fiction-is-life
Waiting for Mr. Darcy
She/Her ~ 21 ~ Amateur Writer ~ Full-Time Daydreamer ~ Masterlist
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Do you still write for outerbanks?
Hi!! I do still write for outer banks! I just haven't gotten to write for a while because of school, but my requests are always open, it just may take awhile for me to get to them 😊
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Hi!😊 I hope you have a great day!😊🩷
Hi!!! My day has been pretty nice! I'm about to start finals though, so life is gonna be hectic, lol. I hope you had a great day as well, lovely!!
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Wow, 2000 notes, I can't believe this story garnered so much love! I'm glad so many people have been able to find something to enjoy with this fic, can't wait to write some more this summer!!
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
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
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Lol, that would have been my answer too! 😂 John B is sweet but he needs to grow up before I would consider marriage, lol
Hey!!! Hope you are having a great day! What are your thoughts on Fmk with John B, JJ, and Pope?? 👀
ooh that's a tough one! mm gut reaction i'd say fuck jj, marry pope, kill john b
sleepover weekend!
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🌈 💖 ✨ Send this to the nicest people you know and that have a good heart ✨ 💖 🌈
You are seriously getting me through my last weeks of this semester with your kind words! Thank you, lovely!!!
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BEAUTIFUL PERSON AWARD! Once you are given this award you're supposed to paste it in the asks of 8 people you adore! Absolutely no pressure but. It's sweet to know someone thinks you're beautiful inside and out <3
You are the sweetest, thank you!!!!
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hey so like
hi, you. yeah im talking to you. You like my stuff from time to time and reblog once and a while, and I always recognize you in my notes. we’ve never talked, maybe you dont like to say much or you’re nervous or something. it’s okay, whatever it is.
I see you. you mean a lot to me. sometimes when I’m having a hard day, I’ll notice your name once again in my notifs and it makes me smile. im not kidding.
I don’t care if you’re a “ghost” follower or you send me asks all the time. i see you and I love you so much, genuinely and truly. you are really important to me.
thank you. thank you for being there. <3
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You write both fluff and smut so well, and they mix so beautifully to create a vivid, wonderful story! I think I almost fainted dead away when he ripped her dress off, and I genuinely smiled at the depiction of the reader with all of the other Bridgerton children (and Anthony acting like a dad to Hyacinth, lol) This was beautiful!
Eden
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Seeing you with other Bridgerton offspring has an interesting effect on your new husband...
I couldn't resist using a Season 3 gif cos hello.
Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI, breeding kink, dirty talk, mutual masturbation, vaginal sex, creampie, ie filthy babymaking. Also, the smut is bookended by fluff; yeah, that probably needs a warning, lol.
Word Count: 4.2k
Authors Note: This is a very belated request fill for @victoriaholland (HERE) and Anon (HERE) about Benedict with a touch of baby fever. I decided to combine the asks as I saw a way to weave them together. Sorry for the delay, but well at least babymaking seems appropriate for spring hehe. Thank you to @colettebronte for being an awesome beta, as always. Err, Enjoy! <3
Daphne’s latest child is beautiful; you delight in his joy as he bounces on your lap, learning the strength of his sweetly chubby legs, little fists wrapped tight around your fingers.
Looking up, you catch your husband's eye from afar, his stare intense across the gardens of Bridgerton House as you sit under a tented shelter upon a picnic blanket. The rest of the family are scattered around, playing games or chatting, but you are quite content minding the little one while his nanny takes a few moments to eat lunch.
“Is everything alright, my love?” You inquire as Benedict draws closer.
“Yes… I….” He seems a little flustered.
“Are you sure?”
You pull a funny face for the infant, who breaks out into the most adorable infectious giggles that has you grinning from ear to ear and hugging him into your body, swaying with him.
“Are you alright? Minding the child?” He checks, his voice a touch odd.
“Oh yes. We are more than happy, are we not, my little prince?” You talk in a vaguely silly baby-talk voice, addressing the child in your arms as much as Benedict.
Again, the child peals with delighted noises and spit bubbles enthusiastically, looking up at Benedict eagerly as much as you do.
“Well, that is wonderful news,” he blusters, and you could swear he is out of sorts, breathless almost. “I shall… leave you to it,” he adds, giving you a bow and then withdrawing as the little one wiggles out of your arms.
“Ignore your Uncle Benedict; he is being a silly billy,” you whisper conspiratorially once the man in question is out of earshot.
The response is babbled nonsense as the child bashes one wooden brick against another.
“I quite agree,” you state sagely before breaking into a goofy grin.
——
“Auntie y/n?” Hyacinth wheedles.
“No, Hy,” you sigh without even looking up.
“Ugh, you are no fun!” she scowls, crossing her arms defiantly.
“What is all this?” Anthony clips as he strides into the drawing room, Benedict on his heels, as Hyacinth flounces dramatically across the room.
“Your little sister is angry at me because I will not allow her to drink the punch; it has brandy in it,” you explain cooly.
“Quite right, too!” Anthony chimes as Hyacinth rolls her eyes.
“Listen to your aunt, Hyacinth, and do as she says,” Anthony lectures, and you feel grateful for his support, effectively neutering her rebellion. “Despite a temporary lapse of judgment when choosing a spouse, she is otherwise one of the most sensible people in this family.”
“Hey…!” Benedict protests.
“Please…” Anthony withers, twisting towards him. “Brother, if there is one thing us Bridgerton men know how to do, ‘tis to marry a woman entirely too good for us. And well done on that, by the way.”
You smirk at Anthony’s hilarious way of putting his brother - your husband - in his place, catching Kate’s eye with a wink as she enters the room carrying her baby.
“Y/n, come and meet the future Viscount; he’s awake at last,” she calls to you.
You are immediately on your feet and grinning, taking the tiny bundle from her arms and cooing at the sweet little boy. The baby opens his enormous brown eyes and observes you for a second before breaking into a one-toothed grin and happily waving his fists at you.
“Oh, he really likes you!” Kate enthuses, delighted.
“As I do you, little one,” you smile, leaning over to kiss his forehead.
You look up to see Benedict with that same look on his face as earlier. A tempest, almost an energy over his being. It’s almost as if he is… aroused?! Which is most odd.
As you hand the baby back to Kate, giving him one final kiss, Benedict is suddenly by your side. Announcing to the family that there has been a change of plan and, regrettably, you will not be able to stay for dinner, his arm an insistent tug around your waist.
——
“Why did we not stay for family dinner as originally planned, my love?”
Your question is soft, only just audible over the noise of the carriage as you trundle over the cobbled streets of Mayfair a few minutes later.
“I decided that we should perhaps dine at ours this evening…” his voice adopting that deeper edge which always causes butterflies in your tummy. His hand lands on your knee, a heavy weight that feels portentous. He slides closer on the bench seat.
“Why might that be?” your ask turns breathy, entirely without you meaning it to.
“I want to be alone with you,” he murmurs, unmistakably pitched to arouse.
The carriage seems to notch up a few degrees as the rocking motion presses your side rhythmically into his. The sound of the wheels and hooves is so loud. He twists to wrap an arm around your shoulder and pulls your back against his flank.
“All day today, I have watched you,” he rumbles, hand warming the skin around your clavicle, fingertip brushing in circles. “You are so very good with children, darling. Seeing you so naturally with the babies and how you handled Hyacinth… you would be the perfect mother.”
You blush a little at his praise. “Thank you, my love. I would like children one day. Your children. Imagine a child with your eyes. They would be quite the most beautiful,” you sigh wistfully, leaning back into him, his hand feeling heavier on your skin.
Benedict chuckles modestly. “And what of your beauty? Would a child version of you not be the most fetching?”
You giggle and turn your head sideways to nuzzle against his jaw. “I think we would indeed make beautiful babies together, Benedict.”
“I agree,” his voice a tempting lilt, fingers skating downwards over the swell of your breast now, slipping inside the fabric and making you gasp as he tweaks your nipple. “And I think we should start as soon as we get home.”
“Did seeing me with babies suddenly make you want your own, Mr Bridgerton?” Your hand flexes on his knee as he toys with your breast.
“Oh yes darling, it made me want to take you right there…” he asserts, finally admitting those looks he gave you were indeed pure arousal.
You reach up and run your hand into his hair, fingers flexing on his warm scalp as you pull his face to yours. “And suddenly, it appears I am no longer hungry for dinner…” you whisper flirtatiously, your cupid's bow brushing his stubbled upper lip.
He groans, and his passionate kiss is plundering, a tingle running over your limbs, just as your carriage comes to a shuddering stop outside your townhome.
Uncaring of the neighbourhood or any prying eyes, Benedict sweeps you out of the carriage in his arms, carrying you bridal style over the pavement and through your front door.
“My wife and I are not to be disturbed,” he announces crisply and loudly to the staff as you enter the hallway.
Leaving no room for doubt about his plans by pulling you into a searing kiss for all to see before ascending the stairs rapidly. He practically growls as he kicks open the door to your master bedroom door and slams it shut again with his foot.
“Benedict…” you stammer, heart pounding at how overwrought he is.
You have never seen him like this. Commanding, crackling with an energy that has your body simmering. He is usually so sweet, affable, and kind. Every time you have been intimate since your wedding night a few weeks ago, he has been a complete gentleman: loving and so very tender. The grip he has had on you tonight feels different. This is something primal—like a switch has been flipped at a basal level in his being.
He places you down onto your feet before the roaring fire, his face intense.
“Wife…” The way he says it makes you feel a flush creep over your skin.
“Husband…” you respond in kind, belly fluttering with excitement.
“Take off your dress,” he orders, his dilated pupils shining in the firelight.
This is new. Usually, he is the one to remove it slowly and softly from your body.
“I cannot, the buttons…” you confess, signalling behind you. You would need your ladies' maid to unhook them from between your shoulder blades.
He moves closer, seeming so much taller; his ragged breaths dance in the tendrils of your hair as he reaches around behind your shoulders. With a rough tug that makes you startle, he tears the fabric asunder, the sound of tiny pearl buttons skittering across the polished wooden floor behind you as you gasp in surprise.
“There…” he smirks dangerously, “problem resolved.”
You are speechless as he withdraws a pace, looking at you expectantly. You follow his order, a slight quake in your hands as you push the frayed dress down your body, still a little shocked by his strength. Then you reach for the crisscross lacing of your stays, feeling the weight of his stare as each loop relents, his eyes hungry, his body heaving with deep breaths his fitted jacket taut with each inhale. You peel the item away, leaving just your thin white cotton chemise.
“Rip it too,” you plead before you realise it, enthralled by this assertive demeanour.
With a noise in the back of his throat, he takes a pace forward again, and you stare up at him, enchanted. He grasps the fabric above your breasts and then rips it loudly from your chest all the way to your ankles, the sound echoing up the walls. Again, his strength has your knees weak. As the torn pieces flutter from your body, you want to bathe in the hungry sound he makes as he realises you are clad only in white knee-high silk stockings, no underwear to be seen, the warmth from the fireplace swirling around your intimate area.
As you stand almost naked before your imposing husband, him still fully dressed, there is a knot low in your gut. But it’s not fear; it’s something else entirely—desire. Trembling, breathless and wanting. An elemental wish to be thoroughly taken.
He steps forward, eyes glittering, and his fingers plough roughly between your legs, making you gasp.
“Eden,” he proclaims, his fingers snagging over your swollen pearl of a clit with almost rough strokes, the callous where he holds his paintbrush abrading your folds. “A wonderful, lush, wet garden. Just waiting to be planted.” His words are hypnotic and low, questing fingers being coated with a dewiness that is entirely of his making.
“Please…” you whimper, squirming on his touch, captivated by this version of your husband, wanting to submit to him, a burning need low in your belly. His fingers slide faster, making a lewd, wet noise.
“Are you going to let me?” Benedict croons. “Plant my seed inside you?”
Until now, he has always been careful to complete outside your body. A slightly bereft feeling every time - the wonderful moment cut short as he leaves you suddenly empty, a warm splash upon your thighs, tummy or spine. The idea he will stay inside you is alluring in a way you don’t fully comprehend.
“Yes, please, husband,” your nipples puckering almost painfully against the wool of his lapels as he crowds into you.
“Good. Get on that bed right now,” Benedict orders roughly, pointing at your four-poster bed as he tugs off his jacket.
You scramble to obey. Feeling under a spell. Being naked save your stockings feels illicit as you lay back into the soft pillows and watch as he undresses, staring you down the whole time.
You slide a hand between your legs instinctively as more of his toned body is revealed. He growls at the sight, you biting your lip and watching him, his torso bare, his trousers clinging to his shapely legs, to his swollen cock. He bends to remove his shoes, and the sight of his broad shoulders flexing is enough to make you moan. As he stands back up and hooks his elegant fingers around the trouser buttons, a smug look on his handsome face that he is doing this to you.
“Husband…” you call out to him, writhing on your fingers shamelessly now, one hand shooting up to brace your movements against the headboard, flushing warm down to your toes.
With a few dextrous flicks, the buttons relent, and his trousers drop to the floor. His naked body is always a delicious sight, but tonight feels more, every sense heightened, moaning again as he takes a step towards you, thigh muscles flexing, his cock standing proud to attention.
Again, a soft plea falls from your lips, your eyes raking every plain of his tempting form, feeling yourself swell under your fingertips.
“Not yet,” he clucks, the arrogance somehow more beguiling as you bite your lip. “I think I want to watch you come, my darling. All by yourself. I hear female pleasure can aid with conception after all.”
“Will you not touch me?” you petition, reaching your other hand imploringly towards him.
“No darling, I shall watch,” his lopsided grin deadly.
He wraps a strong fist around his own cock, pumping slowly, a bead of moisture gathering at his tip, glistening in the candlelight as he does.
“Now, use both hands, please. Place your fingers inside yourself,” Benedict instructs as you blindly follow, a languid buzz in your brain—you would do anything he told you to right now.
Planting your feet squarely on the bed, you drag your ankles up higher towards your bottom, letting your legs fall open wider to give him a better view as your other hand slides down. You plunge two fingers into yourself, your hips canting off the mattress with a staccato breath at the sensation of yourself, so hot and tight.
“That's right,” he endorses, a leisurely movement of his hand up and down his cock as he watches you from a few feet away. “‘Feel yourself, darling. Tis paradise, is it not?” that trademark rumbling voice skittering over your skin, goosebumps raising down your arms just at the tone.
“Come closer,” you appeal breathily, wanting to smell him, feel his heat, his flesh—anything.
He shakes his head, smirking wider as his refusal spurs you on, desperate to come. Mewling as your fingers speed up, one circling your clit, the others buried as far as you can, wishing instead it were his long, graceful fingers reaching places you are unable. Watching him squeeze his own cock hurtles you fast, already aroused from the moment he slid a hand into your dress in the carriage.
Unable to fight the tide in your body, you screw your eyes shut and call out his name as your pussy starts to convulse around your own fingers, toes curling into the sheet, your muscles all going stiff, your hips again raised as you feel the tide break. A gush of wetness runs down your palm and your bottom cheeks as your mind floats away. Distantly, you can hear him speaking, but it’s fuzzy as you flop back down, sated, your legs going flat, too shaky to balance.
You startle as a warm hand circles the wrist of your fingers still inside yourself, bringing you abruptly back into the room. Benedict looms over you, his chest heaving, that power still there.
“What was that?” your query drowsy, lips dry.
He chuckles richly. “I said that was spectacular,” he repeats, bemused. “But also that I want you to paint your nipples with your arousal, my love, for me,” he commands, tugging your hand so your fingers slide out of yourself.
You do as bidden, still floating down from the high, smearing your own warm juices onto your puffed areolas.
“Perfect..” he intones.
In one swift, athletic move, he mounts the bed. You cry out as his warm mouth encloses your left nipple, groaning lewdly as he licks you clean of your arousal, his tongue a heavy, warm, wet weight curling around your sensitive bud, his lips tugging gently, reawakening those synapses only just recovering from your orgasm.
“Why do you always taste like heaven?” his dusky question is rhetorical, his breath gusting over your sternum as he swaps to your other breast to meter out the same treatment. He has you moving under him again as he settles his body over you more firmly, your hips tilting up to feel his hard cock graze your inner thigh. “I wonder if you will still taste like heaven when you are heavy with my child?” he hums thoughtfully as he teases your nipple with the tip of his nose, one hand cupping your empty belly. “I dare say even moreso, ripe like a vine, bearing fruit…” That sonorous voice teases over your skin as he moves slowly upwards to nuzzle your neck. “My fruit….” he adds, possessive as he sucks your earlobe into his mouth, so loud now right by your ear.
His hands wind around your thighs as he shuffles position so he is kneeling between your legs, his ropey thighs spread wide under yours…
“Are you ready for that, my love?” he pauses until you nod almost imperceptibly; you squeak as he suddenly hauls you down the bed, hips onto his lap, your pelvis now higher than your head upon the sheets. Your stockings unfurling down your legs where he quickly plucks at the ribbons holding them aloft.
“Good, because I am more than ready for you,” it almost sounds like a warning.
Then, with a solid thrust, he spears into your body, the invasion toe-curling, your fingers grasping his muscular forearms that are clamped around your waist. It is a primal position, and he begins to thrust with no mercy, his cock feeling huge and heavy, a strong weight that drags heavily over your walls as your pussy clings to him. Your eyes flutter closed as you whimper his name, powerless to do anything but take his thrusts, draped across his lap as you are.
“Look at me,” he demands raggedly. And you do, his handsome face contorted with effort as he slams into you, a little bead of sweat forming on his brow. “Look at me while I fuck a baby into you, wife.”
He’s never spoken to you like this before, clipped, harsh. It seems appropriate that he would be almost desperate in an act so elemental, so of the earth—to create life. Stoking a fire deep in your core that is a clarion call for him, a frisson running over your skin at the idea you are being impregnated. Bred.
You know neither of you will last long with this almost frenzied coupling, the tendrils of your arousal already swirling so soon after your last, his near-brutish handling precisely what you need, your swollen pearl slammed into his flat abdomen with every stroke he takes. The sheets roll under your shoulder blades as he keeps the same position, your hips high, a mounting that you cannot and do not want to escape, knowing he is leaving fingertip bruises around the dip of your waist, marks you will carry secretly with pride just for him.
You moan his name, so close again to that ephemeral bliss, thrashing your head from side to side as if willing the pleasure to break and wash over you.
“Come on, come for me, milk me, darling. Take what you need, take my seed,” his voice a deep wrecked purr, the lines of his body tense, craving release as much as you.
That command is what breaks the dam for you, an almost violent ricochet fanning out from where you clench around him, his cries muffled behind the rushing noise in your ears, every part of you convulsing in a pleasurable wave. And then, in a floating haze, for the very first time, you feel your husband come inside you, a warm bloom that coats your walls. It's an intoxicating feeling; you never want him to come anywhere else ever again.
“That's it, well done, my love,” he croons, eyes still shut as he shudders with little aftershocks, not leaving your body—as if he wants to stay inside you always.
——
As the embers in the fireplace glow white, you lay in post-coital bliss, bodies dewy from exertion. Benedict rests his head upon your stomach as you card your fingers leisurely through his hair.
“Do you believe we may have made a baby, darling?” he hums, pressing his ear to your belly button as if listening for a heartbeat.
“I am certain of it, husband; you were so very thorough with your attentions,” you assure as he takes your hand in his, lacing your fingers together. “I hope our baby has your face,” you opine.
“Even if it is a girl?!”
“Thou art as pretty as thou art handsome, Mr Bridgerton,” you quip.
He laughs, carefree, crawling behind you and pulling you into a spooned embrace. “Be careful with such provocation, wife; I may not be done with you after all,” he jests idly. “I, on the other hand, hope our child looks like you, even if it is a boy.” he posits, crowding into your back, his lips warm on the shell of your ear.
“Why?” you laugh, frowning, twisting to look back at him.
“So that I may love them as much as I do you,” he breezes nonchalantly as if what he says is not the sweetest thing you can imagine, causing a tart, sudden spike of want through your body, even as you lay sated.
“Be careful, husband,” you volley back, coquettish. “Or I may not yet be done with you.”
There is a sharp, approving intake of breath, and his hand slides low from your belly into the thatch of hair at the apex of your thighs.
“Is that a promise” he rumbles, your gasp loud as his fingers expertly drag against your clit.
“It is whatever you want. Just do not stop,” you rush out, your hand curling around his bicep, feeling a rigid mass slide hot against your bottom. “Again, husband,” you appeal breathily. “Impregnate me again.”
“With pleasure, wife,” he growls, surging into your body with a force that again steals the very breath from your lungs.
The pinkish light dawn is streaking over the ceiling above when you both finally succumb to sleep after many more vigorous attempts at babymaking. The last one, perhaps the most desperate, you pinned against the headboard, him fucking into you so hard from behind that a jagged crack appears, spidering up the wall from where the bedframe slammed into it. A flaw which he steadfastly refuses to get fixed, claiming it to be the most profound art—a souvenir and ode to a momentous night.
——
9 months later
Benedict’s lips mash against your sweaty brow as he keeps lauding you with praise, excitement and pride evident in his every word. You flop back onto the bed, exhaustion deep in your bones, your body turned inside out, hurting in a way you have never known.
But it was all worth it.
What feels like only moments later, in your shattered, addled state, the doctor and nurses depart. Your husband perches on the bed next to you, his face a picture of wonderment. Holding not just one but two bundles of joy in the crooks of his arms. One girl, one boy—fraternal twins.
“My love, we have created the most beautiful creatures on all of this earth,” he attests partisanly, his voice profound with emotion, his eyes pinging from one swaddled face to the other as they sleep soundly.
You shoot him a watery but ironic smile. “I suppose, dear husband, that is what happens when you spend a whole night impregnating me. You succeed twice over.”
His brow raises pointedly, his tongue shooting out to pass over his bottom lip. “Are you suggesting next time around, wife, we keep going for three days straight? So that I may have a brood of eight by the time we are done?” Deploying his bedroom voice that he knows full well makes your knees weak.
“Do not say such things in front of the children!” you chide, swatting his knee where it touches your thigh. “And no, I am not carrying six of your progeny at once; that is simply preposterous!”
“Four?” he petitions with a wink.
You roll your eyes affectionately, settling back into the mound of pillows. “A maximum of two at a time is my final offer, Benedict Bridgerton,” you respond drolly.
“Entirely reasonable,” he chuckles contentedly, dropping a kiss onto each of their foreheads before handing both to you so delicately, as if they are the most precious bundles in the world.
Which to you both, they are.
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💐🌷spread the love to the people you’re glad you’ve found in this corner of the internet 💐
Aww, I'm so glad we met on here, you are the sweetest and are so talented!!!
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Then they tell her about the gold and...you decide, lol😂
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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Love it!!!
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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JJ (with a giant smirk): Hey, baby, I don't remember knocking you up, but if your game, I am.
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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I was thinking the same thing!! Barry would be out for blood!
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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That makes sense!! He also would probably want to avoid the courts since his income isn't exactly legal, lol
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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For sure!!!! He would always pay child support on time (but he probably wouldn't want it known publicly that he had a kid just in case the wrong people found out) and he would make sure his house was spotless so the baby didn't accidentally get into something it shouldn't
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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Oo, this is such a cool idea! I feel like Barry wouldn't be the worst to have as your baby daddy, lol, he'd probably love the baby to pieces, lol
I got another OBX fic idea😭😂!
I’m debating if I want this to be a Y/n fic or an OC but the basic premise is that she’s Barry’s ex and also his baby mama!
Barry’s pretty responsible about child support, and I’m figuring out how I want the plot line to go but maybe she still sometimes stops by his place-talks shit about Luke Maybank to Luke Maybank’s face whenever she sees him-and maybe Rafe thinks she’s attractive, etc.
Tagging some moots for your opinions but anyone is welcome to share their thoughts! 😊 If I forgot some moots, I’m sorry!🥺
~
Tags: @blueicequeen19 @fiction-is-life @lady-of-doves @starfxkr @redhead1180 @thatsthewaythechrissycrumbles @pankowperfection @rafeinterlude
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Aww, thank you!!! That just made my day! 💗 I always love your fics as well!!
Work Study…and Love for 4,5,8 and 9 pls!😊
Hey!!! Ugh, I'm so happy you love this fic cause it is one of my favorites too!! Thank you for asking about it!!
So for 4, I think my favorite line of dialogue is when Topper starts being his charming/annoying self with “Well if I did so well, can I have a kiss?”
For 5, I can't remember exactly what part was hardest to write.. I think maybe describing their work tasks without going into too much detail while also not being vague was pretty hard.
For 8, a loooooooot of this fic was inspired by my actual experience working as a work-study in my university's library. All of the tasks I described were stuff I did, and I was super trusted so I would often be able to sit at the front desk unsupervised and I trained quite a few people, lol. Even the character of Lynn is based off of my own supervisor who was so nice and always hyped me up 😂😊
For 9, I'm not sure about totally alternate versions but I think I did toss around the idea of Cynthia actually coming into the library and that's how the reader finds out how horrible she is, but I didn't feel like it was super important to the story to do that. I think I also wanted them to have their first kiss in the book stacks bit it ended up being the elevator once I got writing.
Thanks again for asking, this was so much fun!!!
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