess of yourself. 

“Oh, wow,” he purrs, wiping his mouth. “Good girl.” You whimper, staring again into his deep, dark brown eyes. 

“Whew. Let me be inside you. I need to be inside you.” 

“Mhm,” you reply, your voice up a few octaves higher than you're used to. You realize your eyes are begging for him, looking desperate for him to fill you up. Biting your lip, the waiting ceases. 

In one smooth movement, he does, you both groaning deeply as he enters you. Your hands on his lower back, scratching gently. His, one on your breast and the other on the bed to keep balance. Two minutes of him pumping in and out of you, you come again, warm liquid seeping out of you and trickling on to the bed. 

“Good God, beautiful,” he murmurs, picking up the speed of his strokes. “Messy girl.” You bite your lip at his words and moan again as he takes you to your peak for the third time in less than twenty minutes, feeling your vision go fuzzy. Grinning at you, he beckons you on top of him. He lays on the bed and you climb on, feeling him fill you once again. The tip of his cock instantly hits your g-spot, making you shout in ecstacy. He sits up, kissing your neck as you ride him to the completion he's been craving.

“Wow….fuck,” he says breathlessly. “I can't hold on much longer….I wanna keep going…you're so fuckin' divine.” His breathless words in your ear send a shiver down your spine as you feel him tense up, finishing deep inside you. Feeling his release, you squeal loudly as he lets himself fill you, simultaneously orgasming with him. Breathlessly, foreheads pressed together, you stay in that position for what feels like an eternity. 

He sighs, reaching up and stroking your face, moving the hair out of your eyes. 

“I fuckin’ adore you, angel girl.”

“Ditto, my love.”

#i literally melted reading this #isn't winnie the absolute best y'all its INSANE #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle #anthony boyle smut #anthony boyle imagine #anthony boyle fic #masters of the air cast

[sagesolsticewrites]

Waking Up Next to You

Just some fluffy morning sex smut <3

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), PinV penetration), swearing, absolutely tooth-rotting softness

Word count: 1.1k

Masterlist

The first thing you feel as you wake up is your boyfriend’s arm slung over you, pulling your back flush against his chest. 

You can’t help smiling to yourself, reveling in his warmth, until you feel something else.

You shift slowly, testing the waters as you feel something hard pressing against you.

There’s a sigh, followed by a warm, sleepy chuckle in your ear.

“Well, good morning to you too.”

You let out a sleepy, satisfied little laugh, craning your neck as Anthony presses soft kisses up towards your ear, giving it a playful nip before pressing a sweet kiss to your lips as you turn to face him.

His pretty brown eyes go soft as he takes in your face, still slowly waking up.

“Hi,” you say softly as his eyes meet yours.

“Hi,” he replies with a grin, his hand moving to rest on your hip, thumb slowly stroking the strip of exposed skin between your sleep shorts and the t-shirt that used to be his until you claimed it for your own. “God, you’re pretty.”

“You’re one to talk,” you smile, reaching up to run a hand through his sleep-mussed dark curls.

He hums, pulling you in for a proper kiss, one that has your toes curling and you smiling against his lips.

The kiss quickly grows deeper, hungrier, until eventually Anto’s hovering over you, his arms caging you in.

You let out a sigh, your hands tracing down his torso — thanking every deity imaginable that he slept shirtless, your fingers gliding through the soft curls of hair on his chest — to trace along the waistband of his shorts as he scatters kisses along your jaw, down your neck.

“Hang on, darling,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the spot where your neck and shoulder meet, breath hot against your skin, “Wanna taste you first.”

His words, quiet as they are, send heat shooting to your core, and you almost unconsciously grind up against him, biting your lip to stifle a moan.

You move to peel off your sleep shirt as his mouth moves down your collarbone, but he stops you, his hand landing gently atop yours.

“Keep it on, angel,” he says, and you can feel him smiling against you as he moves to settle between your legs, his eyes meeting yours, “I like seeing you in my clothes.”

It’s alarming, frankly, how much him saying that turns you on, and the evidence of that is clear as he strips you out of your sleep shorts and underwear.

Your breath hitches, one hand moving to rake through his hair as Anthony begins pressing soft, featherlight kisses up the inside of your thighs.

“Anto…” you plead softly, as he seems to be determined to stay just outside of where you want him.

Chocolate eyes meet yours as his mouth finally lands on you, licking deep through your folds. One hand moves up so his thumb is gently circling your clit, while the other trails up to where your other hand is resting on your belly, fingers intertwining with yours.

The room fills with your soft gasps and sighs as your boyfriend puts his mouth to work, reaching all the spots he knows you like all while soft murmurs of praise tumble from his lips.

Your grip tightens on his hair and his hand as tension builds in your core, and as his tongue brushes that soft, spongy spot inside you, you reach your peak with a soft cry.

Anthony dutifully guides you through your orgasm, kissing his way back up your body to press his lips to yours once more, his hand still clasped in yours.

“How is it that you taste better every time, angel?”

“Oh, shush.”

You smile into the kiss, your laugh turning to a gasp, then a whine as you feel a telltale bulge against your thigh.

Anthony swears softly as you grind up against him.

“See what you do to me, darling?” He murmurs against your lips.

“Well not yet,” you reply, tugging at the waistband of his shorts, “You’ve still got these on for some reason.”

He laughs, “Fair enough, sweetheart.” He shifts off of you for the briefest of moments to wriggle out of his remaining clothes, shooting you a wink as you stare at him with your bottom lip caught between your teeth.

“Like what you see?”

“Get over here and fuck me already, Anto.”

“As my lady commands,” he says, moving to hover over you once more and pressing a soft kiss to your nose, giggling when your face scrunches up.

He captures your lips in a sweet kiss as he lines himself up at your entrance, pulling back to meet your eyes and waiting for your nod of consent.

It’s slow, the way he enters you. Your hand comes up to toy with the soft curls at the nape of his neck as he pauses once he’s inside you, relishing in the stretch as he waits for you to adjust.

Your breaths mingle as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back into you, your soft moans growing louder and louder as he thrusts deeper and deeper into you.

The string of tension connecting the two of you tightens, and you let out his name in a soft whine, nails grazing down his back in warning.

“Almost there, darling?” He pants.

At your frantic nodding, Anthony lets out a gasping moan.

“Fuck, me too, sweetheart. It’s alright, just let go,” he says, nose brushing yours, “‘M right behind you, jus’— shit, wanna make you come, honey, wanna make my girl feel good…”

His gentle, heated words whispered against your skin bring you over the edge for the second time that morning, your boyfriend’s own climax following soon after as he breathes sweet nothings against your lips.

Anto drops a sweet kiss on your nose as you each catch your breath.

“Good morning,” he laughs, brown eyes sparkling.

“Good morning,” you reply, breathless, nose scrunching in amusement.

He pauses to take in your expression — the glow in your cheeks, the smile you’re unable to hide — his expression growing fonder every second.

“So,” he begins, brushing kisses all along your face between words, “what would you say to a shower, and then I make us breakfast? Or we could always order in donuts or something…”

The way he trails off makes it clear which option he’d prefer, and you grin as he leaves a lingering kiss on your lips before oh-so-gently pulling out of you and standing up, guiding you up with him.

“A shower sounds divine, sweetheart,” you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “And I could absolutely go for donuts afterwards.”

It’s almost comical, the way he lights up, and you’re dragged off to the bathroom with Anthony, your lazy Sunday off to an excellent start.

#anthony boyle smut #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle imagine #anthony boyle #my writing #masters of the air cast #mota cast #mota cast x reader #x reader

[sagesolsticewrites]

i thought we had no chance (and that’s romance)

You resolve to tell Anthony about your feelings— with surprising results. (Part Two to Better Kind of Best Friend)

a/n: huge shoutout to Winnie for once again coming through with an absolutely incredible playlist!!! ily bestie 🥹

Warnings: mature content (oral (f receiving), PinV penetration, literally the softest smut y’all have ever read in your LIFE), swearing

Word count: 3.3k (omg she’s a long one)

Read Part 1 here!

Masterlist

It was finally time.

Anto had finally gotten a break from all the press, and he was coming home for a well-deserved vacation before his next project.

You had been mulling it over ever since his last… ahem, visit, and you decided that you had to tell him how you felt. It had started to hurt too much every time he left in the middle of the night, every time he unceremoniously dropped by for a quick fuck and a brief hangout before he was gone once again.

A few days after you’d resolved to tell him, the two of you had made hasty arrangements to see each other— the “hasty arrangements” being a quick series of texts sent in the middle of the night when you were feeling particularly hot and bothered, resulting in an agreement that he’d show up the next evening.

The next day, you’d spend hours mulling over what you’d say, how you’d broach the subject with him, planning for every possible rejection— not daring to let yourself even think about the possibility that he might feel the same. And that evening, there would be a knock on your door.

You jump at the rap of knuckles on wood, adjusting your cropped shirt and sleep short set and taking a deep breath before answering.

“Hey—”

The cheerful greeting dies on your lips as you take in the new addition to Anto’s appearance.

A thick, neatly trimmed beard stretches over his cheeks and chin, making his bright smile somehow appear whiter as he grins at you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he says, a cheeky glint in his eye that tells you he knows exactly what you’re thinking, “So… whaddaya think?”

You step aside to let him in, still speechless. It looks fucking incredible on him, of course it does, and you can’t help but wonder what it would feel like on the sensitive skin of your neck, if it would scrape deliciously between your thighs, if it— No, you mentally scold yourself, bad Y/N. Not thinking about that right now.

“It, uh…” you swallow, your mouth suddenly dry, “You look really good, Anto.”

“Thanks, I knew you’d think so,” he grins, eyes sparkling. His hand moves towards your waist and you force yourself to step out of his reach, trying very, very hard to ignore the brief flash of hurt in his eyes.

“Actually, uh… I was hoping we could talk about something?”

“Oh, I— yeah, of course,” he says, that familiar furrow of concern appearing between his brows as you move to the couch.

“So…” you begin uncertainly; despite the hours you’d spent practicing, you were still unsure of how to start this conversation, “You know how when we started… this,” you gesture between the two of you, “neither of us was really looking for a relationship? And we agreed that it would be a good arrangement, no feelings, no messy emotions, just… stress relief, for lack of a better term.”

You wait until he nods to confirm he’s listening to continue, “And remember how… we’d been friends for so long, we were sure neither one of us would ever want more…”

He nods again slowly, as if he sees where you’re going with this but wants to wait until you confirm it.

“Well— I, um…” You take a deep breath, determinedly avoiding his gaze as you steel yourself, “I guess my heart didn’t really get the memo because, uh… I’ve been seriously falling for you for a while now.”

You clamp down on your bottom lip as your whole body tenses, bracing yourself for the end of one of the longest and best friendships you’d ever had.

“Y/N…” He breathes, his fingertips grazing yours, “I— please tell me you mean that. Please tell me it hasn’t just been me.”

Wait, what?

Your head snaps up, your bewildered eyes meeting his own tender gaze.

“Anto, what do you—”

“I’ve been head over fucking heels for you, Y/N,” he says softly, thumb stroking over the back of your hand, “for… frankly, longer than I care to admit.”

“Wait, I—” your brain scrambles to process his confession, your heart melting as you realize he truly does feel the same, “You mean all this time we could’ve been—”

You’re not sure when you moved so close to Anto, but now there’s barely an inch of space between the two of you as your clasped hands rest on your legs.

“I’ve wanted to tell you for so long, Y/N,” he says softly, tender brown eyes locked on your features, “but you seemed happy with what we had, and I didn’t want to put our friendship at risk—”

“I felt exactly the same,” you say, voices overlapping, “I hated the thought of ruining what we had.”

“Seems like if we had just talked about this a little sooner we could’ve been enjoying more than our current arrangement,” Anto says with a soft smile.

Your heart melts at the overflowing love in his expression as his hand comes up to cup your cheek— how had you not seen it before?

“Maybe we could start by making up for lost time,” you say softly, your eyes flicking down to his plush lips.

With a slight nod, Anto slowly leans in, pausing to meet your eyes as your noses brush as if to make doubly sure that this is really what you want before carefully slotting his lips to yours.

His lips are exactly as soft against yours as you’d imagined them to be, and you can’t help but let out a contented little sigh as your hands come up to cup his face.

What you aren’t prepared for, however, is the slight tickling sensation that accompanies his beard, and you pull away with a soft squeal, face slightly scrunched up.

The concern on his face is immediate.

“No, no, I just—” you scramble to assure him through your smile before Anto can say anything, your thumbs stroking through the surprisingly soft hair covering his cheeks, “It tickles.”

He huffs out a soft laugh, pulling away teasingly, “You know, I don’t have to—”

“Excuse me,” you grin, raising an eyebrow, “When did I say I wanted you to stop?”

His lips land back on yours with a laugh, your heart turning impossibly light as you feel him smiling into the kiss. Anto’s arm — the one with the hand not tenderly cupping your cheek as if you were made of porcelain — winds around your back, pulling you closer as one of your hands finds its way into his hair.

You’re truly not sure how long you stay like that — could be minutes, could be hours — but at some point you end up straddling him, hands buried in his luscious hair as his arms squeeze you tight against him, hands roaming all over your body.

You don’t even realize you’ve begun to slowly rock against him until his breath hitches and he pulls away.

You freeze, terrified you’ve done something wrong.

“What, what is it?”

“Nothing, darling, nothing,” he assures you, and you melt at the pet name as he continues, “I just… If you want to… If we’re gonna do this— not that we have to, of course, but if we are, I… I wanna do it properly. Not on your couch, as delightful as that may be,” he finishes with a soft smile, searching your gaze intently.

You smile, toying with the curls at the nape of his neck, your nose brushing his as you whisper “I do want to.”

Reluctantly, you extricate yourself from his embrace, leaning to press one more tender kiss to his lips as he stands before guiding him to your bedroom.

You turn to him as he enters, a sudden nervousness overwhelming you as it hits you that this is really happening.

The pure love and adoration shining on his face as you face him, however, banishes any trace of anxiety. You melt into his touch as he cups your face, his thumb stroking tenderly along your cheek.

“I fucking adore you,” he breathes.

And then his mouth is on yours, and your mind is empty of everything but him.

His free hand slides down to rest on your hip, using the slightest pressure to pull you flush against him. The kiss deepens, and your hands slip under his shirt, trailing across his warm skin, playing a sort of blind connect-the-dots with the freckles dotted haphazardly along his back.

Smiling against your lips, Anto takes the hint, breaking the kiss just long enough for you to remove his shirt, your hands roaming gently over the newly-exposed skin as your lips reconnect.

You barely stifle a gasp as his fingertips leave your cheek to trail along the exposed skin between your shirt and shorts to grasp the hem of your crop top.

He pulls away briefly, a question in his eyes that he doesn’t even need to ask out loud before you’re nodding, a breathy yes leaving your lips.

Your shirt joins his on your bedroom floor, and he takes a moment to take in your figure, eyes dragging over you appreciatively.

“You,” he says softly, sincerely, as he leans in to reconnect your lips once more, “are absolutely beautiful, darling.”

He slowly walks you backwards as the kiss deepens, tongues dancing. He gently lays you down when the backs of your knees hit the bed, keeping your lips connected as he moves to hover over you.

He pulls away, just enough to take in your features with what looks like awe shining in his eyes.

“Hi,” you say softly— as if speaking too loudly will ruin the magic of this moment you’ve waited so long for.

He grins.

“Hi.”

And then his lips are back on yours for a tender, heated kiss before making a slow path across your cheek, down your jaw, to your neck.

You let out a sound that’s something between a sigh and a whine, relishing in the feeling of his lips on your skin but the slow pace driving you positively mad.

He chuckles against the sensitive spot just below your ear, making you gasp.

“Sweetheart, let me enjoy this— I didn’t get to appreciate it properly before,” he murmurs, “I promise I’ll give you what you want, just be patient.”

You’ve barely nodded your consent before his mouth is on you once more, kissing and sucking and grazing his teeth all along your skin, the beard adding a layer of sensation that has goosebumps rippling up along your arms. Your hand finds its way up to grip his thick waves, throwing your head back to expose more skin for him to mark up, letting out a moan as his lips track over as much of you as he can reach.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so…” he murmurs, moving to nibble along your collarbone, then further south still to kiss along the tops of your breasts, “soft.”

You can only sigh his name as he mouths along your breasts, gently capturing your nipple as he swirls his tongue around you. You let out a soft cry, arching into him as he pulls away to repeat the gentle motion on your other breast, drawing out more soft sighs and gasps from you.

Your fingers rake through his hair as he pulls away to mouth down the valley between your breasts, marveling at the view before you. Sure, you’d done this plenty of times before, but it was never this… gentle, this intimate.

Anto looks up to meet your eyes as his lips continue their path down your body, the heat in them still present but softer, somehow. Like a warm hearth on a cold winter night compared to the blazing wildfire of lust you were used to.

“You’re so pretty,” you murmur as you push back a strand of hair from his forehead, so soft you’re not sure if you even mean for him to hear it.

He does, though, and you can feel him smiling as he kisses his way down your stomach.

“So are you, my love.”

The words send butterflies flurrying throughout your stomach, the feeling of which only intensifies as he presses gentle kisses along the skin just above the waistband of your shorts.

“Anto…” His name leaves your mouth in a pleading sigh, and he hums his acknowledgment as his fingers glide up to toy with your waistband. 

“Can I, sweetheart?” He murmurs against your skin, and you nod furiously, certain that if you hear one more sweet pet name come out of his mouth you’re going to die on the spot.

You lift your hips as he eases your shorts off of you, a groan leaving him at the sight of the lacy underwear covering your core.

“Never got to tell you this before the way I wanted to, but you are so,” he mumbles, brushing a quick kiss to your core over the increasingly damp fabric covering it, “so beautiful, honey.”

He slowly removes your underwear, adding them to the growing pile of clothes before brushing gentle kisses up your thighs.

Well, you were right.

The beard did feel utterly perfect on your thighs.

You sigh his name desperately, tugging gently at his hair. “Want your mouth on me, please, baby.”

His pretty brown eyes, pupils blown wide, meet yours as, with one final kiss to the soft flesh of your thigh, he lowers his mouth to you, licking deep into your folds.

You cry out his name, fumbling praises tumbling from your lips as he finds each and every spot to make you moan, his thumb moving up to gently circle your clit.

Your whines reach a fever pitch, and Anto murmurs sweetly against you as he recognizes the signs of you reaching the edge.

“C’mon, honey, please, wanna taste you. Lemme make my girl feel good, please cum for me sweetheart, please—”

Your world goes white, and when you come back to yourself, you feel Anto pressing gentle kisses to your thighs, mumbling sweet nothings against your skin.

You reach down to stroke through his hair as he meets your eyes with a smile.

“You alright, sweetheart?”

“I’m perfect,” you sigh.

“Good,” he murmurs, moving to hover over you once more, brushing gentle kisses all over your skin as he goes, “because I really, really need to be inside you.”

You just barely stifle a moan as you feel the telltale bulge brushing against your thigh.

With one final kiss to your lips, he shifts off of you to shed his pants and boxers, retrieving another familiar foil packet from his pocket.

“Came prepared,” he quips with a wink, making you giggle.

You sit up, gesturing for him to hand it to you.

He hesitates for a moment.

“Y/N, I don’t… I want this to be different than the other times, sweet girl. You don’t have to—”

You promptly silence him with a kiss, plucking the foil from his hand.

“I want to,” you assure him as you pull away, gently rolling the latex onto him, your fingers brushing against him in a way that has his eyes fluttering shut.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he hisses, moving to hover over you once more as you lay down, his nose brushing yours, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You merely pull him down into another kiss, smiling against his lips.

Anthony keeps his lips connected to yours, deepening the kiss as he slowly drags his length through your slick folds, your breath hitching as the tip of his cock snags against your entrance.

He pulls away briefly to scan your face.

“You ready, darling?”

“Yes,” you say softly, thumb stroking gently over his beard.

Soft brown eyes remain locked on yours as he slowly pushes into you, noses brushing, breaths mingling.

Anto pauses once he’s fully entered you, panting. “God, you feel… fucking perfect, sweetheart.”

You can only whine, murmuring vague praise in response.

After a moment, he slowly pulls out and thrusts back into you, beginning the gentle push and pull towards ecstasy.

Your breaths become heavier, Anto panting sweet praises with his breath hot against your cheek until his mouth crashes once more onto yours.

Your lips remain locked in a tender kiss as Anto continues his slow thrusts into you— he said he wanted it to be different than the other times and it is. 

There’s no lips mouthing roughly at your skin, no teeth scraping against your collarbone, no fast, sweaty thrusts designed to get you both off as fast as possible. This is… tender, this is intimate, this is everything you’d been wanting since you first realized you had feelings for him.

It’s… perfect.

“I love you, darling,” Anto sighs against your lips, every inch of his warm body pressed against yours, “I love you so, so much, Y/N.”

Your breath catches, overcome with emotion for a moment before you reply softly, earnestly, “I love you too, Anto. God, I’ve wanted to say that for so long, I love you, I love you, I love you…”

Your voice trails off as he captures your lips once more in a tender kiss, and…

Now. Now it was perfect.

“Anto…” you sigh into his mouth, a warning as you feel a familiar tension building within you.

“I know, sweetheart, I know,” he pants in a strangled voice, “Me too, ‘m almost there.”

His thrusts speed up the tiniest bit, your toes curling as he hits your G-spot repeatedly.

“Ant—” you gasp, your grip on him tightening as you feel yourself about to tip over the edge, “oh, fuck, Anto, ‘m gonna—”

“Come for me, sweetheart,” he pants softly in your ear, “Wanna feel you come on my cock, angel, please, ‘m right behind you—”

You shatter as your second orgasm crashes over you, tucking your face into Anthony’s neck to muffle your cries. Several erratic thrusts later, he follows suit, spilling into the condom with a cry as he buries his face in the crook of your neck, lips brushing tenderly against your skin.

He slumps against you, both of you attempting to catch your breath as he gently pulls out of you with a sweet kiss to your nose.

“Was that—” he asks softly, still gasping slightly for air, “Was that okay?”

You hum softly, eyes tracing over each one of his beautiful features.

“It was perfect, Anto. Absolutely perfect.”

“I’m glad, my love,” He grins, dipping to capture your lips in a tender kiss before standing and discreetly disposing of the condom in your en-suite.

You make grabby hands for him as he returns, and he gladly climbs back into bed with you, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close.

He presses his lips to your temple, fingers tracing gentle patterns over your exposed skin.

“I meant what I said, you know. I really do—” His breath catches as you look up at him, eyes wide and soft. “I love you. So, so much Y/N. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

“I love you too, Anthony,” you murmur, a rare use of his full name slipping out, usually reserved for important moments, or when you’re mad at him. Right now, it’s the former. You want to say something else, but your eyes are growing heavier by the minute, so you settle for brushing your lips tenderly against his cheek as sleep overtakes you.

Just before you fully lose consciousness, you feel him press his lips firmly to your temple, smiling against your skin, and you can’t help but smile as you fall contently into sleep.

You spend the night sound asleep in Anthony’s arms, secure in the knowledge that he’ll still be there when you wake.

#anthony boyle #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle smut #my writing #anthony boyle fic #masters of the air cast #anthony boyle rpf

[sagesolsticewrites]

Come and Kiss Me

Anto takes you as his date to the Oscars. Things get very soft and veryyyy spicy

Warnings: mature content (fingering, PinV penetration, hand kink), first time, swearing

Word count: 2.5k

a/n: happy Oscars day y’all!! Hoping our boy Anto will be there, but if he’s not… at least we’ll have this 🥰 (also. this was entirely prompted by @winniemaywebber and I losing our minds over Anto’s chest hair and then losing our minds over it again in relation to the below gif so everyone say thank you Winnie <3) edit: this was supposed to be posted on Sunday but was postponed due to extenuating circumstances!

playlist for this fic by the ever wonderful @winniemaywebber ily bestie <3

Masterlist

As you fiddle with the fabric of your dress — definitely one of the nicest things you’ve ever worn— your gaze drifts over to your boyfriend for about the tenth time that night.

Your gaze scans over him hungrily, taking in the pristine black suit that fits him perfectly, clean lines molding to his figure in a way that makes your knees weak. The best part, however, is his stylist continuing the tradition of leaving the top few buttons undone, revealing a patch of chest hair that you couldn’t look away from if you tried.

“Darling?” Anthony asks, waving his hand in front of your face to get your attention, “Everything alright? It’s… I know this is a big thing, and—”

You blink back from ogling him, leaning over to silence him with a kiss.

“I’m fine, my love. It’s just the Oscars.” You joke as you pull away, sending thanks up to whatever makeup deity made your lipstick every type of water-food-and-smudge-proof; including, apparently, kiss-proof.

The Oscars. Your boyfriend was attending the Oscars, and bringing you along as his date— the first time he’d ever brought you to any kind of event like this. You were in the car on your way there and you still couldn’t quite believe it.

“‘Just the Oscars’,” he repeats playfully, brown eyes sparkling, “Not a big deal at all. Seriously, though,” his tone becomes genuine as he smiles softly at you, “thank you so much for coming with me, my love. I know it’s a little nerve-wracking, but… it truly means the world to me.”

“I’ll do anything I can to support you, Ant. You know that,” you reply softly, “This is an absolutely huge night for you, and I’m honored to be by your side for it.”

His face lights up with a grin and he presses a kiss to your cheek, careful not to smudge your makeup.

He squeezes your hand three times — “I love you”— as you pull up to the entrance of the Dolby Theater, a cacophony of shouting and flashes erupting as the paps note a new arrival.

He helps you out of the car, taking a moment while his back is to the photographers to meet your eyes, a silent check-in.

You take a deep breath and nod, giving him a soft smile, which he returns as he turns and leads you onto the red carpet.

It’s absolute chaos, but you do your best to smile and pose, your boyfriend effortlessly guiding you along. You step to the side when the photographers shout for some solo shots of Anto, and he shoots you a playful wink as you watch him pose, some decidedly not Oscars-appropriate thoughts coming to mind as you watch his elegant fingers adjusting his hair and fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves. 

He’s pulled aside for several interviews along the way, and never fails to introduce you as “my beautiful girlfriend,” making your smile grow impossibly wider as he gushes about how incredible you look and how much you’ve supported him over the course of his career.

Finally, finally, the two of you make it into the theater. His arm wraps around your waist, pulling you close, his lips brushing your ear as he whispers, “You did so good, sweetheart. The hard part’s over, now.”

“I have no idea how you do that by yourself,” you tease, forcing down the butterflies that erupt in your stomach at his proximity. Not the time.

“I just think about getting to come home to you when it’s over,” he replies, pressing a sweet kiss to your temple as you find your seats.

— — — 

You’re unbelievably giggly by the time the two of you finally get home, despite the fact that the single glass of champagne you’d had should’ve worn off long before. No, it’s not the champagne you’re drunk on; it’s the excitement of the night, the pride you feel being on Anthony’s arm at such a prestigious event, the way he kept looking at you as if you were the only person worth looking at in that crowd of A-list celebrities.

“Darling,” Anthony mumbles against your lips between kisses as the two of you stumble through the entrance to your apartment, shrugging out of his jacket and tossing it into a corner, “Have I told you how fucking stunning you look tonight?”

You let out an utterly contented, toe-curling sigh as his lips trail down to your jaw, your neck, and back up again.

“I don’t know, honey,” you say breathlessly, fingers raking through his artfully mussed curls, “I don’t think you have, maybe you should tell me again just to be safe?”

“You look,” he begins, smiling against your mouth, and scatters kisses to every part of skin he can reach— your neck, your ear, your cheeks, your shoulders— as he showers you with compliments, “absolutely radiant, gorgeous, beautiful, stunning—” your breath hitches as he pauses by your ear to hiss “absolutely delectable.”

You can’t quite hold in the gasp that escapes you as he punctuates those words with a light graze of his teeth against your skin, drawing a delicious shiver up your spine.

“Ant—” you whine, his name the only word in your head as your senses fill with him: his teeth and lips on your skin, hands gripping your waist, his heart beating rapidly under your hand as you rest it on his chest, your other hand in his hair and the sweet, warm scent of his cologne filling your nostrils.

“Sweetheart, I know—” he pauses, pulling back so he can see your face, his voice breathless but serious as he continues, “I know we… haven’t, yet, but I— God, I want you, I want you so badly, darling…”

Your toes curl as you take in his pretty brown eyes darker than you’ve ever seen them, pupils blown wide with desire. The two of you have gotten handsy plenty of times, of course, but… haven’t gone all the way yet.

“We won’t do anything you don’t want to do,” he assures you softly, one hand coming up to cup your cheek, “but I so badly want to show you how much you mean to me. Let me make love to you, sweet girl.”

Your hand, still lingering on his chest, toys with the soft curls of his chest hair just visible under his unbuttoned shirt, your shy gaze meeting his. You just got home from the Oscars, your adoring boyfriend showering you with affection and compliments and kisses even after one of the biggest nights of his life. If there was ever a time to act on your desires…

You pull him in for a sweet kiss, arms winding around his neck, nodding frantically as he pulls away, “Yes— yes, honey I want to, I— I want you.”

Anthony lets out a groan, crashing his mouth to yours, hands wandering all over you as if that were all the permission he needed. His fingers linger near the zipper of your dress, pulling away briefly to check for your consent before tugging it down, revealing the simple lace bra and panty set you’d chosen for tonight.

“Jesus fuck, angel,” he groans at the sight, “You’re fucking perfect.”

He mouths hot kisses in a trail from your shoulder up your neck, hoisting you into his arms effortlessly as his lips return to yours, your squeak of surprise muffled by his mouth.

He carries you over to the bed, laying you down as gently as if you were made of glass.

“How do you want it, sweetheart?” Anthony says softly, his breath hot against your cheek as he hovers over you, “You want my mouth first?” A cheeky glint appears in his eye as his fingertips trace patterns all over your skin, “My fingers?”

His teasing smile grows wider at the whimper you fail to bite back.

“Knew it,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lightly over your stomach, “You’ve been staring at my hands all night, sweet girl— don’t try to deny it,” he scolds playfully as you open your mouth to defend yourself, “Don’t worry, I’ll give you what you want.”

He scans your face for permission and, at your jerky nod, dips his fingers below the waistband of your panties.

“Oh,” you keen as his fingers brush over the coarse curls between your legs to drag through your increasingly damp folds, Anthony’s breath leaving him in a huff when he feels just how wet you are.

“Fuck, baby” he breathes, entranced by the way your eyes flutter as his fingers glide along your core, “All this for me?”

You nod, squirming against him, trying to get his fingers where you want them as he remains frustratingly just outside you.

“So needy,” he teases, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ve got you.”

You gasp as he slides one finger inside you, slowly pumping in and out.

Anthony swears softly as he speeds up, the come hither motion making your hips arch off the bed, “You’re so tight, angel.”

His name tumbles from your lips in a moan as he adds a second finger, the tension building in your core.

“Ant— Gonna make me—”

His fingers brush a soft, spongy spot inside you, and you cry out as his thumb circles your clit gently, that simple motion pushing you over the edge.

You come down from your high, chest heaving, just in time to see your boyfriend gently pull his soaked fingers out of you and pop them into his mouth, moaning at the taste.

“Oh my fucking god, you’re gonna kill me,” you whine at the sight.

Anthony chuckles at your dramatics, pulling you close for a hungry kiss as his hands travel along your body.

You fumble with the remaining buttons on his shirt, then move to tug at his belt.

“Wanna see you,” you gasp into his mouth, “Please.”

His breath hitches as your fingers brush the prominent bulge under his slacks.

“Fuck, okay, baby, just let me—”

You prop yourself up onto your elbows to take in the view as he scrambles off you, shucking off his shirt and pants.

His eyes lock on yours as his boxers come off next, his length springing free, already leaking from the tip.

It takes you a moment to remember how to breathe in the middle of removing your panties.

“Oh my god,” you murmur under your breath as he approaches you once more.

You feel him smiling as he bends down for a kiss, your hands wandering freely over his bare skin as his lips travel down your neck.

He makes quick work of your bra, tossing the lacy thing to a corner of the room as he clamps onto your nipple and sucks, making you arch into his mouth with a gasp.

Your toes curl as he mouths at you, his tongue swirling around your nipple until he’s satisfied, then turning to give equal attention to your other breast.

His lips travel down your belly, making it clear his destination is between your legs, and ordinarily you’d love that, but…

You can’t hide your grin at the groan that escapes him when your fingers graze along his cock.

“Christ, angel—”

“Want you inside me,” you breathe, meeting his eyes as he pulls away to look up at you, “Want you to fuck me, Ant.”

You can practically see him melt as your words hit him.

“Princess,” he breathes, lips dragging along your skin as he moves to hover over you once more, “Fuck, whatever you want, honey.”

“I’ll go slow, yeah? Tell me to stop if it hurts,” he says, lining up at your entrance and waiting for your nod of acknowledgement and consent to enter into you, inch by inch.

You throw your head back, moaning at the stretch as he fills you, Anthony’s breath catching audibly as he sinks into you.

“Oh my god,” you breathe, your nails digging into his skin.

He lets out a soft hiss at the feeling, brushing kisses along your neck as he pauses to let you adjust.

“You okay?” He asks, pulling back slightly to scan your face.

You nod frantically, momentarily unable to form words. If he felt this good just being inside you, what in the world would it be like when he started moving…?

Anthony lowers himself down to capture your lips in a tender kiss as he slowly pulls out and thrusts back into you.

“Oh my— fuck—” you whine into his mouth, toes curling at the sensation.

“Angel,” your boyfriend pants against your lips, “Shit, you feel fucking amazing— like you were made for me—”

You clamp down on your lip to stifle a moan as he thrusts into you faster, dragging your nails gently down his back.

“No, no, no, princess,” he murmurs against your skin, nose nudging at your jaw, “Lemme hear you, please.”

A moan finally escapes you as he kisses his way up your neck, scattering kisses over your face as his pace increases.

“Just like that, darling,” he breathes against your mouth, his nose pressed against yours.

His name tumbles from your mouth in a sharp cry as he thrusts deeper into you, hitting your G-spot. You whine into his mouth as he kisses you hungrily, a warning.

“Anto— Baby, m’gonna—”

“Fuck, please cum for me, angel,” he groans, his eyes meeting yours, “Please, wanna feel you cum on my cock, sweetheart.”

Your hands fly to his hair, pulling him for a heated kiss to cry out into his mouth as you reach your second orgasm of the night.

“Oh my god,” Anthony gasps into your mouth, “Fuck, you’re fucking perfect, angel, so fucking good for me—”

A litany of praise falls from his lips as his hips stutter against yours, warning you that he’s about to reach his own climax.

He pulls out of you with a moan, once again meeting your eyes as he pumps his fist until, with a cry, he releases onto the sheets.

You roll over, legs still wobbly, to face him as he collapses onto the bed next to you, the two of you making a valiant effort to catch your breath.

One hand reaches up to brush away a strand of hair from your forehead, Anthony’s soft brown eyes searching yours.

“Was that okay?” He asks softly.

You cup his cheek gently, leaning in for a tender kiss.

“It was perfect, my love.”

“I’m glad,” he smiles, pressing a kiss to your nose before moving to stand, “I’ll be right back.”

He returns with a warm washcloth to clean the two of you, discarding it in the hamper before climbing back into bed.

You curl into him as his arms wrap around you, his skin soft and warm against yours.

“I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you,” you reply.

It’s the last thing either of you hear before you’re fast asleep in each other’s arms.

#manifesting our bby at the Oscars tonight pls 😭 #he wasn’t there rip but a girl can dream fhskfh #anthony boyle fic #anthony boyle smut #anthony boyle x reader #anthony boyle imagine #anthony boyle #masters of the air cast #my writing

[sagesolsticewrites]

I promise at some point I’ll get back to writing pure fluff, y’all, but uh…. today is unfortunately not that day fjskfj

Scheduled fics for this week (so far):

- Anthony Boyle smut (written by my bestie @winniemaywebber!!! She’s amazing and I can’t wait for y’all to read it, I melted) to be posted Monday, March 4th at 10am Central Time

- Rosie smut to be posted Tuesday, March 5th at 10am Central Time 👀😏

#sage speaks #apparently once I started writing smut I just couldn’t stop 😅 #but I do have several fluffy wips in the works!!! v excited to get those out for y’all 🥰 #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #nate mann #rosie rosenthal #robert rosenthal #anthony boyle #anthony boyle x reader #rosie rosenthal x reader

[scuttle-buttle]

BEEEEE I HEARD CROZ AND ROSIE HCS??? 👀👀👀 I WILL TAKE LITERALLY ANYTHING YOU HAVE but also I’d absolutely love anything related to the Co-Pilots universe if you have anything 👀👉👈

Hope you’re having a good day!! 🥰

- Sage 🤍 @sagesolsticewrites

Bestieeeeee 🥰

18+ under the cut

Crosby discovers he has a thing for mustaches. After he and Rosie give in to each other he learns that the feel of those little tiny hairs on his upper lip feels really really good in many places. Whether it's his mouth, his neck, his tummy, his thighs, or his - 🐛. He loves that scratch. He revels in the patches of beard (mustache) burn that redden his thighs, how nobody knows his secret under his trousers. Nobody but you and him and Rosie.

Alternatively, rosie discovers he has his version of the kink. He loves Crosby's nose. How it gives Croz such a unique and beautiful side profile. How when Croz laughs too hard it sometimes makes a little snort. The feel of it dragging up his shoulder blade, his neck, his calves, the ridges of his - 🐛

#harry crosby #rosie rosenthal #crosby x rosie #Crosie #masters of the air #mota #anthony boyle #nate mann #harry crosby smut #rosie rosenthal smutt #scuttle-buttle #personal

[sagesolsticewrites]

Masters of the Air Masterlist

Major Gale “Buck” Cleven

Kiss It Better? 💋 - my very first MOTA drabble based on the prompts “boo boo kisses” & “ pet names” (base nurse!reader)

Kiss It Better pt 2 💋 - That lipstick mark leads to a surprising turn of events 👀

Major John “Bucky” Egan

Oblivious - Bucky’s been trying to get your attention for months now, but you continue to misinterpret his romantic advances as friendship. Everyone else on base is tired of seeing you two dance around each other, and they decide to take matters into their own hands.

Homecoming - John finally returns home to his girl (based on the prompt “carrying the other one in their arms”)

requests are open!

Lt. Harry Crosby

Just Say Yes - Tooth-rotting fluff based on the prompt “If you asked me to marry you tomorrow, I’d say yes.” “What about today?”

Harry Crosby Certified Wife Guy™️ - minific about Croz being head over heels for his wife and the entire 100th knows it

Dear… - A series of letters from one Lt. Harry Crosby to his wife 🤍 (a sort-of continuation of Just Say Yes, but can be read as a standalone!)

A Little Fire - In which Harry Crosby shows his wife exactly how much he appreciates her 😏 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Heat Wave - It’s the hottest summer Iowa’s had in a while. Your husband wears shorts. It gets even hotter (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

In My Arms - Sometimes your husband just needs to be held. (lots and lots of fluff) (coauthored with Winnie!)

Yes, Major - … I mean. Do I even need to say it? 👀 Dom!Croz (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

requests are open!

Sgt. Ken “Kenny” Lemmons

• requests are open!

Lt. Curtis “Curt” Biddick

To The Rescue - in which your friends drag you out to a bar against your will, but you meet a certain soldier that makes it worth it

requests are open!

Major Robert “Rosie” Rosenthal

Take A Break - Rosie runs into a childhood friend at the flak house

Welcome Home - Rosie finally returns home after his second tour, and you take the opportunity to show him exactly how much you missed him 🫠 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

It’s Been A Long, Long Time series:

Kiss Me Once - The moment you’ve been anxiously awaiting is finally here — your boyfriend Rosie Rosenthal finally arrives home

Kiss Me Twice - You and Rosie finally have a “proper reunion” 😏😉 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Kiss Me Once Again - Rosie takes you to his apartment for a proper date night away from his family 😏 (18+ minors dni!)

requests are open!

Captain John Brady

Brady’s Smash Wagon - Your boyfriend (Captain John Brady) takes you (his Red Cross girlfriend) to see his Flying Fortress. Shenanigans ensue 👀 (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

requests are open!

Anthony Boyle

Sundress - in which date night takes a turn when Anthony sees the outfit you’ve chosen (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Lipstick Kisses - the sweetest, spiciest Anthony fic y’all ever saw (feat… uh, Things Happening in cars 👀) written by my bestie Winnie!!! (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Pillow Talk - Anthony is in desperate need of rest & relaxation when he returns home from his latest project, and you’re more than happy to provide it. (coauthored with Winnie!!!)

Come and Kiss Me - Anto takes you as his date to the Oscars. Things get very soft and veryyyy spicy (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

The Stache Fic - Anto grows a mustache. You like it… a lot. (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

Better Kind of Best Friend - Anthony, your friend-with-benefits, stops by for an impromptu visit after an interview. (spicy!! 18+!! minors begone!!)

No Rush - just a soft lil makeout blurb <3

Freckle Kisses - very short very sweet lazy morning blurb

Waking Up Next to You - soft lazy morning smut <3 (spicy!! 18+!! Minors begone!!)

i thought we had no chance (and that’s romance) - You resolve to tell Anthony about your feelings— with surprising results. (Part Two to Better Kind of Best Friend) (spicy!! 18+!! Minors begone!!)

#masterlist #masters of the air #masters of the air x reader #austin butler major gale buck cleven #callum turner major john bucky egan #harry crosby #ken lemmons #austin butler #callum turner #anthony boyle #rafferty law #robert rosenthal #robert rosie rosenthal #nate mann #sage speaks