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ithebookhoarder · 2 days

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Could you write an Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader fic? They are newly weds and the reader wishes to pamper Anthony while he is bathing. He’s a bit cautious about it at first because he is not used to such affection. Thank youu I love your writing a lot especially the truth or dare fic.

In Your Hands (Anthony Bridgerton x Wife!Reader)

A/N: First of all, thank you so much! And I hope you like this. Thanks for sending this ask in, luckily I was already toying with a few Bridgerton ideas thanks to the new trailers so this came surprisingly easy.

Also, if any of you guys enjoy my work, or just feel like it, then consider buying me a cup of coffee here: https://ko-fi.com/ithebookhoarder ☕️

Warnings: Nudity references, the start of sexy-times, alcohol

Masterlist

Anthony was someone who hated routine. After all, as much as he was devoted to the day to day duties that came with being the head of his family, if he had his way he would escape the city and the ton, choosing instead the peace and tranquility offered by the countryside, at Aubrey Hall. He dreamed of being able to be just a brother, son and - as of recently - a husband.

Only married a few months, your new husband was keen to seize each and every opportunity to escape his duties when they appeared - whether it was sneaking off for long rides in the countryside, or making an early exit from whatever social gathering you both had been forced to attend as the new Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton; Whatever allowed you both to be alone and back in one another’s arms (usually sans clothes) as soon as possible, was a good idea to him.

It was no surprise then, that there was one part of his daily routine that Anthony actually relished: bathing.

Oh, yes. There was little more in the world that could bring your fully-grown husband such child-like joy as being able to soak in a tub of steaming hot water for an hour or two. The sight always made you smile as you entered your bedroom: Anthony, half asleep, looking as if the stress had physically melted away.

It was your favourite sight - and not just because of the exquisite view it granted you of his sculpted form - but because of how calm and peaceful he looked. It was as if he had transformed back into the mischievous and carefree boy you’d first fallen in love with all those years ago. Back when your only concerns had been not tripping on your skirt at your presentation, making sure you were actually asked to dance at a ball, and surviving the social season without embarrassing your family or getting yourself roped into some scandal.

Whilst you knew neither you nor Anthony would ever change a single thing about your life together, you knew it came with a cost. In fact, today it had been enduring hours of talks with local tenants, the family’s book keeper, estate managers, and even several possible suitors looking to secure some kind of marriage contract with one of his younger sisters. (You’d been informed by several members of the household staff that those meetings had been remarkably swift, however, with each unfortunate man looking rather dejected as they were shown from the house).

If you’d been able to spare him the pain or share his burden you would have, but unfortunately you’d been occupied with matters of your own. Being the lady of such a grand estate came with duties of its own, and you were quite done looking over seating arrangements, replying to correspondence, and paying social calls for one day.

Still, at least you’d both survived to tell the tale - no wonder Anthony looked half asleep. Then again, maybe it had something to do with the open bottle of whiskey that sat on the table beside the tub. You knew without looking at the label which bottle it was, having smuggled it out of the library yourself to enjoy together.

“Anthony Bridgerton!” A fake gasp of horror escaped your lips as you appeared in the doorway, a hand pressed to your chest. “You are a sneak and a traitor. That whiskey was for me too, you know.”

“And a good evening to you too, my love. Never fear, there’s plenty to share,” he teased, head relaxed, tipped backward as he took a sip from the glass in his hand. Your eyes were transfixed on the hollow of his throat, watching his Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed. “Besides, I would apologise but I simply couldn’t wait a minute longer. Not when I couldn’t feel my back from sitting at that desk all afternoon.”

The moan that escaped his lips was almost sinful as he sank a little lower in the water.

“Well, you’re forgiven. You look far too content for me to even dream of being mad,” you sighed, drawing close and perching on the rim of the tub. Anthony handed over the whiskey glass with a soft smile, letting you take a sip of your own before you placed it back onto the table.

You could feel the warmth seep into your bones immediately, even if that was also likely in part to your proximity to the tub and your naked husband.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?”

Anthony’s eyebrows rose at the question, the surprise written across his face. “What?”

“You heard me,” you teased, reaching up to run your fingers through the soft strands of hair atop his head. “I can wash your hair, and get your back for you. Unless you’d rather do it yourself, or I can ring for someone?”

“What? No, that’s uh, that’s not necessary,” he chuckled, visibly flustered - which was amusing and perplexing. After all, it wasn’t as if you two hadn’t seen and touched every single inch of the other in the weeks since your wedding. However, he looked almost confused at the idea that you would offer such a thing. “You don’t have to do that.”

“But I want to,” you soothed. “Let me take care of you, for once. Husband.”

It was probably below the belt to purr his title like that, but you knew how that one little word had the power to reduce the great Viscount Bridgerton to a puddle. That, along with the warmth of the water and the buzz of the whiskey, made him almost pliant to your every whim. Still, you knew him well enough to recognise the lingering hesitation in his eyes as he nodded in agreement.

He very rarely let his guard down or allowed anyone to assist him in any way. You sometimes believed that had the servants not been dependant upon their work to make a living that Anthony would have dismissed them long ago and tried to run the entire estate single handedly just to prove he could. That he was worthy of the title he bore, and that he was every bit as great a man, brother, and husband as his father.

It appeared he was the same way when it came to letting himself be taken care of and it made your heart ache for the man you loved.

Pressing a triumphant kiss to his lips, you swiftly manoeuvred yourself, pulling up a stool and grabbing a jug from the dresser.

“Just relax… trust me,” you murmured, waiting until he did as he was bid. The gesture alone said volumes, more so than any words ever could.

Waiting until his eyes were shut, you reached for the soap, tilting his head against your chest as you began to massage the mixture into his scalp. Yet again, your husband seemed to transform into a cat, purring with every touch in a way that made it suddenly very difficult to resist the urge to strip off and join your husband in the water instead.

“Enjoying yourself?” You giggled as Anthony barely managed more than a groan in reply.

It was taking every ounce of your self control to focus your attentions solely on Anthony, and not on the way his body seemed to be reacting to your ministrations. Thankfully, you were able to last long enough to finish the job, using the jug to rinse the water through his hair, making sure to angle his head upwards so the water ran off him instead of into his eyes.

But you were only human; the minute you were done washing the last suds from his scalp you made your move. Sliding off the stool, you knelt beside him and reached out to caress his cheek, causing him to open his eyes almost sleepily. Leaning forward you planted a soft, delicate kiss to his lips, causing him to groan in response.

Without saying a word, his hands rose, twisting their way into your hair as he deepened his kiss. It was clear what he wanted next.

“Now, wife,” he growled, pulling back just long enough to reach down and tug teasingly at the tie of your dress-robe. You could feel the warmth of his touch as his wet body began to dampen the material. “I think it’s your turn to let me take care of you… so you’d better get in here, before I drag you in here.”

#ithebookhoarder #masterlist #thesilentmage #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton netflix #bridgerton fanfiction #jonathan bailey #Bridgerton

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emoreemadden · 2 days

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can u make a gojo fanfic where he like abuseive when he comes home to their apartment bc hes stressed out about a meeting and stuff so like he abiuses the reader while she tries to welcome him home but she starts crying infront of him but tries to hide it and goes back to making dinner then gojo go takes a shower and thinks abt it then feels bad and gets out of the shower and realises the reader made him his favorite meal and feels emevn more bad and goes to apologize also make version with no smut and one with smut pleaseee thankz

😃 oh…

anyways yeah here you go pookie <3

Outline: Gojo isn’t trying to hurt you. It was an accident, swear.

Content Warnings: abuse, fem!reader, gojo hits reader, domestic violence, slight degradation (reader doesn’t enjoy it 😭), gojo yells at reader, use of “baby,” and “my love,” as petnames

Featuring: Gojo Satoru, fem!reader

A/N: this is the non smut one. word count: 743. btw, i don’t condone actual violence or domestic abuse yall 😭 if any of this feels familiar to you, help is available. national domestic violence hotline: 800-799-7233.

────────────────────────

You jump up from your seat on the couch as soon as you hear the doorknob jiggle. “You’re home!” you exclaim as your boyfriend opens the door.

You quickly run over to him, an inviting smile on your face, but he just stands at the door with an irritated expression on his face.

“Yep.” He says, tone clipped. You pause a few feet in front of him. “Is something wrong? Do you need a hug?” You ask, carefully stepping toward him.

Satoru stares at you for a good second, his eyes narrowing. “I’m fine.” He mumbles.

“Are you sure?” you pry, about to touch his bicep when he grabs your wrist. “Jesus, could you just give me a moment of peace for once?” He snaps, his grasp on your wrist tightening.

You flinch. “I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-” suddenly, a sharp sting spreads on your cheek. You look at Satoru, feeling your face smarting.

“Shut up, goddamnit!” He yells, roughly letting go of your hand as your eyes begin to tear up. “I swear, you’re trying to get on my nerves. What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

You blink in shock, your cheek reddening from the impact of the slap. Tears begin to fall from your eyes and you hold back a sob. The entire house falls into silence as the two of you stand there.

He watches you try to wipe the tears from your eyes, suddenly feeling the guilt swell in his chest. Why did he do that?

You sniffle, looking away from his gaze and pausing. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. “I’ll go finish making dinner.”

Satoru sighs, calming himself. He reaches to put his hand on your shoulder and calm you down, but you’re turning around and walking to the kitchen before he can apologize.

He can almost feel tears in his eyes, realizing what he’d done to you. Nevertheless, he watches you walk away in complete silence.

The whole scene replays in his head as he walks into the bedroom, hands in his hair and tugging from frustration. You were just trying to help him, and he hurt you like that. Another pang of guilt fills his body.

He’d had a bad day at work, everything was stressing him out. He hadn’t meant to hit you like that. He didn’t think.

Gojo rubs his temples as he strips his clothes and hops in the shower, hoping he could cool off and come back to talk to you later.

About thirty minutes later, Gojo dries himself off and walks into the living room. “Baby?” he calls out. You peek out from the kitchen.

“Toru?” you say softly, blinking at Gojo with a nervous expression. He gives you an apologetic smile.

“You okay?” He asks, walking toward you and stopping just a few feet in front of you. You simply nod a little.

“I made dinner.” You say, looking at the table covered with food. Gojo follows suit, looking over at the meal you made and immediately feeling even more guilt and regret then before.

“You made my favourite?” he asks, looking at you tenderly. You nod meekly again. He sighs.

“I’m sorry, baby.” he spoke quietly, as if afraid he’s scare you at a louder volume. You stayed silent as he stepped closer and placed a hand on your cheek.

Gently, he speaks. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was just stressed. Work sucked, and I just didn’t think. I’m so so sorry.”

Your eyes tear up just a little bit, but you nod. “I just wanted to help you.” you tell him. He nods understandingly. “I know, baby.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you close to his chest. “I love you so much.” he whispers against your hair, holding you close.

You don’t move for a second, but ease into it eventually. You bury yourself into his warm embrace as his arms wrap around you protectively.

“I swear, it was an accident. I’ll never do it again.” he promises. He interlaces his fingers with yours and brings your hand to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it.

“Okay, I believe you. Do you want to eat now?” You ask, looking up at him with a hopeful glint in your eye.

He grins back. “Of course, my love.” He says, guiding you to the table and sitting you down on his lap.

“And if you’d like, I can have you for desert.”

#jjk fluff #jjk x reader #jjk #gojo satoru #jjk satoru #jjk gojo #jujutsu kaisen #romance #dark romance #tw abuse #cw abuse

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bunnysbrainrot · 10 hours

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A Lesson in Manners

Relationship: Dean Winchester x f!Reader

Content: Romantic tension, protective Dean, alcohol consumption, a weird guy ft. the way Dean handles it.

Summary: After a long, exhausting day of hunting, Team Free Will unwinds with drinks at a nearby bar. You're enjoying your time until a stranger decides to pester you, but that won't go unnoticed by Dean.

The signature purr of the Impala faded as Dean turned off the ignition, releasing a heavy sigh, a defeated and tired noise. Whatever nasties they have down here in Georgia have been difficult. All signs in this case were pointing to a djinn, but without getting in closer, there was no way to be completely sure.

That risk was left to Sam and Dean, as they had told you yesterday, when the research finally fell into place.

Sam's lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at his laptop screen, his brows twitching. He deadpanned and looked to his brother, "Djinn. How the hell didn't we think of that yet?"

Dean matched Sam's frustration with a scoff. He simply shook his head.

Djinn were unfamiliar to you still. Though you had done a fair bit of research, helpfully guided by Sam, and learned quite a lot. But, you also knew that research and experience were very, very different for a hunter.

"Awesome, so... what?" Dean inquired, raising a brow at Sam. You sat in the small armchair in the boys' motel room, looking between them. "We gonna go into blood-sucking paradise-dream-world again?"

Sam flashed a quick smile, "Let's just hope it doesn't come to that. Do we have any more lamb's blood?"

Dean's expression changed to annoyance, "Not after that dickbag Balthazar used it for that stupid parallel-universe crap." He crossed his arms over his chest and threw his head back in thought. "And where are we supposed to get it, anyway? We're in the middle of friggin' nowhere."

"Cas?"

"If we could even get a hold of him."

"I'm sure he's still listening, Dean. I know he's been here and there for a while, but-" Sam explained.

Whirling to face his brother, Dean countered, "'Here and there'? Sam, we basically wait three to five business days for him to give us anything. If he's so focused on Heaven right now, let him stay up there."

You had seen Dean's rising upset with his friend for a few weeks now, seeing the angel's presence less and less. Castiel didn't indulge any details, and kept recollections vague - but, the lack of transparency had been taking a toll on the group.

He’d been absent for two weeks now. Nothing.

Dean's lengthy sigh showed his stress. He brought a hand up to his brow; Sam rolled his head to stretch his neck in the passenger seat.

"I need a fuckin' beer," Dean breathed.

You laid a hand on his shoulder from the seat directly behind his - Sam was more conversational on long drives, so sitting on the left side gave good distraction in the long hours on the road. Dean craned his neck to you, looking to you expectantly.

Because as much as he didn't like to admit it, Dean craved the moments when you touched him.

You couldn’t tell if you spooked him, judging by the way Dean froze in his seat, eyes boring directly into yours. A grin spread across your face, "Let's get shitfaced."

Dean shook his head and pointed to you, "You don't wanna get to shitfaced level with me, sweetheart. Just a few beers. Plus, I’ve seen you get tipsy even after one."

Each of you started stepped out of the Impala, respectively stretching your achy legs, or arms, or backs or neck and everything else. No matter the hunt, the soreness remained the same. You released a groan as you lean backward, flexing your stiffened spine. Dean neared and landed a gentle pat between your shoulders to get you moving along.

You noticed how quickly Dean pushed ahead to open the front door, before you had the chance to lift a finger. He looked into the cracked door - an assessing glaze cast over his eyes. Always on the lookout for danger.

Who could keep you safer than Dean Winchester?

After all of his impressive feats so far, it’d be hard for someone not to admire Dean. Saving the world was easier on the drawing board, and with having been to hell and back, you couldn’t fathom the willpower he gained to push past it. Not a semblance of that traumatic experience showed in that handsome, stoic face.

Dean pressed the door ajar to make way for you and Sam. You scanned the tables and stools at the bar; patrons scattered around in clusters, each chattering and laughing amongst themselves.

The thick smell of liquor filled the air. You noticed the hints of whiskey, oddly reminding you of Dean, and the way that scent mixed with his cologne. You memorized that smell from his occasional hugs, or times where you’d sit together, and you’d wondered if he could hear your heart hammering in your chest.

Sam led the way toward a taller table in the corner of the joint, settling in a stool closest to the back emergency exit. You eyed the stool at the outer side, but a creeping feeling dawns on you - someone is staring. Settling into your stool, you took the chance to swivel around, looking for the source of that persistent feeling.

At the bar, a man with a scruffy beard had his eyes trained on yours, roving over your form in the chair. You exhaled, fighting back the feeling of disgust, and turned back to Sam, plastering on a terse smile.

“What is it?” Sam asked, his brows furrowing in concern.

You paled slightly, the man’s stare still honed in on your back, “Dude at the bar has a staring problem.”

Sam leaned casually to reach for his pocket, craning his head for a swift second. A glint in his eye told you he’d found the perpetrator. Footsteps approached from behind - a familiar pattern, one you’d heard every day, and without turning you’d known it was Dean. A careful brush of his hand between your shoulder blades eased you, a gentle reminder he was here.

“Bottoms up, buttercup,” Dean teased, placing a shot of amber liquor in front of you, himself, and then his brother.

Three lime wedges rested on a plate, along with a salt shaker. You glance at Dean with a ‘seriously?’ look, and he gave a signature Winchester grin. You did say you wanted to get shitfaced. And hell, it could help with that looming creep. You licked the back of your hand and sprinkled some salt.

“To figuring something out,” you proclaimed, raising the shot glass. The boys follow your lead before clinking them on the table, and tossing their heads back.

The tequila burns the back of your throat, but the lime helps you ignore it. Sam held a steady face while Dean grimaced at the burn.

You giggled softly, “Can’t handle tequila, Dean?”

He flashed a toothy grin, and a quick middle finger. Your giggle evolved into a bright laugh that drew one from Sam, too.

“Bet you couldn’t handle pool, though,” countered Dean.

Sam eyed you from the side and threw a knowing smirk. You’d never back down from a challenge, especially when it was Dean testing you. There was a desire to beat him at his own games, to show him you could match his skill and then some.

Then there was the chase of it - cycles of teasing comments and passing glances, but never a break in the tension.

Your voice lowers, “I’ll take you on any day, Winchester.”

The jest made Dean grin. The chase was on again.

Sam stayed behind when you and Dean claimed a vacant pool table, letting you set yourselves up for the perfect one-on-one.

Dean nodded to you and eyed the cue ball. You bend at the waist over the table, and felt the creeping feeling again. It radiated along your spine to the nape of your neck, as if your body was set ablaze under the stranger’s stare.

Until suddenly, you had company.

“Say, think you could spare me a game when you’re done, beautiful?”

The voice matched the face. It was nasally with a copious amount of douchery; another entitled asshole who got involved when he wasn’t wanted.

Across the table, Dean’s brow twitched.

“Listen bud, we’re just getting started here. Plenty of other folks in here who can play you,” the edge in Dean’s tone was a warning in and of itself.

You hitched a breath awaiting the man’s reaction.

Out of the corner of your eye you spotted Sam sliding off his barstool, slowly making his way closer to your pool table. He idly looked at his phone, but kept a watchful glance.

“I’m sure you’ll have the time for another one, right, baby?” The stranger’s words slurred stupidly. He didn’t address Dean with meeting his stare, and instead fought to have yours. He closed the gap between you two further - the smell of alcohol lingered on him, thick and nauseating.

You bark, “You’ve got ten seconds.”

“Oh…. hic… ten seconds ain’t enough for me, sweetheart..”

Dean’s voice was taunting, probably trying to pull the dickbag away from you, “It’s plenty for us.”

Finally, the man looked to Dean, straightening his posture at the height difference. He was lean, but couldn’t hold a firm stance, by the looks of it. The man scanned Dean top to bottom before turning back to you.

Before crossing a crucial line.

A foreign hand stroked your spine, making you recoil. Anger contorted your features as you warned him yourself.

“Try that again, fucker,” you spat with disgust. You could still feel the touch on your back. Gross.

The man’s lips tug into a smile, and the anger continued to brew. Of course, you were not the only one with that bubbling rage. Dean has closed the distance before you could register he’d moved at all.

Dean loomed over the man with a haunting glare. To add fuel to the fire, the man had the gall to grin at the threat, raising his hands to Dean’s chest.

“Come on, jus’ gavin’ a lil’ fun,” said the stranger.

In one swift motion, Dean collected the man’s wrists with one hand, and delivered a hook with the other.

The blow knocked his head to the side. Other patrons turned to the scene unfolding - some turned back to their drinks, some kept staring. You gasped when Dean landed another strike, sending the man tumbling to the floor with a resounding thud.

“Dean, that’s enough, he’s-“

He didn’t react to your objection.

Behind the commotion, Sam’s eyes widen with shock, though he smiles with satisfaction at the takedown.

A final shove put enough distance between you and the pathetic drunk. You turned to see the bartender giving Dean a stern look, but they return to filling a pint glass.

You panted softly while the stranger walked away, bracing his bloodied chin with his hand. You looked to Dean and found his attention back at the pool table, letting out a frustrated grunt. There wasn’t a way to thank him. No need. The man had made great strides in protecting you, enough to reassure that you didn’t have to offer thanks. It came naturally, protecting one another.

Sam made his way back to the table and returned to his stool, shaking his head in disbelief, a smile on his face.

What a night, right?

It was Dean’s voice that brought you back to your senses. That same voice that calmed you, that ignited your body to its core.

“Alright, sweetheart, you go first.”

——

“Dammit, whathefuck- that isn’t fair-“ you protested. You’d lost, but kept trying to knock the striped pool balls into the pockets, insisting that there was some sort of rule to let you go until you were fully done, including the cue ball.

Sam handed you a glass of water, which you sipped on immediately. Your fingertips slowly grew numb against the cold glass.

Dean chortled as he collected the pool balls, “Shitfaced and pool don’t mix well, do they?”

You let out a tipsy laugh and shake your head at him. The moment stilled, where the rest of the scene faded away. Dean scanned you over, and held a too-long look. A small spark lit behind his eyes.

“Let’s getcha home.”

Thank you for reading! I liked this idea, and I think it could easily have a second part. Vote in the poll or me know in the comments if you’d like to see where this goes!

#fanfiction #supernatural #spnfandom #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural smut #bunny writes #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader

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