Tumgik
#bridgerton fanfiction
Text
Tumblr media
Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Bridgerton (TV), Bridgerton Series - Julia Quinn Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington Characters: Colin Bridgerton, Penelope Featherington Additional Tags: s3 promo, s3 teaser, mirror scene teaser, Penelope has the hots, did you SEE Colin though, Mirrors, Anticipation, Longing, Growing Up, Touching, confidence building, reflections, Horny Penelope Featherington, Horny Colin Bridgerton Summary:
Penelope + Colin + Mirror and that sweet sweet anticipation we all have
23 notes · View notes
bosbas · 23 hours
Text
Chapter 3: they say looks can kill and I might try
series masterlist previous part || next part
Tumblr media
pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words
Warnings: period-typical gender roles, a small part of the dialogue is in French, Colin being mean, reader being mean, perhaps some historical inaccuracies (idk if the royal opera house was actually called that in 1816 IM SORRY)
Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?
Tumblr media
April 23, 1816 – It seems Lady Violet Bridgerton and Lady Catherine Montclair have become fast friends. This author, ever intrigued by the comings and goings of the Montclairs in London's high society, cannot help but ponder: Is there a union on the horizon? Does the blossoming friendship between Lady Montclair and Lady Bridgerton hint at an impending marriage, or are they simply two kindred spirits enjoying each other's company, with no matrimonial plans for their children?
Your mother had taken quite a liking to Lady Bridgerton. In truth, you mostly didn’t mind. Contrary to what Lady Whistledown was telling the ton, your mother wasn’t particularly interested in marrying you off to a Bridgerton. In fact, the only time she wasn’t trying to marry you off was when she was with Lady Bridgerton. It was a breath of fresh air, to say the least.
Benedict was lovely, as was Eloise. The trouble, as always, came in the form of Colin Bridgerton. Typical.
Since your mother’s newfound friendship with Lady Violet, you found yourself thrust into Colin Bridgerton's company at every event. It was ghastly. Even being near him had your heart rate speeding up. You had to make a conscious effort not to grind your teeth and clench your fists every time he spoke. 
You weren’t quite sure when it happened, but it seemed that Colin Bridgerton had abandoned all pretense of gentlemanly conduct and settled for matching your disdain. You couldn’t say you were surprised. It was exactly what you expected of him, after all.
Tonight had been particularly taxing. Anthony Bridgerton was hosting a ball, which meant that your mother had strong-armed you into spending the entire night with the Bridgertons—when you weren’t with Lord Barlow, that is. You hadn’t minded much at the beginning, enjoying the respite from your mother practically auctioning you off for a dance now that you were courting the Duke. 
Yet, Colin seemed to have made it his singular mission to vex you constantly. Sly glances and biting remarks had escalated to a glass of water “inexplicably” pouring down the front of your dress. Thankfully, the dark blue of your gown successfully camouflaged any stain, but your patience was wearing perilously thin.
To be fair, you had insulted his intelligence, unprovoked, about three or four times before he spilled the glass of water on you. And not-so-subtly called him a “sale enfoiré” (dirty bastard). But still, he was infuriating, and he had been equally as bad all night. 
Currently, you were standing side by side, a simmering tension palpable in the air between you. A fragile truce had been brokered by the stern words of your elder sister, Charlotte, but the desire to spark an argument with Colin was ever-present.
He crossed his arms, and you couldn’t help but be acutely aware of his shoulder touching yours. The closeness of his touch sent a jolt through you, an unwelcome sensation that only added to your mounting frustration.
Colin Bridgerton was not the sort of man you liked, let alone respected, you reminded yourself. You were not particularly interested in engaging with a man who viewed you as merely a dowry with a womb. 
And yet, you couldn’t help yourself. At every chance you got, you couldn’t resist the urge to show him just how much you disliked him. You might have been embarrassed by your childish actions if he weren’t also an instigator.  
“You’ve only danced with the Duke once tonight, Lady Montclair” he commented, his tone dripping with a hint of mockery as he kept his gaze fixed elsewhere. “Has he bored you already with his talk about his family’s estate? Or is that exactly what you’re after?”
You held back a groan. He was particularly relentless tonight, wasn’t he?
“I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, the Duke and I engage in far more stimulating conversations than you might imagine,” you retorted, a flash of defiance in your eyes. “Certainly more engaging than your exchange with Miss Abernathy, I'd venture to say. Although her substantial dowry must have held some interest for you, I presume?”
“We were talking about my travels to India, if you must know,” he drawled, the challenge evident in his tone. “Not that you and the Duke would have much to speak about in that regard, given he’s never been.”
You scoffed. “I should hope I would be able to talk about it, Mr. Bridgerton; I spent three years living in India.”
Colin huffed, annoyed that he had forgotten that small detail. It took everything in you not to turn and face him right then, wanting to bask in the fact that you had bested him yet again. 
“Well, I fear the Duke would have been bored regardless. Look at him now, speaking with Miss Barrington. He certainly did not look that entertained when speaking with you.”
You glanced over at Lord Barlow. It was true, he was smiling at something Miss Barrington had said, but it wasn’t like he never smiled around you. You knew Colin was just winding you up, trying to get a reaction out of you.
“I see he's asked her to dance. Do you think he'll ask you for another, or has he had enough of you for tonight?”
Your fists clenched. The snide looks and snarky comments and even the water on your dress you could deal with. But you knew that you had to marry to secure your future, and Colin's thinly veiled jabs struck a nerve.
You turned to look at him slightly, finding his gaze still on your suitor across the ballroom. Perfect. You shifted closer to him, momentarily taken aback by the intense sound of your heartbeat in your ears. But you ignored it, much like you ignored his sharp inhale as you moved closer. 
With a deliberate motion, you lifted your foot and brought it down on top of his with as much strength as you could muster. The impact was immediate, a sharp jolt of pain shooting through Colin as he fought to stifle a cry.
He staggered forward, lifting his injured foot off the ground and feeling the throbbing of his toes he knew would last for days. Colin’s eyes watered with the effort of standing up, and you could do nothing but smile.
Oh, how he wished to wipe that triumphant expression from your face. He probably deserved your wrath at this point, given his behavior, but dear Lord did you have to make it so painful?
Gingerly, he lowered his injured foot to the ground, his breath catching in a subdued groan as he sought to regain his balance amidst the lingering ache.
“Lady Montclair, I’m sure you’ll excuse me,” Colin managed through gritted teeth, the pain in his foot now a throbbing ache. “I believe I must go tend to my foot, which has been inexplicably injured,” he finished weakly.
You cooed at him, mock concern in your voice. “Oh, Mr. Bridgerton, how dreadful! Pray do take care of yourself. We wouldn't want any lasting damage, now would we?”
He shot a glower in your direction, his eyes practically sparking with irritation as he searched for the nearest exit so he could return to the comfort of the Bridgerton carriage.
“If my toes are broken you’ll never hear the end of it,” he threatened. 
“Let us all hope the injury is not so grave, then,” you replied smugly, not the slightest bit bothered that he was in pain. 
And as much as you were infuriating and annoying and even slightly murderous, Colin found himself sad to be leaving your side. Even as he limped toward the exit, he missed your presence beside him. He probably just enjoyed a rivalry with someone who wasn’t related to him, he reasoned. It kept his mind sharp and his days entertaining. No other reason.
---
May 2, 1816 – Though the dowager Viscountess Violet Bridgerton and Countess Catherine Montclair remain friends, the hope for a union between the two families might be fading, if it was ever present. Lady Y/N Montclair has been spending quite a bit of time with Lord Arthur Barlow, and even this author knows a duke is a better match than a Bridgerton, highly esteemed as their family might be.
Today was one of the rare occasions where you could simply enjoy yourself. The Duke and Duchess of Hastings were hosting an intimate garden party, and Lord Barlow was not in attendance. Although you were a tad disappointed, given that the two of you got along quite well, it did mean you could take a break from the pursuit of a husband for one afternoon. 
Which is why you were sitting next to Eloise, gently rocking Caroline Basset to sleep as you discussed your marriage prospects. 
“Your parents really delayed your coming out so you could marry an Englishman?” Eloise asked, shocked. “What could compel them to be so cruel toward you? The men of the ton are not the sort to write home about, I can assure you.”
You laughed, amused by Eloise’s aversion to marriage. Well, aversion to marriage in the way that you knew it to be. She was so refreshing to speak with: Eloise had rejected two marriage proposals already simply because she didn’t like her suitors. Truthfully it was not something you had previously thought was possible.  
“The Duke is not so bad that I would dread marrying him!” you giggled. “And he is fairly handsome, too.”
“The best of a bad bunch, it seems,” teased Eloise, sensing the beginnings of fondness in your voice.
How on earth was Colin related to her? Or any of the Bridgertons, really? Eloise was lovely, and it remained a mystery how she and Colin could share any parentage at all.
Your thoughts were interrupted by Daphne and Simon, who stood in the garden and tapped on a glass to address their guests. Not wanting baby Caroline to wake up, you stood up carefully and made your way across the garden to the nurses. 
“And we also have some news to share,” Daphne announced excitedly.
You turned around to face the Duchess after successfully handing Caroline off to a nurse and groaned involuntarily as you saw Colin already standing next to you. Unfortunately, it was far too late to move without causing a commotion, and you did not hate Colin so much as to disrespect Daphne to avoid him. 
Your peaceful, somewhat liberating afternoon came crashing down five seconds after being in Colin Bridgerton’s presence. You were instantly irritated by everything about him. Irritated by his signet ring glinting in the sunlight, by his windblown hair landing perfectly on his face, and by his small smile toward you when he saw you standing next to him, 
Most of all, you were irritated with yourself for noticing every little detail about him. You were trying to listen to Daphne, but his breathing was so loud, so close to your ear that you found it impossible. It was ridiculous, you knew. And you also knew it was only irritating you because you hated him. But it didn’t stop you from absolutely loathing the way Colin Bridgerton breathed. 
You felt anger rising in your chest as more time went on, his chest rising and falling evenly, and the words came out of your mouth before you could stop them. 
“Stop breathing. I’m trying to listen to your sister,” you hissed. 
“Stop breathing?” he whispered back, incredulous. “Do you suggest I stop entirely and fall dead right at this very moment?”
“I wouldn’t be opposed,” you shot back.
“It would certainly be on your conscience, then. Or perhaps you don’t have one. I wouldn’t be surprised,” he whispered back angrily.
And then suddenly, everyone was clapping and cheering, and neither of you had any idea what for. You looked around dumbly, trying to figure out what exactly had been said while mentally berating yourself for picking a fight with Colin, who also seemed confused by all the commotion.
Gregory walked up to Colin, clapping him on the back and punching him on the arm. 
“We’re going to be uncles once again! D’you reckon I’ll be the godfather this time around?”
“Not a chance,” Colin responded jovially, having realized that Daphne had announced a pregnancy.
Gregory moaned in disappointment and walked away to speak with Simon, surely to convince him of his candidacy as a godfather, but Colin turned to you, a raging fire in his eyes. 
“You couldn’t have waited ten more seconds before asking me to 'stop breathing'?” he all but spat.
You cringed, feeling a twinge of guilt in the pit of your stomach as you watched Colin walk away to speak with his sister. You deserved his wrath just this once. Perhaps you’d take the day off from antagonizing him, more for Daphne’s sake than anything else.
---
May 11, 1816 – Siena Rosso, esteemed opera singer and previously a regular performer at the Royal Opera House, has returned to Mayfair after two years away. This author has learned that the Montclairs have been invited to watch from Lady Danbury’s box…
You rubbed your eyes and sighed deeply, already dreading the three-hour-long opera ahead of you as you watched Siena Rosso emerge and begin singing. 
Your mother turned around in her seat with a frown, leaning over to you. “Y/N,” she scolded softly. “Ce n'est pas digne d'une dame.” (That’s unladylike)
You rolled your eyes once she turned around again. Usually, you were not opposed to going to the opera, finding the story compelling and the music beautiful, but tonight all you were looking forward to were the closing curtains. 
Lady Whistledown had failed to mention that the Bridgertons would be in Lady Danbury’s box tonight, too, and you were upset that you would have to spend the evening sitting next to Colin. Of course, Louis had gotten out of coming tonight, as had Benedict, and you simply assumed Colin would do the same. But no, he had shown up looking disconcertingly good and sat right next to you. 
On top of being forced to spend the evening alongside your least favorite member of the ton, you were completely exhausted. Having come to terms with the reality that you would probably be engaged to be married in a few weeks, you had been unable to sleep and opted to go to your spot in the garden to look at the stars instead. Although it had been soothing, seeing the twinkling lights and being reminded of every version of you who had looked up at these same stars, you were now bone-tired and fighting off sleep. 
You couldn’t even muster the energy to spite Colin in some form or another. All your energy was focused on staying awake and fighting against your eyelids as they periodically shuttered closed. 
You had been hoping that, if anything, sitting next to Colin and inevitably trading insults with him would keep you awake, but he was being uncharacteristically mellow tonight. And you were nothing if not suspicious. In the time you had known him, he had always attempted at least one conversation-turned-argument within five minutes of seeing you. 
Whatever the reason for his silence was, you were grateful. Perhaps his streak of combativeness was coming to an end and you could go back to silently loathing him. You hoped so. It had certainly been easier that way.
It would have been easier if you didn’t hate him at all, actually. And sometimes you did wish you could set aside your contempt toward each other and at least be civil. But then you remembered the biting words you heard in Lady Danbury’s hallway.
They were etched into your memory, replaying in your mind when you saw Colin being particularly sweet to one of his nieces or laughing with his brothers and you were tempted to forget the reason you hated him in the first place. 
…I suppose it depends on her dowry. The larger the dowry the more I’m willing to overlook… I’m sure you could get away with anything with any of these girls, though I suggest picking one that’s got good hips.
Even just remembering the words made you want to strangle Colin. Colin Bridgerton and Niger Berbrooke clearly had no respect for you and saw your worth as directly proportional to your dowry, so why should you have any respect for them?
Quite interestingly, you had not seen Nigel since that fateful night. But you didn’t dwell on it too much. Dealing with one of them was already more than enough for you.
Siena’s aria ended, and you realized you had not been paying attention in the slightest. However, you were not as bothered as you would usually be by your lack of attention. The music had become softer and lower, and you could hardly keep your eyes open. It wouldn’t hurt to close them for a short while, right? Siena wasn’t even performing, and you were sitting behind your mother, free from her prying eyes.
An hour later, Colin turned to look at you, sleeping peacefully, for what might have been the four-hundredth time. Your hand was supporting your head, your lips parted softly as you breathed deeply, and he just stared.
He had seen you laughing and smiling around other people, but this was the first time he had been so close to you without you glaring or frowning at him, and it was far more important to him than anything happening onstage. 
In a few moments, you would wake up and remind him exactly why he disliked you, but for now, he could just enjoy this moment of peace.
A soft snore left your lips, and Colin nervously glanced toward your mother, hoping she hadn’t heard. He knew the countess would be upset if she realized her daughter was asleep at the opera, and he prayed your snore had been an isolated incident.
But to no avail; you let out another snore, slightly louder than the last, and Colin tensed. Your mother, along with his, seemed too enthralled in the opera to notice yet, but he suspected the snoring would only get worse.
Logically, Colin knew he had to do something. As much as he hated you– or rather hated that you hated him– he knew it would be cruel to let you face your mother’s wrath when you were clearly exhausted. But he couldn’t very well start being nice to you right now, after weeks of feuding. 
He was far too proud to admit it to anyone, but you had gotten to him. You brought out the worst in him. Or maybe he brought out the worst in himself, and you were only there to see it. He felt slightly guilty at how aggressively he reacted at Daphne’s garden party, not to mention every other time he had made a disparaging comment about you. But the guilt quickly evaporated every time you replied with an equally disparaging comment.
After a moment, and another snore, Colin settled for reaching over and pinching your bicep to wake you up. You startled awake, almost yelping in pain and looking around in confusion. 
Fully awake now, your eyes narrowed as you saw Colin smirking at you, his hand near your arm giving you a very clear idea of who had woken you up. 
“Good morning, Lady Montclair. It’s nice of you to join us. There’s an opera happening at the minute, in case you hadn’t noticed,” he said sarcastically.
You clenched your fists, eyes glancing at your mother as she dabbed at her eyes after what Colin could only imagine was a very emotional aria. After a deep breath, you crossed your arms and slumped back in your seat, defeated.
“Like you’re any better. I doubt you’ve paid attention at the opera a single time in your life,” you finally whispered back, stifling a yawn.
As you sat glowering, Colin thought that it might be impossible for the two of you to be in a room without arguing. However, at least Colin had made sure that you had plenty of reasons to hate him. He might not have known why you disliked him at first, but he certainly knew now, and that was a far better feeling than wondering what he did wrong.
previous part || next part || buy me a ko-fi!
Tag List (get added here): @marvelspogue @5sosmakesmelaugh5 @livingthatprovinciallife @maddiebaddie1 @willieoo @jessica-1120 @dreadity @h0eforwadewilson @ziarah @wordsgodeep @like-gabriel-and-castiel @dianxiaxiexie @snapeeballsack @sosasi521-blog @saturnssunflower @indecisive-empanada @invisible-dreamers-world @angerpearl @spacecowboy-0 @lavaschnuppe @ssexsellls @idkwhatimdoing6 @smugrogerina @cherrysxuya @blackqueens01 @ella33 @eve175 @tiger1357890 @mrs-c-bridgerton @bozoqt @nighttimemoonlover @anthonylockwoodandco111 @beamuont @adxrekyun @none-of-this-makes-any-sense @peter-parker-tony-stank-trash @stevenwithav01
18 notes · View notes
maybefeelingsss · 3 days
Text
Tumblr media
Room No.165
Chapter Four: A Gala Dress
A small snippet:
Tumblr media
16 notes · View notes
igotanidea · 3 months
Text
Too much : Anthony Bridgerton x reader
Tumblr media
Request: yes! Anthony and his wife having an argument.
***
„My lord.”
One of Bridgertons’ most trusted servant knocked on the door of his office and was bold enough to enter inside without invitation.
„I specifically told everyone to not disturb me.” Anthony muttered, not giving his man more than a grunt of annoyance.
Viscount’s sudden change of attitude has been the talk of the whole house lately. After months of sweetness and caring and love between him and his beloved wife Lady Y/N Bridgerton of house Y/H/N something has switched.
For worse.
Man of the house has became distant (again), leaving his wife to tend to herself. Suddenly, his duties, his visits to the sibling’s, social activities (which was a synonim of spending hours at gentleman’s club) and travels to the other parts of the kingdom (seemingly to inspect the state of assets) took most of, if not whole of his time.
Everyone’s noticed.
And even without the viscount and his wife ending up on lady Whistledown’s latest brochure.
But truthfully with lord Bridgerton’s stubborn nature and finality there wasn’t much anyone could do, even considering all the sympathy for his young wife.
„I’m afraid you have a very important visit my lord.”
„Just tell whoever it is, that I’m not taking visits at the moment.”
„My lord -”
„Thomson, did you not hear what I said?” finally Anthony raised his gaze on the poor servant.
„It’s the viscountess, my lord.” the other man stuttered.
‘My mother?”
„Your wife, sir.”
„Oh, right....” of course, now Y/N was the viscountess, but somehow it was easy to forget she has been holding that title.
„Shall I - shall I tell the lady to come back another-?”
„No. No I’ll see my wife now.” Anthony sighed and since there was no other word from him the butler froze, unsure of how to behave „Well? Let her in, will you?” there was the annoyance again.
The door was opened and there she was.
Y/N. In all her glory, looking beautiful as always, wearing that dress that always took Anthony;s breath away since she nearly glowed while walking. Her smile did not even falter for a second as she nodded to the servant in a silent acknowledgement, but her eyes were cold and sad, uncovering she hasn’t in fact been well lately. Regardless of the rumours, allegations that the viscount stopped loving her after no more than a year since marriage and got himself a lover (please don’t let it be Sienna all over) she held her head high and kept the appearances. No one had to know that the cheerful, graceful viscountess Bridgerton were spending her nights alone in a cold marriage bed, tossing, turning, tormenting herself with thoughts and longing for the embrace of the man she loved with all her heart.
‘Husband.” she said calmly once the door closed behind her, leaving her just standing in front of him awkwardly.
„Wife.”
„I didn’t have the faintest idea I do need to announce my visit in advance. I shall correct that mistake in the future if that’s your wish my lord.”
„Is there any specific reason of why you’re here Y/N?”
„Is my presence here this disturbing to you my lord?”
The scribbling on the paper was the only answer she got and it finally broke all her inhibitions and pretences.
"Anthony!"
"What?" he snapped looking up at her from the pile of documents on his desk.
"Talk to me!"
"I'm busy!"
"And I'm lonely! You've been spending time with Benedict and Colin and Daphne and your siblings and god knows where else but not me!"
"They are my family, Y/N."
"I am your family! This is not what your mother-"
"Don’t you dare-" he stood up abruptly almost tripping the chair, throwing daggers at her. "Don't you dare say a word about my mother!"
Now that's a drama the whole household heard.
„Your mother-” she tried again, this time more sternly taking one step forward „showed me nothing but kindness. Your whole family showed me nothing but kindness. All of them. Except-”
„Don’t finish it.” he warned but it came much more like a spat.
„-you.”
„Well I didn’t force you to marry me!”
The silence that fell between them after that one sentence was deafening. Nothing has ever hurt Y/N this much in her entire life. Never before Anthony has let himself say such cruel words in the moment of weakness and anger. All because he felt too much, because he needed and loved her too much.
„No.” she said with a tiny voice, her face going as pale as the wall behind her. „no, you didn’t force me. Not sure if you didn't do it to yourself.”
‘Y/N....” Anthony took a step towards her reaching his hand in a poor attempt to form a word that would remedy the situation, help him explain himself and bring her some comfort. „I didn’t mean-”
„I’m sorry I’ve seemingly ruined your life, my lord.”
„That is not-”
„Please accept my deepest condolences and apologies for ruining your blooming love life with that actress you knew. Know. Shall you remind me her name?”
„Y/N!” he shouted in pure desperation.
„Her name, Anthony!” now she was using her noble voice, leaving no word for discussion even to the viscount.
„No.”
„Sienna.” Y/N hissed through clenched teeth, her behaviour far from lady-like. „That’s her name isn’t it? Sienna?”
„You can’t help but remind me of the past mistakes, don’t you, my lady?” her husband  growled turning her back to her not wanting to see her face anymore. „You’re the one I vowed to.”
‘Forcefully, apparently. Maybe the only mistake you made was letting me walk the aisle and taking my hand while saying I do.”
„Maybe it was! Maybe I didn’t give enough thought to it! Perhaps I didn’t consider that seeing you every day, walking the rooms of my house, using the title of my wife, naming yourself viscountess Bridgerton will be too much to bare to my heart!”
What Anthony did not consider at that moment was that Y/N would take it way differently than he intended.
He was merely thinking that it was too much too handle cause he was not used to being so attached, so dependant, so - well,forgive me the word - needy. Of her, her touch, her words, her presence, her everything. Hence the distant he put between him and his wife. Perverse nature made him run away before loosing her.
Ironically, causing her to turn away, barely holding back tears, instead of falling into his arms. (such a surprise, right?)
„Forgive me my lord, for keeping your mind occupied with my humble person for too long. I am but nothing if not a modest woman, unworthy of the attention of the viscount.”
Oh god, what did he do...?
„You are -”
„Below you. Obviously. Perhaps I should have considered your coldness and self-isolation as well. I don’t -” she gulped „I don’t understand what happened to you, Anthony.”
„I-” as pathetic as that was her husband was trying to explain himself to her.
„Feelings overwhelm you Anthony.” that was something he could not disagree with „Now, my lord, if you’ll excuse me, I shall leave, since as you said - you’re busy and I clearly bring you this much displeasure. I shall not bother you again any time soon.”
Before he could stop her Y/N bowed to him in a way more formal and distant way Anthony would wish for, and simply walked away. Leaving him frozen, desperate and broken with the urge to run after her, apologise and reason with that fiery woman who always knew how to make his blood boil. He wanted to hold her, love her and whisper sweet nothings into her ear while feeling her in the most intimate way a man and a wife could ever be together.
But did nothing while she disappeared behind the door.
„Prepare my carriage” she  commanded the first servant that came her way.
„Yes, my lady, may I ask to what destination?”
„I’m going to visit my sister-in-law.”
„Certainly lady Briderton. It’ll be ready for you.”
„And not a word of it to my husband.”
„But my lady -”
‘Not a single word. This is an order, not a request.”
She needed a word with the only person who could possibly understand.
part 2 possible... (I think ;) )
edit: not enough
2K notes · View notes
fayes-fics · 10 months
Text
Second Son
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...
Tumblr media
Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.
Word Count: 2.9k
Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3
Tumblr media
Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.
____
His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.
He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.
But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.
____
“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death. 
“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.
“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”
“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.
He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.
What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society. 
So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul. 
“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.
“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.
____
She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even. 
Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.
“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.
“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.
“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.
Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach. 
“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.
Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.
“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought. 
She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.
____
Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.
“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.
“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.
“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.
“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.
“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”
“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily. 
You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit. 
You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.
“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.
“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.
“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”
“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.
Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.
____
Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball. 
He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony. 
Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.
____
You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.
“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.
He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.
“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”
You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.
“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”
You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.
“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.
Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.
“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.
“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.
“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.
____
His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone. 
Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.
He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize. 
And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.
____
“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life. 
“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.
And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future. 
____
“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.
“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.
“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.
“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.
There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.
“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.
“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.
An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.
____
He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.
“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.” 
Tumblr media
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep
Tumblr media
5K notes · View notes
ghostfacd · 11 months
Text
THE KING AND HIS QUEEN, — king george iii
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
pairing: king george iii x fem!queen!reader
summary: your new life of being queen has been quite a struggle adjusting to. thankfully, you have the perfect king to stand right by your side.
genre: royal!au, fluff, mentions of arranged marriage, reader said to be a princess from france but ethnicity is not specified, plot kind of differs from queen charlotte: a bridgeton story, talk of wanting children
author’s note: the plot is different from that of the netflix series so don’t come at me ! wanted to write for george because his character is very intriguing to me and also bc the actor for young george is so mighty fine 😋😋 enjoy!
Tumblr media
“Are you alright?” The king asked you. His face examined yours, locking his eyes onto your frame.
“Yes my king,” you say, staring down at your plate with a forced smile. In all truths, you were not alright. You had just wedded the week before, and the life of a queen was taking much more of a toll on you than you’d expect.
You remembered like it was just yesterday. Well, technically, it was. It was barely a week ago.
“Will Her Royal Highness, Princess of France, take His Majesty, The King as husband, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do you part; according to God's holy law?”
“I, Princess of France, in the presence of God make this vow, from this day forward; for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death us do part; according to God's holy law.”
“Very well, you may kiss the bride.”
And just like that, you were proclaimed Queen of Great Britain and Ireland.
“You’re spacing out,” George inquires, face filled with concern. You almost wonder why he cares. The two of you were not inlove. The marriage had been an arranged deal between your father and his since the day you were both born. Your fate had been sealed as soon as you came out your mother’s womb.
“Leave us.” He motions to the guards standing. They obey him like robots, leaving at his command. Now, it was just the two of you alone.
“YN,” for the first time since the two of you met, he had said your first name. No ‘my queen’ but just YN.
“Yes, my king?”
“Please, just George.”
You sigh, finally deciding to look him in the eyes. “Very well. George?”
“You know you can always tell me what is wrong, right?” He looks almost saddened. Or was it pity? You didn’t know him very well—the two of you rarely communicating since the marriage had been finalized.
“Of course my king,”
“George.” He corrects.
“Apologies, it was out of habit.”
He stands up, motioning you to come over to him. With raised eyebrows, you do as he wants, your long gown flowing onto the marble floor beautifully.
“Come with me,” he says, taking your hands into his. “To our chambers.”
You flush up at the feeling of George’s hands holding yours. You hadn’t had a boyfriend before marrying him, your father being very keen on keeping yourself innocent and pure for the King of Great Britain.
When you two arrive at the large tall entrance of the chamber, George waves off the two guards standing in front.
“Marital duties?” One of the dukes asked. “Great job Georgie, knew you had it in ‘ya.”
The King rolls his eyes at this, though he makes sure the duke hadn’t caught it. When you’re both inside the chamber, George finally lets out a breath of relief, situating himself onto the large mattress.
It was even larger than yours back at your palace in France. It was meant for the King and Queen, you and George, to sleep in at night and perform your marital duties.
“Sit, please.” George says, patting the empty space next to him. You sit down awkwardly, not sure where to look.
“Listen, I know it’s hard,” George lifts up your chin with his finger. “Adjusting to your life as my queen. The Queen of Great Britain and Ireland. But I assure you, as long as I live, I will make sure nobody will ever lay their hands on you or our future children, and that I will provide you with my love and support as I do with our country.”
Your eyes softened at his mini speech towards you, and your heart fluttered with joy. You were scared the two of you would end up in a loveless marriage like your Father and Mother had been—only together to provide the next heir of France. The heir ended up being your brother, your parent’s firstborn, King Charles of France. Second in throne was your other brother, Prince Louis, the spare. The only reason your parents had you was because your father had wanted a daughter to spoil, not because they were “inlove”. God no.
“Thank you my king. I appreciate this greatly, you have no idea. The stress of being Queen has taken quite the toll on me, and I was afraid of confiding in you about my worries.”
“You have no reason to be afraid,” George takes your hand, placing a soft kiss on it. “You are my wife, and I am your husband. You should never be afraid to confide in me. We promised that only death can do us part, and that we will love each other in sickness and suffering.”
“You are right my king,” you say, placing a peck on his cheek. For the first time, you were making a move, not him.
The two of you stay in each other’s embrace for the next hour, a comfortable and comforting silence fulfilling you both.
For the first time since you’ve step foot into Britain, you felt safe and loved. Loved by the King himself.
“You mentioned protecting me and our future children?” You tease him as you pull away. He bashfully looks down, letting out a small embarrassed laugh.
“Yes, my queen. The future heir, our lineage.”
“I hope it’s a boy,” you blurt out. You wanted your firstborn to be a boy because you’ve always seen your big brothers as a clear example of well raised princes, and you wanted the same for your future children.
“A boy would be ideal,” George says, pulling you close to him, “but I wouldn’t mind a girl. Spoil her rotten and braid her hair.”
You laugh, nodding along with George’s words. “I suppose a girl wouldn’t be so bad. As long as our future baby will be healthy.”
“Yes.”
The next few hours are spent with you and George mapping out the future, forgetting all your responsibilities for just the moment. George wanted Edward for a boy and Marionette for a girl, Nette for short. He expressed to you how he always dreamed of a normal life, farming and doing astronomy. However, he was grateful for growing up in royalty, never surrounded by poverty.
And just like that, the night you and George connected had flew by and you were expecting your second child in a few weeks time.
“Edward!” You say, giggling at the boy running around your legs. Edward was five, and quite the rowdy one. He took after his father’s handsomeness and had the eyes of George, the same ones that had looked at you with concern 6 years prior on that fateful night.
“Mummy!” Edward shrieks in delight. His eyes brighten when he sees his Father, who picks him up in an instant.
“I hope you’re not giving mummy a hard time,” George says, booping the young prince’s nose. “Are you, Prince Edward of Wales?”
“Course not daddy!” Edward scrambles to be let down on the ground, making George grunt as he sets the boy down. “Just wanted to hang out with mummy, that’s all.”
“Yes, my handsome little prince was doing no harm dear,” you reassure your husband. He rubs your baby bump softly, admiring your beauty.
“Just worried about you and Marionette is all,” he says with a soft smile.
“Me and Nette are fine,” you say, “now Edward, would you like me to tell you the day I became Queen?”
“Yes mummy!” Edward grins excitedly.
George can’t help but admire his little family as you told the story to your son Edward, brushing small strands of his brunette hair out of his face. In a few weeks, little Marionette will be arriving, and he couldn’t wait.
He wouldn’t trade what he had now for anything, not even for the whole wide world.
4K notes · View notes
bellatrixscurls · 6 months
Text
exquisite weather today, no? | part i
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
warnings : smut, dom anthony and sub reader, pet names, fluff, ben and colin being little shits, reader is kind of naive given the action takes places sometime in the 1810s.
summary : anthony does not want to corrupt his innocent little wife... but what happens when his brothers lend him a helping hand?
a/n: please enjoy part one of my new series until i am done with the james and sirius fic, thank you! <3
“You are telling me that you have not slept in that way with your wife?” Benedict stops in their way down the halls, looking very much concerned. Anthony hums, checking his clock.
“But you’ve been married for almost a year now!” the younger brother exclaims, looking up at the viscount with a frown.
Anthony smirks and looks at his brother from the corner of his eye. “Not that it is any of your concern, but we do things. Together. Alone” his lie is obvious, but still, he leaves Benedict stunned in the middle of the hallway.
When he finally realises that the maids are looking at him funny, Benedict clears his throat and offers them a polite nod, before following Anthony into the drawing room.
Ah, here you are — sitting next to Colin on one of the sofas. With Anthony distracted, speaking to Daphne about the ‘Hearts and Flowers’ ball, he approaches you carefully, sitting beside Colin.
“Exquisite weather today, isn’t it?” he gives you a nod and you mirror his action, smiling, “Indeed it is, Ben.”
Colin looks between the two of you, back and forth, a confused smile gracing his lips. “This is not about the weather, is it?” he whispers through gritted teeth.
Benedict’s smile turns into a grin when the words leave his brother’s mouth. “I am, in fact, glad that you asked, Colin!” he says happily, “I came here because I need some... advice, from Y/n.”
Raising your eyebrows, you look at him in curiosity, “and what could someone such as yourself need advice for?”
Benedict thinks about it for a moment; should he say it? He means no harm but... a little fun won’t hurt... will it?
“Sex” the words leave his mouth and Colin chokes on his tea, eyes wide as he looks back at Benedict. ‘Are you mad?’ he mouths to his brother, but the second-born chooses to ignore him and look back at you. “So. Y/n?”
Benedict finds you looking up at him with wide eyes, lips pursed as you tried to search for that word in your mind, but with no results. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Ben.”
This time, it is Colin looking back at you, a deep frown settling on his face. “Pardon? Anthony is your husband, there is no such thing as not knowing what sex is.. Does he refer to it differently?”
“You know... when you’re alone, naked, and he towers over you. That thing he puts in between your legs” Benedict quips, already very much content of where Colin has taken the conversation.
“He towers over me?”
The two burst out laughing at your cluelessness and, from the other side of the large room, Anthony’s brows furrow in concern.
“His cock, sweetness. What he has between his legs. I’m sure he spoils the crap out of you with it every night” Benedict taunts and Colin laughs breathily, adding on “or maybe he does not, brother. Seeing that Anthony is so busy all the time. He has more important things to take care of, I suppose.”
At this point, your eyes are teary and your hands are shaking as you listen to your brothers-in-law tease you endlessly. You are not aware of the meaning behind it, though.
In a moment, you feel a hand wrap around your waist and pull you up against the warmth of someone’s body; Anthony. As you look up at him, his heart shatters and his jaw clenches. “I do not know what you did, but be sure that I will find out. And when I do, I hope you will be taking a walk far away from here. More walks.”
And with that, he takes you away from his brothers and rest of the family, not bothering to excuse himself or you, his face red with hatred. He doesn’t know what his brothers told you, but he is positive that it managed to hurt you... And Anthony cannot bare seeing you hurt.
His hand grips yours tightly, in a possessive manner, not hurting you. He is always gentle with you, no matter the circumstances.
Once you reach the wooden door, Anthony ushers you into the bedroom with a hand at the small of your back, following closely behind before he closes the door.
“What did they tell you, my love?” his tone is alarmed and so are his hands, twitching at his sides.
When your eyes finally meet his, they are still filled with tears, sadness pulling at your heart. “Am I a burden to you? Am I- not pretty enough?”
Anthony’s heart breaks and he realises that he’s never seen you so sad before, not even when you were merely a couple and you had family issues.
“Angel, you have to tell me what it is that they told you. I need to know” he repeats through gritted teeth, ready to walk down those stairs and strangle Benedict and Colin.
“Sex” you repeat Benedict’s words unsurely, glancing up at Anthony. “Told me you are too busy for that. And I- you have never told me of that.”
At this point, his hands fly to your waist and he positions you onto his lap, wrapping his arms around your lower body as he turns you to face him entirely. “My darling- They told you that? I-” he seems at a loss for words, and finally, his lips fall into a straight line and he lets go of your hand for a second, walking away from you, and to the floor mirror in his room. You pout as you lose his warmth, and your brows furrow when you notice him pulling the mirror towards you.
He takes his hand in yours and he helps you to your feet, your bottom lip wobbling when you catch sight of your teary eyes, but Anthony notices immediately, and his hands move to hug you from behind, his chin resting on your shoulder.
“You are so beautiful” he says softly, placing a kiss on the side of your neck, nosing at your skin as he continues speaking, “Undress for me, my love.”
Breathing having picked up, your eyes widen anxiously as your hands find his. “Anthony-” “I want to show you how good I can make you feel. Trust me. Please” he pleads, his eyes looking helplessly into yours. You give a curt nod, your heart pounding against your ribcage.
Your shaky hands move to undress yourself and Anthony helps peel off your dress and chemise, leaving you bare and vulnerable before him.
Anthony lets out one of the most obscene sounds when he presses his clothed body to your bare one, and you can feel his erection pressing into your backside, not that you are aware of what that is. Yet.
“Your hand. Move it down your body” he commands rather softly, watching you through the mirror. Your cheeks heat up but you obey nonetheless, your left hand stopping right above your lower stomach, “Lower. Touch your pussy for me, sweetheart.”
“Alright” you take a deep breath, your hand sliding further down your body, resting at your cunt, your warm touch making you shiver. “Feels odd” you whine, eyes pleading as you find his eyes through the mirror.
He bites his lip, his eyes closing for a moment before he is able to look at you again. “It shall feel good in just a moment... Can- Do you want me to show you?”
“Yes, please” you whisper and his hand instantly reaches to your cunt, using both of his hands to spread you open, your folds damp and spread out for him. “S’pretty” you say absentmindedly, dreamily staring at yourself in the mirror.
“Yes it is” he hums, grinning widely against your shoulder. His middle finger taps your clit twice, and he smirks as your body jolts up. “See this, darling? It’s your clit, your little button... You can rub it whenever you wish to feel good.”
“Whenever I wish?” you ask, your eyes wide with curiosity.
“Yes, sweetness” he hums, his cock hardening at the thought of you wanting to touch yourself, let alone to the thought of him. “And if you want it to feel even better, you must-” with your hole dripping wet, Anthony manages to slip a digit right inside of you, causing you to gasp in both slight pain and excitement. He is finally giving it to you.
“Anthony- what is this?” you ask curiously, Anthony’s finger still inside of you, leaving you to adjust to the sudden intrusion.
“Bit of stimulation before I can give you my cock, bunny. Or, as my dear brothers wish to call it, have sex” he chuckles lowly and starts pumping his finger into you, your fragile body shaking, your knees ready to give out, but you know that he is here to catch you.
“Great” you reply breathily, one of your hands slipping into his.
“You must relax, my love” he tuts, moving his finger in and out slowly, the feeling leaving you bucking your hips into his hand, eyes rolling back. “Let them enjoy the show” he eyes you intently through the mirror.
You look at him rather confused, but his other hand moves to cup your jaw and gently turn your head to the side, towards the door.
A door cracked open. Benedict and Colin.
3K notes · View notes
nikkisheep · 9 months
Text
To Be Alone With You
Anthony Bridgerton x female!Sharma!reader
Warnings: Smut, TENSION, cursing, oral (f), reader is Kate's full sister, kissing, touching when not supposed to, Anthony and his voice (warning himself), virgin reader (innocent ofc), sex on a dock (lol), kinda public sex, slight angst
I am so sorry that it got so long but it is so worth it. This is also my first Bridgerton fic so hope its good. :)
Summary: It was time that Anthony Bridgerton to finally meet the final Sharma sister who may stand in his way of marrying Miss Edwina Sharma but not like he expected her to.
Tumblr media
Anthony Bridgerton was a man who was used to having any woman melt and cling to his every word. Women practically threw themselves at his feet the moment he walked in the room. His presence was a strong one, making everyone eager to please the viscount.
When Viscount Bridgerton met Edwina Sharma, the newly named "Diamond of the Season", he was happy that he could find at least one woman with half a brain. Miss Edwina was the suitable bride and soon Viscountess. It was almost too easy, so he thought. That was until he met the elder sister of Miss Edwina. Kate Sharma, a woman of one and twenty who was unwed herself, was a challenge that Anthony could not refuse. He fell into a pursuit to win over the eldest Sharma sister, doing everything by the book. Well, with a few exceptions.
The Viscount did not want a love match. He could never fall in love with the woman who will bear his children. He just couldn't. And Miss Edwina Sharma was exactly the woman who he could not possibly love but, she would make a wonderful bride for him to breed and come to have a heir to fill the Viscount role when Anthony died.
A last, his mother, Viscountess Violet Bridgerton, had invited the Sharma family to visit the lovely Aubrey Halls. It would be Mrs. Mary Sharma, the lovely girls' mother, Miss Edwina Sharma and then Miss Kate Sharma. Anthony was ready to deal with Kate when she arrived.
---
Dinner was being served when the thunder started. Benedict seemed like he had lost his mind, no doubt had drank Colin's tea that he brought from his travels.
"Have you noticed, Col?" Benedict asked, "The twinkles of the candles, it is as....as if we sit among the stars."
Eloise snorted and looked to her older brother, "What is wrong with you?''
"I was just telling Benedict how brilliant the stars were in Greece," answered Colin.
Benedict went to take a sip of his wine but knocked it over, causing Violet and the other ladies to gasp at the table. The brother smiled and rubbed his hands over his cheeks in an innocent way.
"Lord Bridgerton, Miss Sharma here," A butler said.
"Whatever do you mean, Miss Sharma is here? How many are there?"
In just a few seconds a woman walks in, wearing the similar purple dress that the Sharma sisters were wearing. She looked identical to Kate, except her eyes were lighter. Her hair was more brown than black and she held her head high. Her presence was enough to even sober up Benedict for a moment.
"Is it just me or is there two Kates?" Benedict said, mind foggy.
"I am so sorry for my late arrival. Lady Bridgerton, the house is lovely." The woman said.
Violet blushed and thanked the woman. The older woman always enjoyed getting compliments about her home that she shared with Edmund.
"You said you couldn't make it," Edwina states as she moves to hug the woman. Everyone was confused as a goose until Kate stood up.
"This is my sister," Kate said, moving to stand by her.
You introduce yourself and smile at everyone, that is until you see Anthony. He had this look about him and you couldn't quite tell.
"I assume this is the viscount you were telling me about, Kate?" You said.
"Yes, this is Lord Bridgerton. He is the viscount and is to marry Edwina."
You looked at him and he just smirked. He had found a new toy to play with. And god did he want to play.
You looked at him.
"My lord, forgive me for my tartiness," You say, voice rich.
"All is forgiven, my lady." He had a hard look.
"Please, I am hardly a noble lady to earn that title,'' You tease.
Anthony was taken by surprise, no one had ever teased about their noblity or anything. Being a proper lady is very serious and not taken lightly. There was another Sharma sister, but at least this one seemed nice. For now.
---
You were quite the most annoying and challenging lady Anthony had the misery to meet. You talked too much, you jested a bit, your teasing with Benedict made his blood boil. Your words melting off your tongue and practically bringing Anthony's younger brother to his knees.
Benedict's face had blushed right before you move to rest your hand on his shoulder.
"My dear, Benedict, how are you?" You asked kindly, flashing that beautiful smile that made everyone melt.
"I am quite well, Miss Sharma." He looked down right flustered with your presence beside him.
Lady Bridgerton held a small ball at Aubrey Hall and Benedict had just finished dancing with you. The two of you had swept through the floor, everyone in envy that Mr. Bridgerton's attention was solely on you.
"Brother, I hate to steal our guest from you but I am in need of a dance," Anthony stepped in to say.
"I suppose that I have one dance in me," You laughed.
"I hadn't asked yet," Anthony said.
"Well, in that case, Benedict you wouldn't mind having yet another dance with me?" You smirked when Anthony rolled his eyes and groaned.
Once you got on the dance floor, Anthony could not keep his eyes off you, even as he danced with Edwina and Kate.
"My brother seems to be taking a liking to you," Benedict smiled.
"Please, he wants to marry my sister. After all, who even said I wanted him. Maybe I want you," You whisper the last part in his ear. He shudders against you and smiles.
"Is that true now, Miss Sharma?"
"Perhaps."
----
Pall Mall was the ruthless game that the Bridgerton's ever played. The Mallet of Death sat in your hands as Benedict had handed it to you with a wink and a sly smile. You blushed at the brother's antics.
He moved to be closer to you and whispered something in your ear which made you snort aloud and Kate looked at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Who has my bloody mallet?" Anthony's voice boomed in the air.
"My lord, I do not know," Kate smirked.
"Where is it?"
You coughed to clear your throat, suddenly bringing the Viscount's attention to you. That might have been a bad idea. It surely was.
"You...You have my mallet, I believe."
"I do?" You inquired.
"Yes, Miss Sharma, you do."
"Well, I suppose that I could just give it to you," You start to hand it to him, his siblings surprised at how easy you were giving it up, and Anthony was smiling, "But first you will have to catch me." You took off running down the field and Anthony just watched in surprise.
"Did she?"
"I believe she did," Daphne laughed. She watched as her older brother looked as if he wanted to blow up.
"Dear brother, I think you should go get her if that mallet is very important to you." Colin laughed as Anthony ran down the field, looking for you as the Mallet of Death rested in your possession.
He ran looking for you and he heard your sweet giggle coming from in the garden. He looked to see that everyone had given up on waiting for them and started the match without the two of you. He walked around the garden to find you crouching behind a hedge and was covering your mouth as you looked around the side of the bush, hoping to not be seen.
His boots moved to quietly as he stalked closer to your frame. He then grabbed your waist and picked you up, causing you to gasp into his hand.
"Lord Bridgerton, put me down this instant."
He placed you down on the ground and stands close to your body. His warmth and scent poured over you in waves. He smelt like sweat, dirt, body wash, slight scent of vanilla, and sandalwood?
"Lord Bridger-"
"Anthony, my name is Anthony." He said, panting at the closeness that he had created.
"My lord-"
"Anthony."
"My lord, it is improper to call you by your given name," You say, trying to catch your breath and not breathe his scent in.
"And us being in my mother's garden alone is very improper, I dare say, Miss Sharma."
Your smell floods his senses when he takes a deep breath and move closer to you, chests touching. The smell of dirt, sweat, lilies and Jasmine? God, it drove him crazy. Just being around you drove him crazy.
"You followed me here.''
"You ran here."
"You chased me."
"You took my mallet."
"I-" You stutter, "Benedict gave it to me."
He looks at you with something dark in his eyes, something that burned with fiery. His hand came to touch your waist and you nearly melt. He looks at your chest, noticing that you were wearing the Bridgerton color. You normally wore purple but you were wearing the baby blue that stood for his family.
"You are wearing my family color," He says, blood rushing some where it did not need to be.
"Oh, I had not known that I wasn't allowed to wear blue."
"It stands for my family and you...are...wearing...my...color."
His body presses closer to you, invading your space. He moves to corner you against the tall hedge, the only thing keeping your situation from any on lookers.
His mouth moves to rest beside your ear, hot breath fanning over the exposed skin there, goosebumps rising on your skin.
"You want something, I can sense it."
You shudder.
"And what would that be, my lord?"
"You want me," He said lowly.
"You are to marry Edwina," You correct him.
"That doesn't change that you desire me," He chuckles at your attempt.
"I beg your pardon. You are a rake and I have no desire for such a person like you. You are to marry my sister, not me. If you wish to be with my sister than act like it, if not then leave her alone. I will not be some play thing for you to play with when you want to."
"Oh but you are my play toy. You are whatever I want you to be. Do you know why?" He asked.
"Why?"
"Because all I have to do is whisper real close to your ear, like this," He moved even closer, "And tell you that I desire you in ways that would make any mama blush and cry out for improper topics to a lady."
You take in a ragged breath.
"Desire me?"
"Yes, why do you think I came out here to get you?"
"To get your mallet?"
"No, so I can have you."
" You are courting my sister to marry. I am done with this topic and I am leaving this garden. Good day, Lord Bridgerton."
---
Anthony was reeling. He couldn't stop thinking about you. He can't sleep at night because of you. It wasn't your fault. No, it was your fault. You were the one who kept reminding him of his soon to be proposal to your sister and putting him in his place. Heavens above, he couldn't help but be aroused when you put him where he was meant to be. And that perfume that you have, Jasmine and Lillies, god it did things to him.
---
The day had been hot, very hot and you knew that you shouldn't but you were burning for a swim in the lake. You couldn't help it. After being in the garden with the Viscount, it felt you aflame.
Sneaking out of your chambers, you made your way outside to the lake that rested toward the trees.
Looking around, you made sure that no one was up and you were making sure that you were not followed. You made your way to a tree and took off your coat. Yo began your task of unbuttoning your gown.
Anthony watched you remove each piece of fabric from your body as he made his way down to the lake himself. He had not known that you were going to be here. He had not expected it. He always goes for a midnight swim when he couldn't sleep. Why he couldn't sleep? You.
Slipping onto the dock, you take a dive, cold water enveloping your body. It felt heavenly against your heated skin. Anthony was never to be allowed to know that he was the reason behind the midnight swim in the lake. You swam to the middle and was sighing while looking up to the moon. The entire lake was lit by the moon, banishing all shadows from being cast onto your face. You looked angelic.
Anthony slipped in the water after stripping completely bare and went underwater. He wanted to see you move about when you were by yourself. He had wanted to see you nude, part of his mind begging him to see what you looked like, but you were still a lady and he was a gentleman.
You heard a splash and you turned around very quickly, spotting none other than Anthony Bridgerton. You knew you were caught and he would laugh at you but he just swam closer. You could only see his shoulders and water was dripping down them to be collected back to the lake.
"My lord-"
"I do believe that we are now way past formalities," He chuckled.
He was silently begging to hear his name fall from your lips. He knew this was wrong. You were his betrothed sister. You were a lady. You were innocent. If he took that from you, you would be ruined. But...but you looked so desirable. You looked just ready to be ravished by his mouth. To be tasted in places that you had never thought of to be touched. To be submitted to such incredible pleasure that Anthony knew that he could bring you. To be his.
He swam closer to you, grabbing your hand which he used to pull you until you were placing your hands on his shoulders to hold onto. You gasped at how warm he still was, even in the chilled water of the night. Anthony looked at you, smiling when he realizes that you move even closer, your legs brushing every time you move to keep yourselves afloat.
"I want you," He admits.
He kisses your lips, groaning when you kiss back only for a second before he feels himself being pushed away from you.
"You are engaged to my sister," You say.
"Not yet."
"But-"
"But, I want you. I don't want Edwina. I don't want Kate. I want you," He says, "I desire you."
Anthony kissed your lips once more, swallowing any sound coming from your mouth. His tongue brushed yours and you moaned. You had never done that but with Anthony, you felt so good you couldn't keep it inside.
Anthony had you wrap your legs around his waist, feeling something quite odd in between his legs but you didn't question it when he took your breast into his awaiting mouth. He sucked your nipple and ran his tongue around it as he teased you mercilessly. Your hair was down so it was hanging in the water as you threw your head back in bliss as he moved to bite at your collarbones and neck.
Anthony moved the two of you all the way to the dock, picking you up out of the water and seating you directly onto the hard wood. He then watches as you move back, suddenly aware of how exposed you are to him. He puts his hands on the dock and pushes himself out of the water, droplets trickling down his slightly hairy chest down to his now every noticeable something. You didn't know what on earth it could even be.
"What is that?" You said shyly, pointing to his hips.
"That would be my cock." He just chuckled.
"It looks hard," You said, "does it hurt?"
He groaned at your innocence. God, you were going to be the death of him. You looked so nervous to even ask and then when you did, you blushed deeply. You were so cute.
"It hurts some times when I desire someone really bad," He explained.
"Like Edwina? Did it ever hurt for Edwina or Kate?" You asked softly.
"No, never with them. I want you," He said, holding your face, "God, you consume every thought that I make. You make it so, so hard to be a gentleman. There is no way that I can escape you, no matter how hard I try because you are always in my mind."
He kissed you once more and you let him. You were going to forget about Edwina, who the man currently moving in between your legs and kissing every inch of your body, was supposed to get married to. You were going to forget the rules of being a proper lady. You were going to forget formalities and just revel in the pleasure that is being caused by the mouth of your sister's soon to be betrothed.
"Anthony!" You cried when he made contact with the little bud between your folds and he licked it. Your body was shot with electricity that sent your back to be arching.
He hummed against your core and went back to sucking on your clit. No one or nothing could have prepared you for the Viscount's tongue to slip inside of you. He had done so when you were pulling on his hair as you grasped for anything but you could not find anything to ground you. Anthony swept you away in pure pleasure as he ate you like a starved man. He drank anything your body was willing to give and he took it with a groan. His eyes rolled back as he tasted you.
"Oh, my lord-"
"It's Anthony. Just Anthony," He said before staring at your weeping cunt.
Your hands pulled at the man's hair and his other hand, that wasn't holding down your hips, moved up to grab a hold of your free hand that was gripping your breast. Your back arched when he made one last circle with his tongue on your clit and you burst with carnal desire. You shook against Anthony's mouth as he drank you in.
He thought you were so beautiful laying out for him, under the stars on his dock, wet hair after a late night swim and most of all, the way the moon shone down on you. You looked ever so innocent but oh so dirty.
"Are you okay?" He asked when he noticed you not moving but still shaking.
"I'm more than okay."
He laughed and began kissing up your body. His tongue poked out every once and a while as he traveled up to your mouth. The taste of yourself was erotic. You had never known something could exist. Anthony moved on top of you and positioned himself so that his cock would rest between your sensitive folds. He had to contain himself so that he wouldn't cum right on the spot.
You gave him a nod before he claimed your lips as he pushed himself inside your waiting body. You moaned out loud before you started panting against Anthony's mouth as the two of you tried to adjust to the sudden feeling. His arms shook as his head fell onto your chest as your hand ran through his hair, pulling slightly.
"Are you ready for me to move because if you aren't that's okay but I really need to move?" Water trickled down his body as he held himself above you, looking down at you.
"Please, Anthony." He smiled at his name and started to slowly pull out, letting you feel every ridge and vein his dick possessed and you were enjoying it. Anthony thrusted back in and your head fell back against the wooden dock. As Anthony thrusted his cock in and out of you, the only things that could be heard was your labored breathing and the sounds of your bodies moving against each other as the two of you reached new heights together and the sound of crickets chirping in the grass.
"Oh, god you feel so good," Anthony groaned.
"So fucking good," You panted, hips rising to match his. You were chasing something but you didn't know what. You didn't even know what was happening when your muscles started to tighten and some kind of euphoria started to crash down on you.
Anthony's breathing got caught in his throat as he watched your face contort in pleasure as he pumped himself constantly in you, trying to reach his end. He looked at your blissful face and decided that you would give him another.
"Just one more, darling, and then I can fill you up real nice." His hand went in between your legs as he watched himself move inside and out of you. His thumb began circling your clit, his cock hitting the right spots every time, his face tightening in desirable lust as he held himself above you, moving faster, trying to make you cum for a third time before he got his.
"Oh, Anthony!" You moan before he places a kiss on your lips to silence you. You cum one last time and Anthony unloads himself completely in you once bottoming out inside you. You laid there with him as he felt the aftershocks of his orgasm and you shuddered at the sudden cold.
Anthony kisses you lazily as he feels you giggle against his lips when he sighs into you. He pulls out and then shudders at the cold.
"I think we should go get some nice warm milk and sit by the fire to warm up," He proposes.
"Won't we get caught?"
"Darling, we just had sex on the dock in front of my house and you are worried about getting caught with some milk by the fire?" He laughed.
"Well, I can't be seen with you alone."
"Fine, but let's get dressed and go inside so we can sleep."
"In the same room?" You ask in a quiet voice.
"Not yet. We might get caught."
"Maybe getting caught wouldn't be so bad then," You giggle when you see his bare ass.
"Oh you are a little minx," Anthony groans.
"Maybe," You gasp when he picks you up after you get dressed and then carries you inside.
He takes you to your room and puts you down so you can stand. He doesn't want to let go but he knows he needs to leave soon.
''Good night, Miss Sharma." He said with a kiss.
"Good night, Lord Bridgerton," You sigh against his lips.
The kiss is passionate but is cut short when the clock decided to strike three and make a loud noise. You both laugh and he sees you close the door and he then walks to his chambers.
He finally can go to sleep with a smile on his face. A smile that didn't disappear the following day until he realized that he had to propose to your sister, Edwina Sharma.
2K notes · View notes
d-targaryenshoe · 2 months
Text
Affectionate Travels - Benedict Bridgerton
Word count: 1469
Summary: Newlyweds may find it hard to keep their hands to themselves, i'm not wrong am I not?
Warnings: S M U T
Tumblr media
As the carriage rumbled along the muddy country road, you gazed out the window, lost in thought.
 The honeymoon had been lovely, of course, a whirlwind of devotion and pleasure, as you and Benedict had explored the lush vineyards of Burgundy and the cobblestone streets of Paris.
 But now that you were on your way back home to England, you couldn't help but feel a strange mix of anticipation and apprehension. 
You wondered what life would be like now that you were truly married, and if your love would be able to withstand the trials and tribulations that were sure to come your way.
A gust of wind swept through the open window, carrying with it the scent of damp soil and the distant sound of laughter.
 You turned your head to glance at your husband, who was buried deep in conversation with your coachman. 
He looked handsome, even with his hair disheveled and his jacket unbuttoned.
 A small smile played at the corners of your lips as you remembered your wedding day, when he'd first seen you in your wedding dress, his eyes widening with surprise and admiration.
You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, the leather upholstery creaking beneath you.
The ride back home was going to be long and arduous, but you were determined to make the best of it. 
Maybe you could simply lean back against the squabs and close your eyes, relishing the gentle sway of the carriage and the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms.
You let out a contented sigh as you snuggled closer to your husband, your cheek resting against his broad shoulder. 
You could feel the warmth of his skin through the fabric of his shirt, and his muscles tensed as you ran your fingers through his hair.
The rhythmic clickety-clack of the horse's hooves on the road soon lulled you into a peaceful sleep, and you didn't stir even when the carriage came to a stop.
It wasn't until you felt Benedict's lips pressed against your neck that you awoke with a start.
"What are you doing?" you murmured, your voice hoarse from sleep.
"Just making sure you're pleased," he replied with a chuckle, his breath warm against your skin.
You let out a small laugh, feeling a blush creep up your neck. "I am now."
He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "Good. Because I was thinking we could pass the time more...entertainingly."
You felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine.
 "Oh?" you breathed, your heart racing.
Benedict slipped his hand beneath your dress, his fingers tracing a path up your thigh. "Yes. Why don't we relish our last few moments to ourselves, in this carriage?"
You gasped, your body responding instinctively to his touch. 
You arched your back, pressing yourself against his hand. 
"Here?" you whispered, your voice trembling with desire. "Now?"
Benedict smiled, his eyes darkening as he gazed down at you. "Yes, my love. Right here."
With practiced ease, he shifted your positions, maneuvering you so that you were straddling his lap.
 His other hand found its way to your breast, cupping it through your chemise.
 You moaned, your hips moving in time with his thrusts as he guided his erection to your entrance.
The carriage rocked and swayed with the movement, but neither of you cared. 
You were lost in the heat of the moment, the thrill of being caught in the act.
 Your nails dug into his shoulders, your back arching as you felt the familiar pressure building within you.
As your lovemaking intensified, the sounds of the horses and the creaking of the carriage seemed to fade away, leaving you in a world of your own. 
The leather upholstery beneath you groaned in protest, the carriage rocking wildly with each thrust.
Benedict buried his face in your neck, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he fought to control his desire.
 Your body trembled with each thrust, your muscles tensing as you neared the point.
 The carriage rocked wildly, the horses whinnied in protest, but you were oblivious to anything but your own need.
Your movements became more frantic, more urgent, as the pleasure built within you. 
You threw your head back, letting out a shuddering cry of release, your body arching tight against your husband's. 
He followed soon after, his breath hot on your ear as he groaned out his release.
Your hearts pounded wildly, your skin flushed as you clung to each other, trying to catch your breath.
 The carriage finally came to a halt, the horses' harnesses creaking and groaning from their exertion.
 The air inside was thick with the scent of your sweat and the tang of your lovemaking.
You leaned back against the squabs, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. 
You looked up at your husband, your eyes locked, and felt a rush of affection and contentment wash over you.
 "I think," you whispered, "we should do that more often."
Benedict smiled, wiping the sweat from his brow. 
"Yes," he agreed, "I think you're correct." 
He reached up to straighten your hair, his fingers brushing against your cheek. 
"Perhaps," he continued, his voice low and husky, "when we get home, we could find a more comfortable spot to continue our celebration."
You felt a shiver of anticipation run down your spine. 
"I think that's a wonderful idea." you glanced out the window, taking in the familiar scenery as you pulled into the driveway.
 "It's good to be married to you, Benedict."
He smiled, leaning in to kiss you. "Likewise, my love."
As the carriage came to a halt, the driver opened the door and stepped down, coming around to help you descend. 
You took Benedict's hand, allowing him to help you down from the carriage. 
The air was cool and crisp, carrying with it the scent of autumn leaves and wood smoke. 
You made your way up the steps to the front door, your hands still clasped together.
The butler, Mr. Jenkins, opened the door at your approach, bowing slightly. "Welcome home, my lord, my lady."
Benedict nodded in reply, his eyes never leaving your face. 
"Thank you, Jenkins." He glanced around, taking in the grand entrance hall with its marble floors and ornate ceiling. "I trust all is in order?"
"Yes, my lord. Everything is just as you left it."
You continued through the hall, the servants falling into step behind you.
 You felt a sense of contentment wash over you as you walked hand-in-hand with your husband, the warmth from your lovemaking still lingering between them. 
You couldn't help but wonder what other adventures you would share, what other memories you would create together.
As you entered the grand sitting room, you were struck by its cozy atmosphere. 
A fire crackled in the hearth, casting flickering shadows across the rich wood paneling and softly lit sconces. 
A plush rug covered the floor, the furniture arranged invitingly around it. 
You could almost imagine curling up on the sofa with a book and a cup of tea, spending the afternoon lost in the pages.
"Would you like something to drink, my lady?" Mr. Jenkins asked, interrupting your thoughts. 
"Perhaps some tea or a glass of wine?"
"Wine sounds lovely, thank you, Jenkins," you replied. 
You glanced at Benedict, who nodded in agreement. 
You exchanged a smile before the servants withdrew, giving you a moment of privacy.
You moved closer to the fireplace, warming your hands by the dancing flames. 
The room was beautiful, but it was the feeling of being with Benedict that truly made it special. 
You looked up at him as he stood at the window, gazing out at the garden beyond.
 There was a distant look in his eyes as if he were lost in thought.
"Are you alright, dearest?" you asked softly.
He turned to you, a small smile on his lips. 
"I was just thinking about the future, my dear. All the possibilities that lie before us." He walked over to you, taking your hands in his. 
"I can't wait to see what we'll accomplish together."
You felt a surge of affection for your husband. Despite your differences, you complemented each other perfectly. 
You knew that your partnership would only continue to grow stronger with time.
"I'm looking forward to finding out, Mr. Bridgerton," you said, leaning into him. 
"And I think we should start by finding that comfortable spot we were talking about earlier." you winked, your lips curving into a mischievous grin.
Benedict chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. 
"I believe I remember what you had in mind. Very well, my lady. Lead the way." He took your hand, entwining your fingers as you began to wander through the sitting room, searching for the perfect spot to continue your celebration.
768 notes · View notes
neo-novaa · 11 months
Text
marital duties
synopsis: king george x reader, loosely based on this ask,
the sun was burning against your back, the only cold solace being from the wet dirt that riddled your hands.
“you’ve got to be careful pulling that one out,” george— farmer george says to you. it’s a carrot, you’ve grown to recognize them by their leaves. “reach deeper into the ground. if you pull it from the leaves, they’ll rip.
you nod, digging your hands into the dirt, but not before you hear george inhale sharply. you turn, worried, finding his lips in a stern line and his brows furrowed.
“what is it?” you ask, interest peaked.
“you’re still not doing it right.”
you scoff, releiving your hands of the moist soil, and unceremoniously brushing them against your silk dress. it was far beoynd saving, sticky with sweat, stained with soil, the wonderful pastels now tainted with shades of brown.
“i’m reaching into the dirt.” you retaliate, flicking away the dirt from under your nails. 
it’s his turn to scoff. “barely. you didn’t even get your palms in there.”
wiping the last chunk of mud away from your hands, you turn to him with an unapproving glare. “fine then, i’ll dig deeper.”
you dive in, wrist deep—
“no, now you’ve gone past the root entirely.” he scolds, shuffling over to the carrot you’ve been spending far too much time trying to pick out. 
“let me show you,” georges hands envelop yours, his soft palms a sudden reminder of this very temporary escape. 
only an hour, that’s all the time you got in a day to pretend that this was your life; to pretend that he was nothing more than farmer george, and you were nothing more than his wife. 
“you have to say close to the stem,” he whispers, as if people are watching— as if this isn’t the only time in their entire lives where people weren’t watching. 
he gently curls your fingers so that the tips run down the slimy side of the vegetable, nearly reaching the bottom.
“now,” he’s impossibly close, his warm breath against your neck almost making you shudder. “pull!”
he fists your hands and tugs at the carrot with a comical amount of strength. so much so that it causes the two of you to fall over, hands enveloped in each other, grasping a muddy carrot.
“now do you understand?” he says through laughter, and you’re struggling to speak with how much you’re laughing with him. the backside of your dress is now caked in a layer of mulch and dirt. if it was able to be fixed a minute ago, it was far past salvageable now. 
“i think i understand.” you finally say through an onslaught of giggles, sitting up once his hands leave yours.
they’re quick to find you again, gently covering your bare shoulders, shielding you from the blazing heat for almost a moment.
you meet his loving eyes scanning your face, taking in every detail as if he’d forget it– as if he’d let his mind do that to him.
one of his hands runs along the side of your face, grasping your chin. “you’ve no idea how beautiful you are.”
you can’t help but roll your eyes. you don’t need a mirror to guess your current state: hair a mess, face riddled with streaks of mud, stuck to your face from how much you’ve been sweating.
“george–” you barely get to say his name before he’s kissing you, dirtied hands finding your place along your jaw. you share the sentiment, your own hands caked in soil are muddying his hair, pulling him closer to you. 
his hands find your waist, pulling you on top of him. they wander up to your chest, down to your hips, and settle on your thighs.
you pull away, gasping, lungs aching from the lack of air. georges breath are matching yours: strong, heavy, wanting.
you’re about to go in again when you hear feet shuffling on gravel only a few feet away.
“brimsley.” you grumble.
“reynolds.” he mutters. 
your right-hand men borh bow deeply. “your majesties,” brimsley says, standing up with perfect posture. 
“yes, yes, i know,” you stand up, brushing off the layer of dried soil on your knees, as if it does anything to help. george doesn’t bother with the stains, almost as if he knows that any attempts to clean his farmer trousers would be futile.
“hours up.” you say with a disappointing sigh, and almost scream at the way that brimsley nods curtley.
“says who?” george is grabbing your wrist, catching your attention and reeling it back to him. “i am the king, and you, my queen. there is no one who can tell us what to do.”
“george?” you barely manage to say, standing blankly, fighting the urge to drop your jaw. 
“all i’m saying is…” he begins to pull you towards your home, not-so discreetly eyeing your chest. “we have other marital duties to attend…do we not?”
“george!” it’s more like a scorn this time, your gaze quickly darting over to brimsley and reynolds who, as if they were statues, have barely moved since they appeared. unlike him, you’re not used to sharing your thoughts around people.
“come on!” he’s tugging you onto the gravel path, and all you can do is roll your eyes and hike up your dress while running off to perform your… “marital duties.”
2K notes · View notes
inpraizeof · 18 days
Note
🐈‍⬛ hiii! what do you think of benedict bridgerton x reader, where reader is daphne’s long time friend who’s always been close with the family and has always had a crush on benedict, she doesn’t make it obvious but even he knows and before her big debut she overhears him talking with his brothers about her and how he’d never marry her because he’d never have feelings for you even though you have feelings for him, reader quickly moves on because why would she care about what a man thinks right? so obviously she has to go to the balls looking real good and dance with lots of guys making him jealous (perk but not the goal) and he eventually realizes his feelings and makes it all up to her after finding out she heard what he said
like someone in love
Tumblr media
benedict bridgerton x reader
synopsis: you’ve come to terms with the fact that he would never see you romantically, and so you have to find a way to move on
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
you audibly gasped, hand clutching at your corset, that your lady’s maid was strapping to your body. she looked over your shoulder and you shook your head, “i am fine, tighter!” you shrieked shrilly, feeling the air constrict in your lungs.
you heard the quick ties of the ribbon and inhaled slowly, “i have to look perfect for tea with daphne.” you admired yourself in the mirror, “if i happen to run into mr. bridgerton, i want to look perfect.” you held your head high, watching your hair fall back loosely, “use the blue ribbon, will you?”
“of course, my lady.” anne, your lady’s maid, always had a small smile on her face whenever she helped you with your visits to the bridgerton household; ever since you became taken with the middle brother, benedict.
you tried to be modest with your attraction, especially since he was daphne’s older brother, and she was your dearest friend. but sometimes, you felt as if the entire ton could see right through you.
“this is the last he’ll see of me before i’m game to the rest of london.” you rolled your eyes, “with whatever my mother has planned- i can only expect a surprise.” your mother, constance, had wonderful success in marrying off your three older sisters, to members of high european society.
“i don’t want her to choose my husband, i know who he is,” you inhaled again, “he just has to choose me.” you smoothed down your skirt, and walked over to your vanity, anne following quickly behind.
“oh, y/n!” daphne still felt like a girl whenever you appeared in her doorway. the drawing room had been empty except for her, looking beautiful as ever.
you looked around before greeting her back, smiling brightly as you sat across from her, “where is everyone?” you couldn’t help but feel disappointed that benedict wasn’t sketching away by the window.
daphne exhaled, “mama took everyone out for promenade. i’m rather nervous about tomorrow, and well,” she shrugged, smiling.
you nodded, “i most definitely am nervous. a pit in my stomach.” you admitted, “i understand, daph. that is why when i received your invite for tea, i knew i had to come.”
daphne’s attention shifted to the bustling bodies that were shoving each other through the drawing room doorway. it was all her brothers, with eloise.
eloise smiled at you, and moved over to the seat beside her sister. benedict, colin and anthony all greeted you politely, indulging in small conversation with daphne before excusing themselves to the study.
as they left, you couldn’t help but let your eyes hang on benedict, not bothering to hide your feelings. daphne smiled, “y/n, i do hope my brother marries you, you’d be my sister.” you blushed, laughing off her comment as eloise raised her eyebrows.
your tea with daphne had turned into a private dinner, and it had gotten late. “this was lovely, daph.” you had stopped on your walk by the study with daphne, “i’ll see you tomorrow, be perfect.” you wished her luck, and waved her off as she dashed back up the stairs.
the bridgerton house grew quiet as you took your time exiting. you had hoped you’d accidentally bump into benedict on your way out, but as you passed the last room, you lost hope.
“no!” you heard some shouting, a rancorous laughter followed and you paused by the wall of the last room. it was the three brothers, indulging in conversation. “i would never marry y/n. she’s-“ you heart dropped just as the voice paused, “there’s nothing there. no.” he, benedict, how could you not recognize that voice, had unknowingly shattered your heart with muffled conversation.
you inhaled sharply, and dashed out of the home, walking fast to your carriage as your tears threatened to fall.
your father had been a great man. your mother loved him passionately that even she cried when he died. you cried, but you were a child who knew her father fleetingly. your mother made you promise on his grave that no man would ever make you hurt like this again.
benedict breaking your heart was no different, and you knew you couldn’t dwell. your mother would not let you, you would not let yourself cry for him anymore.
the debut had been the easy part, the hard part was standing out. your first ball and already you couldn’t qualm your nerves. you knew that daphne and her entire family would be attending, you would have to see benedict, have to see him knowing what he said.
your mother had revealed to you that there was a duke and a prince in the waters, and you had to reach for the highest of stars.
your dance card had been filled to the brim, not even an hour had passed before there was a line of eligible suitors waiting for a dance. you were speechless, never did you think you’d get a reaction like that. not when there was daphne in the same pool of ladies.
everyone but the man you wanted had lined up for a dance, even his brother colin, but it was friendly more than anything.
benedict watched you carefully, smiling politely as you and colin danced. you indulged his ramblings about his wishes to travel, your father had been quite the explorer before settling down, so you were as worldly as he had been.
benedict tugged at his collar. seeing his brother with you had left him feeling odd, upset.
“ben, are you okay?” anthony had surprised his brother, and benedict nodded, “ye-yes. i just need a breath.” he spotted the nearest double doors, leading off to a balcony of some sort, he rushed away, his hand clutching into a fist nervously.
his skin felt hot, and he exhaled a breath. you had an affect on him that he had tried to ignore for months now.
when he was confronted about it by his brothers, he denied it fiercely, you were young, beautiful and wildly too good for him. not with your sisters’ husbands being who they were, benedict knew your mother wouldn’t even consider him as a thought.
but he couldn’t ignore the rage he felt at colin, watching his hands on your body, guiding you as you danced.
he knew you had an affection for him, he could see it in your eyes, but you didn’t know him, you couldn’t see why he was the wrong man for you. anthony had claimed that look in your eyes was of someone in love. he encouraged his brother, but benedict grew more reserved about his decision.
you wanted him to see. five balls of trying to capture a glance from benedict bridgerton, and five balls of failure. you had danced with nearly all of the eligible men, many handsome and as rich as you could imagine, but none left you with desire.
benedict was slowly becoming nothing but a dream, an unfulfilled desire that only kept you up at night.
on the night of the last ball of the season, you knew you had to get benedict alone. you had grown restless through the season, upset and frustrated. this was your last chance, because your mother refused to have her daughter end her first season unmarried.
you would be someone’s wife soon, and you had to be his.
benedict needed this. the drag of the smuggled cigarette in his lungs, the exhaling into the pitch black sky. knowing you were inside, dancing your way into someone else’s arms.
he refused to watch it happen, and he refused to admit how much he hated all of the men of the ton. he loathed every single one for having danced with you.
“mr. bridgerton.” he had only heard you address him a few times. not in a long while, and he had made sure of that.
he turned, shocked to see you standing behind him. you were wearing a baby blue dress, cheeks flushed. “miss heathfield.” he seemed breathless, and he dropped the cigarette that had been between his fingers, brushing his hand on his coat, holding it behind his back.
“it is chilly out here, perhaps you would be more comfortable inside?” no one else was outside, and it was inappropriate for you to be out here with him, alone.
you didn’t move, “benedict,” you spoke informally and sighed, “i will be someone’s wife before the month ends, and i just want to know.” he blinked, “why do you not want me to be yours?” you exhaled, feeling a relief off your chest.
benedict watched as you walked closer to him, “i have wished for that since the beginning of the season, y/n.” he looked at you, “you are beautiful, talented, wondrous and intriguing woman, and i absolutely do not deserve you.” his lips went tight, “i’ve seen your sisters’ husbands. they’re dukes and earls, i’m not even the viscount.” he whispered, “you deserve to be loved like a queen, a princess, anything but a mrs.”
you grew emotional, tears brimmed in your eyes and you stomped, “stop it this instance, benedict bridgerton!” you were now face to face with him, you could smell the cigarette smoke more clearly now, “i can see you feel strongly about me, and i want nothing more in this moment than for you to kiss me.”
benedict looked at you, glancing at the parted doorway, light and laughter floated down to his ears before he rushed in to kiss you.
your knees went weak at the kiss, and he gripped you, holding you against him. he pulled away, panting, “i-“ he was utterly speechless.
“i know.” you whispered, knowing the look in his eyes all too well.
469 notes · View notes
daughterofyore · 11 months
Text
George and the Pond.
Tumblr media
King George x f!reader
[[Queen Charlotte (Netflix)]]
category; heavy smut, fluff, angst (lil bit)
wc; 2,249
music inspired;- apocalypse
a/n:: George has a manic episode by the pond, you manage to calm him and he’s so thankful for you he fucks you to show it :)
TW!: NSFW, George porphyria episode (Venus), heavy smut, breeding kink, Good ol fast sex
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Venus begged George to find her. She pleaded with him to search, to save her. She was his one true love. She needed him! He ran through the palace grounds, in the distance behind him there was a cacophony of shouts, someone begging for him to turn around. It was Venus’ ex lovers, surely. They didn’t understand the love they shared, the adoration of their coupling. Her beautiful, pale skin and blemished face. Glowing like a fading star against the ebony blanket of the night sky. An infinite amount of white blazing stars surrounding her like a halo in all her glory. Oh, how he longed to be by her side. How he dared to get closer to her. He needed to feel her glow upon his skin, so without a moments hesitation he ripped his clothes from his skin. Silk pyjamas made of the finest lapis lazuli blue discarded into the mud of the pond. He raised his arms to her, crying for her to join him on this mortal plane. For the goddess of love to bless him with her prowess. He could feel her compassionate deposition seep into his very pores, touching his bare, sculpted body. Casting shadows along the dips and ridges of his muscles.
“George!” You cried out to him, watching as he bared his body to the entire garden. Reynolds raced ahead of you, reaching before you could. You were still adorned in your glittering evening gown. Made of a deep fiery scarlet, as if it was made of the last embers of a great fire. Silver lining cascaded down its centre and bodice, elaborate lace adorning the contrasting peachy cream underskirt. It flew around you as you gathered the skirt into your arms, heels clicking off the cobbles and then sinking into the finely kept lawns. You stumbled and struggled to reach your husband, you could see his eyes glistening as he stared at the planet Venus. He cried of his love to her, his devotion. How is it I don’t receive that love? You scoffed, a moment of clarity as you were still unsure as to why he acted this way. You had suspected it for some time now, his comings and goings from Kew. The secrecy surrounding him and the protectiveness of not only Reynolds but his mother too.
Your voice was like an arrow through the fog, piercing the hazy clouds in his peripherals. Venus seemed to fade into the background as he spun to look at you. You weren’t Venus, you were you. Shining brighter than she ever could. As he watched you approach, the sparkles glittering from your dress enraptured him. He felt himself falling in your direction, before a voice called him to turn around. Venus, competitive as always. She challenged you for his attention. He laughed incredulously, how lucky was he to be fought over by the Goddess of Love and her rival? Reynolds stood at his side, begging helplessly for him to return to the castle. He gathered his clothes in his hand, looking at him with a pleading gaze. Continuously he requested for the King to go inside, tried to reason with him. You knew you had never seen this before but maybe, just maybe he would recognise you.
You reached his side, letting go of your dress. It fell on his feet and pressed into his calves. He turned to you, eyes wide, hyperventilating. “You won-“ He whispered looking at you, as if it was the first time he truly saw you. He turned towards the sky, laughing. “You lost Venus! Imagine that!” He returned to face you but upon seeing your worried expression, his celebrations halted. “How come you are not happy? You have won, have you not?”
“George, it’s time we go inside now.”
“What, why? The night is beautiful we-“
“George, Venus has lost this game but I would prefer to celebrate with you indoors.” He stood very still for a moment, dark brows scrunching together as he tried to concentrate and discern exactly what you were implying. His brain felt jumbled, mixed and confused. Like he wasn’t allowed to understand, as if there was a black alabaster wall separating from the here and there.
“I wish to stay here. Let’s celebrate here.” You paused and gazed at him, studying him carefully. You spun to Reynolds.
“Cover the windows and leave his clothes here. Ensure nobody enters these grounds or can see us.” Reynolds pressed his lips into a thin line before muttering a ‘Yes, your majesty.’ He left, grabbing Brimsley by the elbow and guiding him indoors. You turned back to George, your husband. Your king. You rested a gentle hand on his chest, and he stilled. He sucked in a devastating shaky breath before raising his arms to hold your shoulders.
“You, you saw- oh, wife I- oh I am so sorry.” His eyes began to water, a new clarity crossing them. His face slackened, now an evident frown replacing his once maniacal smile. You hushed him, gently guiding him to your chest as you snaked comforting arms around him. You held him in your embrace, rubbing soothing circles on his back as he let silent sobs escape him. He sniffled, clutching onto the fabric of your dress as he eventually sunk to his knees. “My dear I am so sorry, I am sorry I have avoided you. That I have tried to hide I-“ He couldn’t get his words out but you put a comforting hand on his head. Intertwining your fingers with his brown locks, you gently massaged his scalp.
“Do not apologise George. I understand you. I am here for you. Come, let us lie and look at the stars together.” You smiled at him, holding his hand and laying on the lawn. He tentatively lay beside you, he finally noticed his nakedness and his hands rushed to cover himself. You once again shushed him, grabbing the many layers of your skirts and draping them across his waist. “No need to worry about what I have seen before darling.” You chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. He smiled, sucking in a breath after as he looked to the sky.
“I could be married to a pompous wench right now, who wouldn’t give a damn about me. Who would run in the opposite direction if she saw what I did tonight..” he turned his head, gazing at you. You met his eyes and smiled. “Yet you stay, you lie with me. Why?”
“I believe I see myself in you. Trapped, misunderstood.” You took a shivering breath. “Sometimes all we need is a little kindness and a show of stability. I wish to be that for you.” His eyes began to glaze, he sucked in his bottom lip as it began to quiver.
He turned on his side, a new light coming to his eyes. Slowly he raised a leg to bend at an angle across your thighs. Bracing himself on an elbow he gazed at you. His face inches from you. “I do not know what I have done to deserve a woman such as you.” Slowly he lowered his lips to yours, kissing you softly. You reciprocated it, lips merely mingling before he slipped his tongue across them, asking for entry. You obliged, parting your lips as his tongue slipped by. He licked the bottom of your teeth, before dancing around your tongue with his. He sucked on your lip, biting it gently and sucking the sting away. You gasped, a hand travelling up his side. You could feel his muscles shiver at your touch, he manoeuvred over you, straddling your hips. His cock pressed against your stomach, hardening. His hands travelled up your sides before reaching your breasts. They were secured behind the corset of your evening gown, yet he managed to push a hand down its front and grope one. He massaged it in his hand, loving the mass and softness of it. His kiss deepened, he peppered them along your jaw and to your collarbone. Reaching your cleavage he looked at you mischievously, recalling his hand and replacing its absence with long, sensuous licks across the top of your breasts. His tongue travelled over them, then between. He licked up from your cleavage to your throat, to your lips. Kissing you again before he backed down, grabbing your skirts.
“And I you, my queen.”
You were breathing heavy, barely able to control the growing heat intensifying between your legs. A steady throb as it begged for attention. Your core tightening in angst of what was to come. This was what your wedding night should’ve been, but you didn’t care. This, this was better. Laying on the cool grass beneath a bright moon and stars that reflected off of a still pond. This was bliss. George hiked your skirts up, laying them across your midriff. He bowed down again, grabbing your pantyhose and pulling them down to expose bare thighs. He looked at you over the mound of skirts, smirking. “Are you alright my love, may I continue?” You nod, breath escaping you. You peered up at the stars between the foliage of the cherry blossom tree. George dipped his head between your thighs, gently pushing them apart. He kissed and nipped at the sensitive skin, licking the sting away again once more.
Agonisingly slow he made his way to your centre, licking over the underwear covering you. He raised a hand, rubbing a finger between your folds and feeling the wetness seep the fabric. He grinned, pushing a finger into you and watching you arch your back. He kept the underwear on, watching you squirm as he teased you. Ever so slowly he retracted the finger, dragging it up and pressing it to your clit. Your juices soaked the fabric now, it clung to your very shape. You jolted at the contact, the pressure on your clit making you pull away. He grabbed your left leg, putting it over his shoulder and gripping your thigh to hold you in place. He spread you with a knee, continuously exploring you over the whimsy barrier of your panties. You moaned, trying to move but he held you firmly in place. “Are you ready wife? Ready for me to take you?” You nod feverishly, his ministrations have built a fiery ache in your core. Begging for his attention. Your cunt wept as it pleaded for him to enter it, to give it attention. George smirked, gently taking your hands and pulling you up. He stepped behind you and made short work of the lace up your back. He quickly pulled the dress off, then the undergarments until finally you were bare before him. He smiled, standing back and admiring you. “My beautiful wife, in all her glory.” His eyes were ravenous, without a moments hesitation he was back between your legs. He kneeled, grabbing your hips he hoisted you into an awkward position, your legs dangled above his shoulders while you lay only on your shoulders and head. He held you in his grip, his lips placing tender kisses across your cunt. He licked, slow as of tasting your every essence. His tongue slipped into you, to which he began to lick inside you. He left it begging for more and turned his attention to your clit again. It throbbed for him, and he knew it did. He wrapped an arm around your leg, balancing your ass against his chest as he spread you with two fingers. He began to taste you, sucking on your clit. He nipped it, sucking it better straight after. You squirmed in his grasp but he still held you firmly, refusing to let you move. He lapped at your pussy like a thirsty dog, drinking you up. He turned his attention back to your clit, sucking intensely on it. You moaned, cried out his name. He seemed to only grow more excited and you could feel his length pressing into the small of your back. He sucked, and sucked, and sucked until finally the growing tension ruptured. You screamed his name, yet he continued to suck and lick you through the orgasm. You were trembling at the end, and he lay you down, kissing your stomach. He looked up at you as you threaded fingers through his hair. “I’m going to put a baby in you, my queen.” He smirked and you swore it nearly undid you again. He sat back on his knees, his cock long and hard as it stood. He grabbed your hips, pulling you towards him. He grabbed his dick, rubbing it’s tip along your slit. He pressed a firm hand down on your stomach as he slowly pushed his way in without any warning. You stretched, moaning around him. His sheer size pushing you close to ecstasy.
Once he was in he let loose a shivering sigh, looking back to you. “Are you alright my love?” You nodded, placing a hand on his as it pressed into your stomach. He could feel the faint mass of his cock in you, it turned him on even more. Slowly, he pulled out and pushed back in again. Keeping a slow and steady rhythm till you had adjusted. Once he could feel you relax, he began to pound into you. Growing in intensity. Gasps of air escapes him each time he fucks you. You were a moaning mess, barely able to breathe. Your breasts bounced up and down at the ferocity he pounded into you. His balls clapped off your ass, sounding through the garden. You felt like you were in heaven. He looked up at you and grabbed one of your breasts, squeezing it. He pinched your nipple, pulling it slightly as he fucked you. You were in ecstasy. Every inch of your being burning, yearning for his touch. He grabbed your hips, spinning you around to be on all fours as he stayed inside you. He gripped your hips and continued his merciless fucking. “George! Oh fuck George-“ You screamed for him, moaning his name.
“I’m going to cum inside you pretty queen-“ He moaned your name, deep and guttural. “And watch you grow with our child, our heir.” You cried out for him again, and it was all he needed to slam himself into without mercy, he reached a hand around you, rubbing your clit with no remorse. It was so intense you couldn’t think straight.
“George I- George I’m going to cum!”
“Do it, do it for me my queen. Do it together.” He moaned above you, continuing his ministrations. The pair of you cried out, heads thrown back in ecstasy. You orgasmed, and he spilled his seed into you. It’s warmth spreading through your core. He stayed in you for a moment, breathing deeply. You were gasping for air below him. Eventually he slid out, pulling you down to lay beside him. He held you close, running a lazy hand up and down your side.
“My beautiful Queen, fucked by the garden pond.”
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes
fiction-is-life · 11 months
Note
Congratulations on 500 non-bot followers! I just joined the ranks after reading the angstly little treat you did for @eleanor-bradstreet 🤩
I would like to request a blurb for Anthony from your prompt list. #8 - "Looks like we'll be trapped for a while."
This is so fun!
Trapped and Titillated
Tumblr media
Author’s Note: Thank you so much for the follow, love, and for your kind words! I am so glad you liked Touchstone of Our Character!  I had so much fun writing this request; it is quite a bit longer than a blurb, but I hope that makes up for the fact it has taken me so long to write it!  Enjoy!
Summary: You are trapped with the Viscount.
Warnings: Angst, getting locked in a room, verbal fighting, steamy make out session, brotherly teasing
~
The door wouldn’t budge.  Oh, I knew when that latch clicked, I was doomed.  Utterly doomed.  And it was all his fault.
“Well, you have done it now, my lord,” I seethed, letting the veneer of polite reserve fall away.  It was always thin around him anyway.
Anthony Bridgerton had the audacity to raise one perfect, dark brow.  “I have done it?” he intoned, his voice cutting through my rising panic, reinforcing who I was angry at.
“Yes,” I hissed.  “You shut the door behind you, and now it is jammed.  It may be hours before someone comes by and finds us, and what then?”
He took a step towards me, matching the one I had subconsciously taken, bringing us closer than society would deem acceptable.  “As far as I am concerned, I have only done what was my right.  This is my library in my home, and I may shut any door I please.”
“Not when an unmarried young lady is in said library - unaccompanied.  Or have you forgotten the rules of the Ton while you were busy raking about the kingdom?” I knew I had struck my mark when I saw the Viscount’s eyes darken, his whole body tensing.
“Miss (Y/L/N), you do not know of what you speak,” he said through clenched teeth, and I shivered from the ice in his tone.  Anthony certainly did not miss it.  “I was raised a gentleman, Miss (Y/L/N), as a member of one of the most respected families in all of England, no less.”  
I scoffed and raised my chin and matched his stance.  We were practically nose-to-nose with each other.  “Well, there must be an exception to every rule, my lord, and I suppose you are it.”
I wanted to take the words back as soon as I said them, terrified at the way his features turned from red-hot anger to a cold, stony silence.  I took a shaky breath.  “M-my lord, I apologize.  I believe I am overwrought from the events of today.  Please forgive me,” I spoke in a rush, not daring to make eye contact with those dark depths again.
A long moment passed before he cleared his throat, his complexion returned to a more normal hue but his posture still stiff.  “It looks like we'll be trapped for a while, Miss (Y/L/N).  We may as well make ourselves comfortable," he spoke in a clipped, quiet tone.  For some odd reason, I wished he would have yelled instead.
He must have noticed the look of panicked confusion on my face as I alternated between staring at him and the couches near the fire.  “Do not fear, Miss (Y/L/N), I shall strive to reign in my more ungentlemanly urges.  Your virtue is safe from me.”
I bit my lip, nodding at his words.  They were what I wanted to hear.  Right?  Oh, dash it!  I had never been prone to hysterics before, but something about being this close to the Viscount was making my thoughts and feelings a muddle.  So, I did the only thing that felt safe.
I pretended to read.
I believed it was working, too.  That is, until the Viscount cleared his throat again.  I wanted to roll my eyes at the realization that the smallest of his gestures still commanded attention.  I was looked over during a one-on-one conversation, but Lord Anthony Bridgerton could simply breathe in a certain way and every head would turn.
“Is there something you need, my lord?”  I asked, my eyes still blindly trained on the pages in front of me so that I missed his growing smirk.
“You must be a great reader, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said.
I raised one perfectly arched eyebrow.  “Yes, I do love a good book,” I returned, turning the page.
“You are most certainly a more avid reader than I.”
That made me look up at him, confusion wrinkling my brow.  “Why do you say that, my lord?” 
He openly smiled now, allowing me to see that little dimple in his one cheek.  “I have never mastered the art of reading words that are upside-down.”
“What?”  I looked down and finally saw what book I had picked up.  It was a tome on new farming practices, and it was indeed upside down.  
Well, I could not let him win that easily.  “I find I absorb the words much better when it is more difficult to read them.”  I looked down my nose as I had seen many women do.  “I believe it is important to challenge oneself, so one does not become ignorant and vain.”
His features twisted into a wry grin.  “Very true, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said in a tight voice.  He crossed over to the sofa I was sitting on and sat down - far too close for comfort.  “What are other pursuits that you find are challenging enough, may I ask?”
I knew he was goading me, but I simply could not back down from his challenge.  “Any activities I find rewarding, I suppose.”  I closed the book and tilted my head, staring him in the eye.  “Making sound investments, helping run the household, volunteering for charities,” I listed, not even trying to mask the smugness in my tone.  “Basically anything that contributes to society, unlike spending every night at gaming hells or with ladies of the night or -”
His lips crashed onto mine, cutting me off.  I felt positively surrounded by him as he crushed me into the back of the sofa, his strong arms encircling my waist and pulling me into him.  He smelled of bay rum and mint, and it was utterly intoxicating.  
At first, I was too shocked to react, but as his lips moved insistently on my own, I started to follow his lead.  He growled when I parted my lips, and my eyes shot open when he darted his tongue into my mouth, but it felt too good to pull away.  So, I pulled him closer.
My hands tangled in his dark locks, and when my fingers caught on a knot, Anthony pulled back slightly, moaning.  I gasped and pulled back.  “Did I hurt you, my lord?” I asked, concerned.
He groaned again, his eyes darkening further.  “Call me that again,” he growled, panting heavily.
My face twisted in confusion.  “My lord?”
“Yes,” he breathed, his lips finding mine again.  His hands wandered this time, sending pings of pleasure straight to my core.  I couldn’t hold back my own noises when his strong hands found my breasts, my nipples pebbling embarrassingly.  
I lost track of time as Anthony peppered wet kisses down my neck and over the swells of my breasts where my dress did not cover them.  He started to work his hand under the skirt of my dress when a crash was heard on the other side of the library.  
“Brother! Are you in here?  I need to get away from all of the matchmaking endeavours mother has concocted,” the voice of Anthony’s brother, Benedict, was heard.  Anthony’s head snapped up, a panicked look in his eyes.  
“Stay here.  I shall get rid of him,” Anthony whispered before rising from the sofa, straightening his jacket where I had mussed it.  “Brother.  You find me at an inopportune time.  I was just leaving,” he called out to his brother, trying to prevent him from seeing me.
“Why?  You already met with the steward this morning.  You have nothing else planned until dinner.”  Even I could hear the skepticism in Benedict’s voice as it grew closer.  
“Well, yes, but I thought I might go for a ride,” Anthony hedged.
“Wonderful!  I shall join you!”
“No!” Anthony shouted.  “I mean, I was wishing to ride out alone this time,” he finished in a more tempered tone.  
There was a long pause where I thought Benedict just may have believed the lie.  “Are you sure you want to be alone?  Because I think Miss (Y/L/N) might disagree.”  I gasped.  “I shall see you at dinner, brother, Miss (Y/L/N),” he said, a door closing behind him shortly after.  
I sat up with a huff, my cheeks flaming a brighter red than they had been before.  “I am sorry; I did not think anyone would follow me here -”
“What door did he come through?” I interrupted what was sure to be a very eloquent apology.
Now, the Viscount’s cheeks turned red and he scratched the back of his neck nervously.  “Well, um, he used the hidden entrance in the south wall.”
“Oh, you cad!” I screamed.  “Open it.  Now, my lord.”
Anthony silently moved toward the south wall, pulling a certain book back to reveal a hidden door.  I gathered my dignity about me as I fixed my skirts.  I caught a whiff of his cologne once more as I passed him, and for a brief moment, I wanted to turn back.  Instead, I held my head high, giving the Viscount one of those superior looks other ladies had mastered.  I wanted him to know I was not to be trifled with.
But I knew this was not the end of my encounters with the Viscount.
~
My Masterlist
2K notes · View notes
igotanidea · 1 month
Text
Stuck: Anthony Bridgerton x wife!reader
Tumblr media
A/N: seriously, I almost titled this chapter "idiot" , XD (and that's also the spoiler alert XD)
part 1 to too much
part 2 : not enough
part 3 : almost there
***
One year ago
„When will you get those irrational thoughts out of your head Y/N?”
“What irrational thoughts?”
“About marriage out of love. No such thing exist in the world, my dear and if you do not start living in reality you shall become a spinster!”
“Mother!” Y/N’s eyes grew wide at the harsh and unjust words. She was still so young and to almost be called an old maid—
“Do not raise your voice young lady. You shall marry this season otherwise you would be putting our noble house in a very compromising position.”
“But-“
“Ah! Do not object your mother Y/N. You’ll do as I say. I know what’s best for you and you shall follow the lead. And that is precisely why you’ll accept when Lord Bridgerton proposes to you.”
“Lord Bridgerton!? Which one!?”
“The viscount, dear.” Her mother fluttered her fan imperiously. “Lord Anthony Bridgerton.”
“There is no possibility that I-“
“Hush!”
“Mother I –“
“You’ll say yes.” The tone of voice became much more commanding, leaving no space for discussion. It was like Y/N’s fate has already been decided.
“And why shall I? Because the viscount has decided he has enough pleasantries exchanged with modistes and actresses and other ladies free of the burden of the title. Because mighty Lord Bridgerton decided it is time to tie bounds with a young noble lady, who will be naïve and foolish enough to look at his antics without as much as a blink of an eye. Who will – dear lord – bear him an heir to the title and be the perfect little wife he would order around.”
“Y/N Y/L/N!” her mother raised from the chaise longue with cheeks flushed due to her daughter impertinence. “You will accept the proposal!”
“I will not!”
“Your father has already made the appropriate commitments!”
“Commitments!?”
“You shall be courted like a young lady should and get married in the fall.”
“Mother!”
“It has been decided. Now, you go and make yourself presentable. Lord Bridgerton has announced his visit in the afternoon.”
***
The visit was a disaster, to use the light words.
It was clear as day that neither Anthony nor Y/N were fully content with this arrangement and subconsciously tried to discourage the other. That way, when one of them would actually break it off, said one would be to blame for the disgrace, that would undeniably fall on both families.
However-
Despite some many character discrepancies they were both pertinacious and individualistic, ready to go the greatest length to have one’s own way. Neither of them was even thinking of surrendering easily.
Therefore, during his first appointment as a suitor Anthony was met with cold stares, minimum exchange of words and very noticeable distance on his future bride’s part.
Immediately matching the atmosphere and repaying in kind, only doubled in intensity.
Getting burned with the tea in response.
Causing a lot of havoc, many fake words of apologies and even more words of assurance that is must have been an unfortunate accident and he holds no grudge.
For obvious reason the time spend in L/N;s household was cut extremely short and Y/N was send to bed without supper to think about her erratic behavior.
Next few visits were no better.
Especially not the one when Anthony and Y/N were to reveal to a wide audience the nature of their acquaintance by strolling on the promenade, beaming with happiness due to their soon-to-be marriage.
“Dear lord, you are to be enthusiastic.” Anthony hissed in Y/N’s ear grabbing her arm with a bit more force than needed “Smile.”
She put on a fake grin when they were passing by some familiar face, but as soon as the woman was gone she turned to Anthony throwing daggers at him.
“Giving me orders already, Lord Bridgerton?”
“Hopefully you can be tempered if we start getting you used to it this early.”
“Oh! Perhaps it should be you to change the perspective my lord. See the real face of a lady you decided to meet at the altar?”
“And here I though your wonderful mother raised you better.”
“Do not dare speak of my mother the ill way!” she almost yelled, almost yanking her hand free from his grip, stopping the walk and challenging him to do something reckless.
“Forgive me.” He became serious in an instant and the words of apologies actually seemed honest. “You are right, I overstepped.”
“Thank you.” She responded with a deep sigh. God knows how much it took for her to stay calm. Regardless of the on-going conflict and differences in views between Y/N and her mother, the young woman would never let anyone offend her family. Not even Lord Bridgerton. And he should know that straight away.
“Perhaps we have started off the wrong foot, Lady Y/L/N.”
“I believe so. Seemingly we have a way to bring out the worst in each other, Lord Bridgerton.”
“Is that a way to tell me I have already seen you on your lowest behavior?”
“Compliments, Lord Bridgerton, you have endured my greatest efforts to cause you dispiritedness.” Despite herself she let out a chuckle.
“I am known for my endurance even in the least favorable circumstances.”
“I shall keep on my efforts, nonetheless.”
“I am deeply convinced that this will be the case”
***
Dearest gentle reader,
It has come to this writer’s attention that the affection between Viscount Bridgerton and young lady Y/L/N is in full bloom.
Despite the initial misunderstandings and noble behavior, that hasn't deceived any member of the ton, even if have been well played, recent news and observation has shown that maybe there's less pretending and more truth to it. 
Much to the ton’s discombobulation, young pair has been seen laughing together while the viscount resorted to courting in the way that resemble his late father and Lady Violet Bridgerton manner.
This writer daresay that no elite member would have ever do as much as dream of Lord Anthony Bridgerton picking meadow flowers for his chosen one while walking in the fields, away from prying eyes. Neither anyone would ever think about the forever dreamer lady Y/l/n actually so close to fulfilling her dream of marrying out of love. Irrational thoughts, as someone may put.
It is yet to be decided whether the on-going courtship between lord Bridgerton and lady Y/L/N will be a source of impending scandal in the society or whether those two will actually succeed in keeping this lovable atmosphere for following years.
After all – real love is not easily found and even less easily kept once the obstacles arise.
***
Now.
“You are to be enthusiastic.” Anthony murmured taking Y/N;s arm and bowing to the passing nobles “Smile.”
Those words brought back some memories and she couldn’t help but chuckle at the irony of the history that was in fact repeating itself.
“What is so funny?”
“Your memory does seem so be failing my lord. Won’t you remember the last situation when you told me to express my happiness and contentment to the ton?”
“I—” Anthony cut off, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh.
“Seem like you do after all.”
“Y/N…”
“Been a while since I had to pretend I was content though, given the fact that I truly was, of late.” The hint of sadness and melancholy was not to miss and did not make it easier for Anthony to pursue on the apologies he was tirelessly pursuing.
“Y/N…”
“Good job on choosing the right name since the person, whose hand you are now holding for display seem to be too much for you, my lord. To say the full truth I am fairly surprised you chased me here instead of focusing on spending time with one of your-“
“Don’t you finish that sentence.”
“Oh, I shall not, god forbid. I shall keep the pretenses as any lady married into a good family will.” She send the brightest smile to some kids that were running around, preached by their parents, holding her walls up.
At this point, mockery and distancing herself from the entire unfortunate events, if not fight, was the only way to prevent the emotional and mental breakdown and falling into tears. She was hurt. She was deeply hurt on a level she never thought existed. Anthony’s behavior hit precisely in all the sensitive spots, leaving her overthinking and wailing inside. Reminding her of all the years in her family’s household, being forced to act according to the standards, which she constantly broke, defying all the rules of ossified society and paying a heavy price for being herself despite the odds.
Being called too much, constantly.
Until she met Eloise, which was freeing. Y/N could finally feel like herself, spending a lot of time with Bridgertons.
And then meeting Anthony.
And actually creating a happy story with him, believing she would once and for all be free of the typecasting and tag putting.
But he started behaving in the same way to which she was exposed her entire life.
Too much.
Not enough.
And it made her angry.
“Please do forgive me for not easily being shaped in the wife you want me to be.”
“Shaped? I never wanted you any different!”
“Is that so?” she raised an eyebrow teasingly and it got her furious glance of her husband’s and the tightening bruising grip on her wrist. “you’re hurting me. Again.” The emphasis put on the last word actually made Anthony realize that he was not made of stone, but the words he wished to say were not coming easily.
“Y/N…” he clenched his jaw. She was mocking and challenging him even now, when he was trying to admit he was wrong and trying to apologize for the wrongdoings.
“Yes, my lord?” she took a step back, smiling in that light way that made him even more furious.
 “I believe you wanted to spend time on an intellectual conversation with my sister. Forgive me-“ he bowed in a distant manner reserved for strangers rather than spouses “-for being as impertinent to interrupt ladies’ time. I shall withdraw and leave you to continue on your – surely important- exchange”
And with those words, much to the shock of not only Y/N, but also Benedict and Eloise, who were still following them, Anthony bowed again and started walking away, raising clouds of dust due to the speed with which he rushed off from the place where he left his beloved wife.
Feeling the weight of failure and heartbreak on his shoulders, without a single way to make up for his mistake and keeping the face of a viscount at the same time.
Convinced that she hated him and there was no way to regain her favor and affection.
@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4 @gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm @bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @christinabae @pandoraneverland @bevstofu @topguncultleader @jana-jaeynneee @myaa21212121 @ziarah @cat-lockwood @leaf-rose-thorn @elissanatok @lily3450 @nervousmumbling @budugu @frickin-bats @sillyfreakfanparty @amberpanda99 @nycthophiliaa @myaa21212121 @bananaadeleigate @everybodystaycalm @fmhcatt @sankareatheundead @cat-lockwood @1potato2rulethemall
739 notes · View notes
fayes-fics · 7 months
Text
A Beneficial Arrangement
Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: A marriage pact with a Viscount. What could possibly go wrong?
Tumblr media
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, oral sex (m to f), loss of virginity, vaginal sex. Bickering, developing relationship.
Word Count: 6.1 k
Authors Note: Unbetaed. Anon request fill from HERE (Anthony and a headstrong independent reader make an unconventional marriage pact). Sorry it's taken so long to write this, but I hope you enjoy! <3
Tumblr media
It’s a dreary, rather ordinary Tuesday in spring when your life takes a turn.
“The Viscount is in want of a wife.” 
That statement is all you hear as you walk past the drawing room where your mother is taking tea with her good friend, the dowager Viscountess Bridgerton.
“My eldest needs a husband,” your mother responds, offering you as if merely chattel; bile rises indignantly as she does so. “But I fear she is far too outspoken to be a suitable Viscountess.” 
You sigh in relief, ear pressed to the closed door now.
“Oh, believe me, nothing would be a better match for my darling Anthony than someone who will challenge him, stand up to him,” Violet peals a knowing laugh. “We should arrange a meeting.”
——
3 days later.
He assesses you with a cool eye as your gaze drifts briefly over to both of your mothers, watching expectantly from a nearby table in the tea shop.
“You should know I will only be taking a wife to fulfil my societal duty,” he sniffs airly. “However, I do not expect you to produce an heir. The title may pass to my younger brothers; they are more inclined to form romantic attachments than I. Their offspring can inherit this title; it feels like a curse anyhow,” he adds quieter, his tone mildly embittered.
“Well, on your attitude to marriage, I can wholeheartedly agree,” you state, stirring your tea primly. “I do not wish to be shackled. I wish to remain free. I shall marry, as there is no other path available to me, but I do not plan nor do I ever want to be someone's wife.” You utter the word with disdain as if it is toxic. 
His admittedly very handsome face transforms into one of surprise, a faint dot of colour on his cheeks as he peers at you as if assessing you in a new light.
“What?” You frown at him, his silent stare becoming too heavy to bear as his interest and engagement intensify.
“You are the first woman I have ever met who shares my outlook,” he confesses, seemingly caught off-guard. “It is so utterly refreshing… and, frankly, novel.” He pauses to pass his fingers slowly over his lips in a way that makes your stomach swoop, even if you refuse to acknowledge such even to yourself. “I do believe we should meet again to discuss this further,” he concludes.
And thus, you find yourself with the suit of one Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, both of your mothers overjoyed at the prospect.
——
9 days later.
“If I must marry, you are the most tolerable woman I have met, I must concede,” he states nonchalantly as you meet to promenade. 
It’s quite an opening line for only your third meeting, even for someone as renownedly blunt as the Viscount.
“And a good afternoon to you too, Viscount Bridgerton,” you drawl pointedly with a raised eyebrow, subtly hinting how his greeting may have been lacking.
He chuckles, a flash of what looks like admiration in his dark eyes.
“As such,” he continues, “I would not be averse to a martial arrangement with you. An agreement, a pact if you will, based on our mutual understanding of what we both want from such an endeavour.”
The speed and pragmatism of his apparent proposal do not surprise you in the least. In fact, you are actually grateful for the lack of ceremony around it. If you must marry, you prefer it be swift.
“Did you mean what you said last week? In the tearoom?” You quiz as you begin to walk shoulder to shoulder through Hyde Park, the early summer air heavy with the scent of roses.
“Every word,” he replies solemnly.
“Then, I suppose this is a beneficial arrangement for me too,” you shrug as if agreeing about the weather, not the very course of your future. But there is something about this man that feels inevitable, fateful, but not in a way you dread. Also, his face is so very pleasing. If you must indeed marry, at least the view across the dinner table will be nice.
“Then it is decided,” he nods decisively, a brusque smile passing over his lips. “I so greatly appreciate your candidness with regard to this matter. It makes the whole business so much easier to deal with.”
He offers a hand to shake, and you take it, bemused, shaking on the deal, pretending this mere touch doesn't make every butterfly in your stomach roar to life.
“I shall make the arrangements swiftly,” he states, again with a short smile and nod.
You are married within three weeks.
——
6 weeks later.
‘‘What on earth is this?” he practically spits as he rounds the corner of Bridgerton House onto the back lawn.
“What does it look like?” you sass, tearing the netted visor from your face.
“It looks an awful lot like my wife is fencing,” his reply dripping with conceited judgement.
“Well, I’m glad to know you do not need glasses, husband,” you respond dryly, nodding to accept the excuses of the butler you were sparring with, who suddenly seems very keen to scurry away now the Viscount has arrived.
“Perkins, do not think this has gone unnoticed,” Anthony calls pointedly after the retreating man.
“Leave him alone!” you bark, taking your husband aback with your ferocity, him turning to you and almost gaping in surprise. “Perkins must do my bidding as lady of the house, and I told him to fence with me,” you elucidate, keen that the innocent party not suffer any consequences for your decision. 
“Women do not fence,” he sniffs, changing the subject somewhat.
“This one does,” you riposte, spearing your epee tip into the grass to remove the suede gloves.
“It is unbecoming of a Viscountess,” he adds almost haughtily.
“Good thing such matters hold no truck with me,” you shrug, knowing you are likely provoking him. 
To hell with what is appropriate for a titled lady. The title, and all of its stifling rules and expectations, is the very last reason you married the man standing before you. No, the reason is far, far more simultaneously complex and simple than that. He excites you—in ways you don't even want to admit to yourself.
It’s not something you would divulge to anyone, but arguing with your new husband has become your new favourite pastime. On the rare occasions you see him, that is. Since your wedding day, you have mostly been ships passing at the dinner table; otherwise, your lives have been very separate. At night, his rooms are at the other end of the long hallway from yours, and his days are apparently filled with business obligations. While the utter freedom to fill your days as you wish has been a blessing, it’s also been perhaps a touch lonely.
When you do see Anthony, you invariably end up clashing about something. And, well, it’s often the highlight of your week. A thrill zipping down your spine as you do so. The only person you have met who can keep up with your verbal sparring. It makes you excited, breathless, dizzy, a fizz low in your belly that feels entirely beguiling. Today is no different; you feel that same sensation as he stares at you, arms crossed, exasperated.
“Well, if you insist upon this rebellious pastime,’ he sighs after a few beats, snatching your epee, “the least you can do is improve your grip,” he grouses, rolling his eyes.
You startle as he crowds into your back, a warm hand wrapping around yours as he passes you the blade and demonstrates a different way to wield it that you concede feels better. The spike of victory in your bloodstream from winning the argument morphs into something entirely different as he stands behind you, his breath tickling your ear and the tendrils of your hair as he provides instruction. 
You try to take the details on board, but your thoughts scatter with his overwhelming proximity. How have you never noticed the stirring amber notes of his cologne before? Or how very broad his chest is compared to his slim hips? Perhaps because this is the closest you have ever been, his body heat seeping into your spine, your heart fluttering hard against your ribs. You can’t decide if this effect your husband can have on you is the best or the worst thing. Somehow, it feels like both.
——
1 month later.
You are both relieved to avoid most of the season on the pretence of being on honeymoon, but inevitably, the time comes when you must debut as a married couple. Speculation about you growing ever since Lady Whistledown breathlessly reported your nuptials, a nearly unknown minor Ton member rapidly snaring the most eligible of perenially eligible bachelors.
So when you enter your first ball as Viscountess Bridgerton, all eyes are upon you. You feel mildly uncomfortable bedecked in jewels and a heavy silk dress, but know refinement is of importance at events such as these. You just cannot wait to get home and get out of them. This will never be your preferred milieu, a sentiment you apparently share with your husband—underneath his calm, unruffled exterior, you sense his dampened disquiet.
“Smile politely, nod in acknowledgement, but don't engage for any longer than necessary,” he counsels under his breath as an inevitable hush falls over the room when your arrival is announced. You are grateful for his steadfast support, his arm looped reassuringly through yours as you follow his advice, knowing he has navigated these waters much more than you have needed to. “The best thing to do is seem frightfully ordinary,” he explains quietly as you complete a circuit of the room. “They are ravenous for gossip; if none is to be had, their preoccupation will swiftly wane.”
Indeed, the initial excitement about your appearance soon dies down as other, perhaps more flamboyant, guests arrive. People approach expressing surprise about your union, but once he economically explains you just knew you were right for each other, they often quickly move on, seeming almost disappointed at the lack of apparent scandal.
As the evening progresses, you school your tongue at some of the barbs you overhear, more out of a wish to be left alone rather than any adherence to social rules. Most of the things that appear to preoccupy the Ton you have little patience for. As Anthony spends some time with business acquaintances, you eventually find yourself in the company of the female members of his family, whom you are quickly becoming very fond of with every passing day in their company. Particularly his benevolent mother and headstrong sister, Eloise. In fact, the latter is the primary witness to the flare of your true nature, fatigue overriding your ability to remain silent.
Cressida Cowper is being particularly venomous about a mutual acquaintance. Eloise is quick with her witty tongue in reply, and you cannot stop yourself from piling on your scorn as well.
“Perhaps if the braiding of your hair were less painful, it would allow you greater empathy,” you retort before you can stop yourself.
Eloise’s responding guffaw sprays lemonade all over Cressida, whose shocked mien is the last thing you see before she turns heel to attend to her ruined dress in private.
“That was sensational!” Eloise wheezes in awe as she blots the remnants of her beverage from her chin.
You sigh.
“It was unwise,” you correct, knowing you have probably just made an enemy of one of the worst gossips of the Ton.
“It was wholly accurate and justified,” a cool, authoritative voice cuts in, and you look up to find your husband before you, a rapt glint in his eye that makes your lungs feel tight. It appears he may have also been witness to the moment.
Eloise’s eyes briefly ping-pong between the two of you, and then she loops an arm into the crook of Anthony’s as you continue to gaze at each other, cataloguing something new about each other that you mutually admire.
“I like her,” Eloise nods at you. “Excellent choice of wife, brother,” she grins.
It breaks the spell between you but seems to further ingratiate you with at least one member of his family. And that makes you feel light as air in a way you don't fully understand.
——
2 months later.
Funnily enough, it’s another random Tuesday when your life takes a complete turn. Yet again, you find yourself in another heated debate with your husband of barely twelve weeks. This time while sojourning at your country estate, Aubrey Hall.
“Must you?” Anthony gripes, standing up from his desk and rounding towards where you stand.
“Must I what? Speak my mind?” you bite back, hands on your hips.
“Be so damn argumentative,” he expounds, hands also on hips, chest heaving a little, “urghh, you are so aggravating!”
“Same!” You shoot back. “I have never met a man quite as disagreeable as you,” you add, not realising as you argue that you have taken steps closer and are now huffing irritated breaths close to each other's faces.
“Why did you agree to marry me then?” he snarls, his gaze suddenly fixated on your bottom lip, unbeknownst to you, it’s glistening and swollen from biting in irritation at his demeanour.
“Right now, I have no earthly idea,” you volley in return, but your pounding heart gives away the real reason. No one makes you feel quite as alive as Anthony, even when he is driving you up the wall, like right now. “Why did you agree to marry me, seeing as I am so very ‘aggravating’?” you spit, parroting the word back at him.
His stare blisters as he draws himself to full height right before you.
“We made a pact,” he huffs, “this is duty, nothing more.” 
But the way he breathes and holds himself speaks to something else. A war in his body and mind. The maelstrom in his eyes belying his words… and then it hits you. So singular it knocks the wind from your lungs. This is desire. He wants you. In all the ways a man can want a woman. 
And damn it all to hell if you don’t feel precisely the same.
“For me as well,” your tart, mendacious reply is bitter on your tongue.
The tension in the air is taut like a cord, ready to snap. You both toe to toe, noses almost touching, laboured breaths as you stare each other down like some game to see who will capitulate first. 
“I do believe we are at an impasse… wife,” the last word dripping with disdain, but he is leaning closer than he ever has, his lips fractional inches from yours.
“It would appear so…,” you concur, “…husband,” you roll the last word slowly, lingering on the end of the first syllable as if it is both a treat and a bitter pill on your tongue.
“I have been raised a gentleman,” he hisses, “but there are times that you test my resolve.”
“I do nothing of the sort!” you decry, knowing you are lying even to yourself now. Somedays lately, you live to simply push his buttons, just to see what he will do. “And resolve of what? To not be a good husband? Because I can tell you, forthright, you are doing a wonderful job of being a terrible husband,” you goad, knowing you are poking the proverbial beast now.
“I give you a wonderful home to run as you please, I give you the freedom to pursue whatever pastimes you wish, I let you speak your mind. As Viscountess, the world is yours. What else could you possibly want in a husband? I do not ask you to do things, wifely things, that I could,” he warns, his voice buzzing low. “I could demand you submit to my will; it is my right,” he growls.
A flame behind your ribs catches fire, even as your eyes flash indignant.
“You do not wish for that sort of wife; you told me as much yourself.” It’s a heated whisper, much breathier than you mean it to be.
“A man can change his mind,” he gravels, “same as a woman can change hers if she wishes.”
“What made you change your mind?” 
He fixes you with a hypnotic, weighted stare.
“You.”
The way that one word drips from his lips tilts your whole existence. It’s so loaded you don’t know what to say. Unmoored, your system awash with chemicals, your mind flooding with images of sketches you have seen of men and women together. Of what the marital act can entail. It’s something you believed would not ever be a part of your marriage, your life, even, but now…. 
Now your handsome husband is staring at you, ragged breaths, face wild, telling you he has changed his mind. Maybe he wants that sort of marriage, that sort of union. Something gallops hard in your chest as he steps away, as if wrongly intuiting you are about to turn down his suit, and something bubbles up from deep inside you.
“Do not dare,” you growl.
His mouth falls open in shock.
“Do not tease me so and leave me wanting,” you continue with a boldness and timbre you barely recognise as your own. “‘Tis crueller to build false hope than to take what you want,” you sniff and stare him down, so wholly decisive in your intentions and desires. If this is the nudge he needs, you’ll give it.
“You want me to exercise my conjugal rights?” he falters, appearing utterly stunned.
You don’t answer; just do one thing, your heart pounding loudly in your ears. You close the last few inches and press your lips to his. 
They are soft and plush against yours, making your insides warm and glowing. Then, Anthony makes a noise in the back of his throat, and suddenly, he is kissing you back. So ferociously, you squeak into his mouth as he opens your lips and slides his tongue over yours, his strong arms pulling you into an embrace so you are enveloped by his warm body.
Good lord.
You feel like you are drowning in him as he grabs your jaw, directing the kiss, turning it into something wholly other. Your lips move endlessly together as you both greedily take from the other for what seems like ages. When you pull apart, you are both heaving breaths and staring at each other, almost confused.
“Don’t you dare do that again,” you snarl, wanting to rip every item of clothing from your body and his.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he responds airily.
And then you crash into each other again. Drinking desperately from each other's mouths, powerless to resist whatever flame draws you together. 
He walks you backwards as your tongues tangle, and you startle slightly as your bottom hits his imposing desk. Hands loop around your thighs, and he hoists you into the surface, never breaking the intoxicating kiss.
He tries to step between your legs, but your column dress is too tight to allow it. You attempt to wiggle the hem upwards as you kiss, then, with a frustrated grunt, he bats your hands away and, using a strength that shocks you, rips the silk material asunder from the hem to your hip.
“I loved this dress!” you decry over his lips, unwilling to admit you’d destroy every single dress you own if he just kept kissing you like this.
“I’ll buy you another,” he dismisses, pushing your thighs wide with his hands. “I’ll buy you as many as you want.” 
“You had better,” you challenge, scarcely able to believe you even have the wherewithal to debate with him, especially as this is the first time a man has ever touched your bare leg.
He pulls back from the kiss to stare intently into your eyes as his fingertips trace from your kneecap up the sensitive skin of your inner thighs. You don’t mean to, but you tremble, having never been touched this way before. You gasp as his palm cups the apex of your thighs, his hand feeling so warm through the thin silk protecting your modesty, his fingers swirling circles over your patch of hair as the heel of his palm presses against your slit.
“I can feel your heat,” he hisses.
You can barely process what is happening, your body rioting as he touches and teases you, staring you down. Instinctively, you reach for the tiny buttons at your hip, but your hands fall away as he flicks his middle finger downwards and catches a nub that makes your body buck.
“Anthony,” it falls from your lips unbidden with a halting breath. It may well be the first time you have uttered his first name in his presence.
He groans at the sound. “Please, always say my name like that,” he pleads through gritted teeth.
So you repeat it, the same intonation, even as that finger drags slowly up and down over the swollen pearl between your legs, undone by how good it feels.
“Are you chaste?” he inquires; it’s not judgemental in tone, just pure curiosity, his ministrations lighter.
“Yes,” you admit quietly, “but I do know of the marital act”, you add, wanting him to know you are not entirely innocent.
“Hmm,” he hums, looking at once thoughtful and blistering, his finger moving more insistently again, “I am glad to hear it. Then you shall not be entirely shocked by what is about to happen?”
“So… we are to undertake it? The act?” you stutter, his finger making you feel so good you have to bite your lip.
But he doesn’t answer your question directly. 
“Wife, how attached are you to these undergarments?” his tone almost idle, cocking his head to the side as his gaze lingers over them.
You shrug practically. “I have many exactly the same.”
Then, you gasp loudly as the sound of silk tearing fills the room. You are quaking as the warm air of his study swirls around your exposed, damp slit. He shocks you by dropping to his knees before you. Pushing your thighs wide on his desk and looking up at you with burningly intense eyes, he presses his face to your flesh, inhaling deeply, his nose buried in your pubic hair before his tongue peeks out and nudges the swollen nub he was teasing through the silk. 
Your mouth drops open, and something inhuman escapes your lungs. Then he does it again, this time enclosing the whole area between his lips and sucking hard on your flesh, tongue curling and ploughing into your folds. The heat, the suction, the muscular swipe of his tongue feels so good your mind blanks out, a tremor in your splayed thighs that he holds forcibly open with warm hands. He keeps doing so for a few moments as your fingernails curl hard into the edge of his desk, scarcely able to do anything but writhe and gently moan. IIdly you think upon all of your curious research, never once had you heard of or read about a man doing as he is now, placing his head between his wife’s thighs and sniffing, drinking from her body.
“You are plenty ready for me, wife,” he huffs, his warm breath tickling your responsive folds, little ripples of pleasure deep inside scattering your thoughts. “Are you averse to me taking you right here?” he waves a hand nonchalantly at his large, imposing carved wooden desk.
“I… I rather thought su-such things could only ha-happen in a bed,” you confess stiltedly, a quiver in your voice.
He smirks up from between your thighs, turning his head to kiss the fragile skin there. “Oh, no, wife. We can fuck anywhere we please…” he pauses and looks sincere, “however, should you prefer a bed…”
“Here is fine,” you rush out, so very keen to have your husband make a woman of you. As if leaving this room may break the spell you are under. Location be damned. You just want to know him. He smirks again, placing a final quick kiss on your flesh, looking very pleased at your response.
“I wholeheartedly concur,” he rumbles as he hoists himself back up to stand, stepping inwards to rock his clothed pelvis against your pulsing nub. There is something hot and swollen in his trousers now, and you realise this must be his member. 
“Show it to me,” you enthuse, nodding at the insistent bulge.
“So very impatient all of a sudden, wife,” he scolds with a bemused chuckle, grabbing your wrist and guiding your hand over the bump. It feels so hot and steely even through the fabric. “Unbutton me,” he orders casually, pointing to the fastening at his hip. 
Exuberantly, you undo them quickly, keen to see if his member matches the sketches you have viewed. As the front of his trousers falls away, he quickly pushes down his white underwear. There, nestled in a thatch of dark hair at the base, is your husband's cock. Your eyes widen at the sight. It seems more considerable than the drawings you have seen, and you are temporarily taken aback by how red and almost angry it looks at the tip.
“Go ahead, touch it,” Anthony encourages, and with a slight tremble in your fingers, you reach forward and make contact with him.
“Oh!” you exclaim without thought, “it’s so soft, your skin, and so hot!” 
He chuckles warmly at your assessment. “Indeed,” he huffs as you wrap your hand instinctively around it, feeling its weight and mass in your palm.
“This will not fit inside me, surely?” you blurt out.
“It will, I promise,” his tone mellow, tinged with understanding even as his breath staccatos when you start to move your hand, the instinct to rub inexplicable, but seemingly precisely what he wants. “Yes, perfect,” he rasps, eyes closing and tongue peaking out to lick his lips.
The odd mix of total honesty and soft appreciation between you as you acquaint yourselves with each other's bodies seems very apt, as if this is the only way such a development would ever transpire. And you realise, as you cradle his most intimate parts, that you trust this man with your very being. Despite your bickering, there is a thread of mutual respect under it that makes you feel safe, seen, and known in a way that no other person has.
“Take me now, husband,” you rattle through your teeth, watching a bead of something sticky form at the tip of his cock as you squeeze him in hypnotic, repetitive motions. The sight makes something in your body turn to fiery liquid, wanting him and that substance inside yourself in a way that doesn't make logical sense. 
He growls at your words, grabbing your hand away from his cock and bringing it to his mouth, kissing the back of your knuckles as your eyes lock, a chaste, almost romantic interlude.
But then his hands grab your hips and haul you almost roughly to the very edge of the desk, your torn dress framing your splayed thighs, his trousers around his ankles as he takes his cock in hand and rubs the tip over your folds of flesh in a way that makes you moan under your breath.
“Are you certain?” he checks, even as he pants anticipatorily.
“God, yes,” you confirm, craving him in a way you have never felt about anything before. An urgent hook tugging deep inside your loins, calling to him like a siren song.
“Watch,” he murmurs darkly, his other hand rounding the back of your neck so your gaze is tilted down to where his cock nudges your opening.
So you do, as does he. Stare down to where your body meet, hissing loudly as his tip slips inside your soaked channel. Your eyes want to roll back at the sheer overwhelming sensation of it, but equally, it's such an enthralling sight that you can’t look away.
He moans loudly, lewdly, decadently as he pushes further into your heat, pausing to readjust your legs wider and tilt your pelvis more open.
“This next part may hurt, darling,” he whispers quietly, the first time he has ever used such an affectionate term for you, making your heart race. 
“It's alright,” you reassure mutely in return, “I have heard as such.”
The hand around the back of your neck slides gently until he tilts your chin up to meet his tender gaze.
“You are quite the woman,” he says, almost reverential, as he leans in and captures your lips in a sweet, soft kiss. 
The movement propels his cock deeper into your body, and you cry out into his open mouth at a stab of sharp pain inside. 
“That's it done,” he mutters reassuringly into your lips as you whimper gently. 
He stills as you adjust to the girth, the heat, and feeling so very filled.
“More…” falls from your mouth spontaneously, the want rising, hungry for a need to be met, a thirst slaked, unlike anything you have experienced.
The smile that breaks out over his face makes your nipples pebble hard in your stays, and he slides deeper as you cling to him, exhaling unevenly as he keeps sinking further into your pussy, pushing you open. Just when you think you cannot take more, he stops, and you feel his body pressing wholly against yours.
You stare at each other, eyes wild and wide, unable to form words but knowing instinctually how good this feels for both of you. He looks untamed, something urgent rippling in his being. And without breaking the gaze, he pulls his hips back until just the head of his cock is inside you, then ploughs back in, in one determined, decisive stroke.
You don't stop the decadent noise that escapes your lungs, your toes curling into the soles of your feet at how wonderful and all-encompassing that feels. Same as you don't miss the victorious smirk on his face at your reaction.
Then it’s a hungry blur of movement as your hands grab his biceps through his clothing, clinging on for dear life as he proceeds to move just like that first thrust. Over and over. Building in pace and with increasing intensity, him sensing your need for such things.
“Anthony…” his name spills over your lips again, and the impact on him is nothing short of extraordinary.
His hands clamp vicelike to your hips, branding heatedly over your skin through your dress, straining the tendons of your inner thighs as he pushes your legs open impossibly wide, his pelvis crashing into yours in a way you are certain may leave bruises. And what shocks you most is just how much you want it. Want him to leave signs of his presence, want to look in the mirror and see the outline of his digits in the globes of your bottom.
He moans your name, hot and desperate, into your ear, his pace never wavering, a drop of sweat forming on his forehead that you can't look away from when he pulls back to tilt your heads together.
“I want to see,” you stumble out, pantingly, as he takes you harder.
“See what?” he sounds almost winded, his thrusts still spearing his cock into your body.
“See you entering me,” you huff into his cheek.
His responding noise is feral and has every inch of your body alight. He bows his spine outward so your bodies only touch where you are joined, and his hand feels heated and heavy on the back of your neck as you tilt your chin down to take in the sight.
His cock, rigid and huge, ploughing repeatedly into your body, shining with a slick substance you can only assume is from within you, the sight making you shudder, but not with anything approaching disgust. It’s something primal. A need to chase a conclusion, the power of the vivid tableau burned into your retinas.
“Don't stop, please don't stop,” you petition, looking back up to his face, your hands sliding up and down his torso now, raking urgent fingernails over his clothing.
He swears, and his lips are back on yours, searing and demanding. This feels like a frantic wave you are riding together, a trickle of moisture running down your spine as you start to push your hips forward as much as you can, meeting his thrusts halfway.
“You are fucking perfect,” he snarls over your tongue, and you couldn't agree more.
Time seems elastic as he lowers you so your back rests on the piles of no doubt important paperwork, not that he pays it any mind, him hunched over you, pulling your hips out over the edge now, the range of motion it allows him making you gasp. He is taking you without mercy now, breath hot on your throat as he moans your name, his hand squirrelling between your bodies and making your vision dance with dots as he passes a slightly calloused tip over your clit.
“Come for me,” he breathes, the request both hopeful and commanding.
“What does that mean?” your question puffed into his lush hairline.
“Oh my darling, just you wait,” his voice dripping with promise even as your skin feels like it wants to vibrate off your very bones as his fingers and cock take you somewhere you never envision. An ecstasy both outside but rooted deep in your being.
He murmurs encouragingly as you struggle for air, your lungs burning, scarcely remembering to breathe, skating some kind of precipice that feels dangerous and addictive. Then, with a flick of his thumb and a gentle bite of your earlobe, you fall into an abyss. Everything all at once quiet and loud, eyes screwed shut as colours burst behind them, and every fibre of your being seems to snap and break, rearranging in a mind-shattering way. Your pussy convulsing hard around his cock that now seems impossibly large.
Then, with a deep booming cry, you feel him lance deeper than ever, his whole body tensing and jerking. A warmth spreads inside, and you vaguely realise he is reaching completion, spilling his seed inside you. For what seems like ages, your mind and body float somewhere, utterly sated, suddenly understanding why this act can be so all-consuming and there is so much written of it.
When your mind returns to the room, you are panting into each other's necks, both breathlessly stunned at how animalistic your first intimacy was. Somehow, your antagonistic chemistry transmuting into an explosive, consuming passion.
“We are going to bed right now,” his tone wrecked, rough, so damn irresistible you want to bite his flesh, even while you still recover from what transpired. Fires stoked again just by those seven words.
He pulls up his trousers haphazardly, picks you up bridal-style, and sweeps you out of his office and up the grand staircase, ignoring the shocked looks of staff at your torn dress and his roughly pulled clothing. 
“We are not to be disturbed,” he barks at his valet, who blanches and leaves the room as Anthony practically throws you onto his imposing four-poster bed. Then, as you lay there, he strips naked before you, and you want to nuzzle every inch of his toned, magnificent body. 
___
It’s three days before you reemerge from what is now your joint bedroom. From that day on, you are never without your husband for more than two days; such is your magnetic need for each other. And when your belly swells with the first of your many children, he confesses his ardent, undying love for you, you returning the sentiment instantly, having felt the same for what seems like forever. 
A hurried, naive pact between two proud, independent souls becoming something wholly other—a loving, passionate marriage of equals. You still squabble with unerring frequency, but now it ends in lovemaking, the intensity sweeping you both into an ephemeral bliss.
A beneficial arrangement indeed.
Tumblr media
Anthony taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @queenofmean14 @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @elizah99 @fictionalmenloversblog @debheart @malpalgalz @amanda08319 @panhoeofmanyfandoms @delehosies @m-rae23 @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @jeanfreau @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @vane28282 @kisskissshutmydoor
Tumblr media
3K notes · View notes
faatxma · 11 months
Text
Blooming Seedlings
Tumblr media
Pairing: King George III x Reader
Synopsis: You were truly surprised when you saw that the seeds your husband planted started to become seedlings.
Warnings: Fluff
Tumblr media
You have been feeling nauseous for a while now but ignored it. As you started to feel dizzy you knew something was up with you. It has been two weeks since your Honeymoon period ended. You and George spent every minute together from waking up in each others arms to stargazing at night.
Your were currently knitting as you observed George pacing around nervously, he was writing a speech for the British council members something he has to do every other month. As he had his duties you also had yours which were picking your Ladies in waiting.
'Stop pacing my love, you’ll do a wonderful job believe me.' You said as you stood up placing your hands onto his shoulders.
'I don’t know why I’m so nervous.' He chuckled turning around to pull you into his arms. You giggled pecking his lips knowing that he was truly improving regarding his illness. You remembered like it was yesterday where Reynolds got you and told you what George had planned. Knowing that the Royal Physician was known for his torturous therapy methods terrified you.
You were happy when you could stop it even before it began. You loved him the way he was, as a mad man as farmer George and king George at the end of the day he was your husband and you loved him.
He wanted to get better for you, you appreciated it but he was enough and will always be enough.
'Will you be alright without me?' He asked nudging you nose cutely. You nodded it’s only going to be a day and Brimsley and your handmaid Emilia would be with you.
'Show them who you are, my love.’ you smiled stroking his cheeks. As you suddenly felt nauseous but you tried to suppress it, but George caught it.
'Everything alright my dear?' He asked with concern in his face.
'I’m alright nothing to worry about my king, now go show them what you are capable off.' You grinned walking him out.
'I’ll see you tomorrow night.' He said placing a long kiss on your lips.
'Have a safe journey.'
After George and Reynolds left you decided to take a walk through the Garden it was a nice sunny day that quickly turned into a gloomy one. You heard Brimsley suggesting you to return but as stubborn as you were you ignored his suggestion. You saw Emilia and some other maids picking flowers for your bedroom. Something they did, every three days they use the dried ones as scent bags for your wardrobe which leaves a nice floral scent.
They greeted you as you passed and you greeted them back. But before you could even focus your attention on your walk you felt dizzy, your head started to throb and your were sure you could vomit any second.
The change in your body demeanor was picked on quickly by your Maid Emilia who was about to ask if everything was alright. But before she could to that your eyes rolled back and your body dropped to the ground.
And all you could hear were screams.
'What is with her, I demand an answer' you heard the hushed voice of your husband behind the door. You were confused he wasn’t supposed to be back that soon. You didn’t remember what had happened but the way your head was throbbing, you knew that you must’ve fainted. You opened your eyes seeing that you were in you chambers covered in blankets.
'-george, George' you muttered trying to get someone’s attention and by the gasp you heard and the rushed steps towards you, you could see your maid Emilia appearing next to you. She looked like she had been in distress but you could see it changing when she saw you wide awake.
'Your Majesty, thank god you are awake' she said reaching for a cup of water to give it to you.
'What happened to me? and where is my husband here?' you said tiredly trying to sit up so you could drink some water. Emilia helped you take a couple of swallows until you turned your face to the still visible argument outside.
'You fainted yesterday and I called to doctor immediately to exam you your Majesty.'
‘Yesterday? I’ve been unconscious that long? What of my husband why is he here what about his speech?' You asked her confused.
'The doctor is outside with him, your husband just arrived from his council meeting, after he heard what happened.' She said picking on her fingers nervously.
'I want to see him please.' She nodded walking hastily to the door. You could hire her talk even if it wasn’t that clear.
'Your Majesty she’s awake and asking for you.' Before she could even get back in your husband rushed past her without a glimpse.
'Oh darling' he said with glassy eyes, he looked exhausted and you felt bad that you hadn’t said anything before.
'I’m fine, George' you said showing him a small smile grabbing his hands gently.
'No, you aren’t you should’ve told me that you didn’t feel well, I’d have never left you.' He muttered pressing kisses to the back of your hands.
'What of your speech?' you asked.
'Forget the speech my wife just fainted do you really think my thoughts are still on that? You should’ve told me that you weren’t feeling well.' He said frustrated.
'His majesty is right my Queen, someone in your condition should’ve said something earlier.' The doctor said walking into the room with his intern behind him.
'What condition?' You asked nervously, was it a incurable disease? Or something remotely close?
'Oh my apologies my Queen I thought you were well aware that you are 7 weeks pregnant.'
'Y-you said pregnant?' you heard George say next to you.
'I’m with child?' you asked feeling your tears escaping your eyes. You were with child the whole time without even noticing. If you think back your monthly period hasn’t been coming in a while and the tenderness in your breast was also an indicator that you were pregnant.
'Yes your Majesty congratulations I’ll be going now. If you need anything feel free to call for me.' With that he left you alone with your husband. Your staff also departed but not without congratulating the both of you.
When the door closed you husband leaped up to engulf you in a hug, you could feel his lefty hand on you lower stomach were a bulge was starting forming.
'A little king or a little queen' he whispered happily to himself trying to process what he just heard.
'You are going to be a father.' You said gently wrapping your arms around his neck.
'And you are going to be a mother.' he leaned down pressing pecks onto your face.
'Seems like it didn’t take to long until my seeds started to become seedlings making your womb bloom, my love.'
'They sure didn’t take to long and with no time our little bundle will find the daylight.'
Tumblr media
2K notes · View notes