In The Frosty Air | A Jjk Drabble

in the frosty air | a jjk drabble

summary: two weeks ago you and your roommate slept together. which would be fine, if you knew you both felt the same about each other. but you don’t. and now it’s christmas, and jungkook is still gorgeous and gentle and wonderful and here, and and you don’t really know what to do about that.

{college!au, roommates!au}

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: this is just an angst train tbh, but it has a happy ending! word count: 1.6k warnings: mentions of past alcohol consumption, this centers around everyone’s favorite capitalist holiday, being sad in the wintertime a/n: OHHHHHHHHHH *internet breaks* anyway yeah i’m back baby!!! here’s a little drabble to celebrate because i can’t help myself when it comes to jungkook. love me or we both go down coming soon!

“This Christmas is pretty fucking lame, isn’t it?”

Keep reading

Home Short: Wine

In which Jungkook comes home rather intoxicated, and very, very emotionally all over the place.

Tags/warnings: jungkook is drunk, oops, he's also a bit horny on main watch out, also emotional and insecure kook, a little angst? Fluffy tho

As always, Languages are marked as Korean | English

You know just by the way he's giggling after having to hold himef against the side of the hallway to get his shoes off, that your boyfriend has definitely had enough to drink tonight. After a particularly great week, the band had decided to have a good dinner, and that apparently included something to drink as well. "Jungkook?" You ask, amused. "Why are you here? Didn't you say you'll stay at the dorms tonight?" You chuckle, as he looks at you, before he grins, walking over to hug you tightly. He sways you from side to side until you can't help but laugh. "Jungkook-"

"Noo, I'm baby, not Jungkook!" He complains, keeping you in his arms as he continues to sway you in a rather clumsy rhythm. "I.. miss you. So I came home." He says, before pulling back, hands on your shoulders as he worriedly scans your face. "Why? Do you not want me home? Am I bothering you?" He asks, concern evident on his face.

You smile, shaking your head as you pull him down to place a kiss onto his lips. What was intended to just be a peck however was instantly deepened by him, hands eagerly holding onto you as he closes his eyes, kisses turning sensual. And while you really enjoyed the attention, the moment his tongue asked for entrance, you pulled apart. "Jungkook-"

"What? Is something wrong?" He asks, confused.

"You're drunk, let's go to bed." You chuckle, gently pulling on his arm as he follows you clumsily into the bedroom where he instantly begins to whine.

"But Baby-" he complains as you throw back the blankets before walking to open his dresser, pulling out something for him to sleep in concerning clothes. "-Im hard now, you can't leave me like this!" He accuses, before his face changes completely. He suddenly grows quiet, something that makes you worry, as you walk over to him, handing him the clothes you picked.

"Baby?" You ask, and he just changes clothes clumsily before he crawls into bed, sitting there before you join him at his side. "What's wrong?" You ask, and he just shrugs.

His emotions are all over the place due to the alcohol in his blood it seems, as he needs a second to get his thoughts into order. "Do I make you uncomfortable sometimes?" He asks. "I don't like myself sometimes. Do you think I'm attractive?" He worriedly rambles, not quite looking at you.

"You'd Of never make me uncomfortable, and course I think you're attractive. Where is this coming from?" You ask softly, hand on his back.

"Even when I'm all sweaty and disgusting? I sweat a lot, I'm sorry. I never apologized for it and I think I should." He mumbles, the wine in his system clearly having an effect on his mood. "Is it that? Because I sweat? Do you not enjoy having sex with me because of that? Or maybe I'm boring, or, I don't know.. " He wonders, and you chuckle as you pull him to lay down, crawling into his arms as you hold him tightly.

"Stop, you're perfect just the way you are." You reassure him. "I don't mind you sweating, and I very much enjoy our intimacy, so don't worry." You say, while he nods, albeit unconvinced it seems. "But you also once said that you'd never want to do it while drunk, because you don't want to forget any time. So I'm just looking out for you, I promise." You tell him, and he nods before pulling you towards him.

"Your korean.. very good." He praises, slowly growing tired as he yawns. "My English.. still bad." He says.

"Your English is fine." You reassure him, a hand running through his hair as your eyes fight to Stay open.

"No." He says. "You do, so much. Learn Korean, do.. uh.." he searches for words. "House. Like, cleaning, cooking. Always home. And me? Never home. I leave you lonely." He says, words growing slurry as he begins to become sleepy. "I'm sorry." He apologized, and you hum out a reply,as he closes his eyes.

"I love you." You whisper, sure he can't hear you as you close your eyes.

Just to grin when he mumbles out, "I love you more."

kiss me (Anthony Bridgerton)

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Lady [y/n]

+18 (sexual content, please do not read it if you are a minor)

summary: Lady [y/n] is promised to marry a French man, but she feels unprepared for her nuptial night.

notes: my first smut/sexual writing, so please be patient and leave a comment if you liked it! I'd really like to know!

words: +7.900

She shouldn’t be about to do what her heart desired — either way, there she was, grasping at her yellow and pink dress, stressing out her nerves with anxiety dripping from her face. Allowing one last glance around before coming into the Bridgerton mansion, [y/n] sighed, hoping one last deep breath would be enough to give her the right amount of courage she’d need.

The house was full, but not as full as it could be. In a corner next to the garden, sitting around a marble table filled with sweets and tea, Lady Bridgerton, Eloise, Anthony, Benedict, and Penelope could be found. That was more people than [y/n] meant to meet, but she supposed it could happen, being that the person she longed to talk to was a Bridgerton.

“Good afternoon, Lady Bridgerton, Lord Bridgerton,” [y/n] started to salute. “Benedict, Eloise and Penelope, pleased to see you all.”

They all smiled and replied, and Penelope dragged in closer against Eloise, offering the butler that accompanied [y/n] an empty space to place a chair. The visit couldn’t reckon whether she should be thankful for being placed closer to the person she wanted to talk to or not.

“What are you doing here today, dear?” asked Lady Bridgerton, with a motherly smile. Any other person in town asking that question would be considered rude, but since it was Violet, [y/n] had no thought of her being unmannered. “I thought you should be preparing for your wedding day.”

She should, by the way. Violet Bridgerton had a good point, but then what she was there to do could also be deemed as preparing for the ceremonial occasion.

“Or at least be preparing for tonight’s ball, huh?” added Penelope, noticing [y/n] had widened her eyes and seemed to be in a shocking state.

[y/n] smiled at the girl, what she supposed could be viewed as a “thank you”.

“I do have much preparing to do, for both occasions — that is correct.” She had no idea where she was going to end her sentence, “But I felt like stopping by to visit the family I love most in the world.”

Lady Bridgerton couldn’t help but tilt her head in a happy expression. She’d seen [y/n] grow up to be a beautiful lady, and in one day she’d be wed. Violet could only hope one day all of her children would’ve passed through the same process too.

“Lady [y/n] probably wants the girls’ opinions towards flowers and dresses,” suggested Benedict, speaking up. He couldn’t be farther from the truth, though. [y/n] wasn’t there for the girls, especially because Eloise was the only Bridgerton girl around, and she did not like wedding and party planning.

Lady [y/n] was there for Anthony Bridgerton.

For remarkably private and personal reasons.

“Oh, I suppose I could help as well,” said Lady Bridgeton, leaning in over the table. “I don’t suppose I’m overly out of fashion.”

“Oh, Lady Bridgerton!” exclaimed both girls that were not Bridgerton. Eloise just looked bored.

The men looked rather lost in the conversation, and they seemed to be looking for an excuse to get out of there the moment the ladies started discussing garments for that evening’s ball. Unfortunately for the men, a servant appeared with a plate filled with cookies, and so they had to wait a little longer to get out.

“So, Lady [y/n],” started saying Eloise, but [y/n] interrupted her.

“Please, call me [y/n] only,” she said, “I suppose we are very much family by now.”

Eloise smiled and rephrased: “[y/n], will your husband-to-be make an appearance tonight at the ball?”

Penelope stared at [y/n], curious, too.

No, he wouldn’t be coming along, because he was going to be merely able to arrive in London on the wedding day, more often than not just in time. None of the Bridgerton had met Lord Jean Blanc yet — and neither had Lady [y/n]. It was an arranged matrimony, a desire of a father that most longed for his only daughter not only to marry well but to marry a French gentleman, as it was his dying mother's last wish. The old lady had a thing for the French, and she had planned her granddaughter’s whole life based on her own conception. Even though [y/n] had no recollection of the old woman whatsoever, her father did everything in his power for his mother’s wish to come true.

Lady [y/n] had never objected to espousing Lord Blanc, and she was very happy to accept a destiny chosen to her instead of one she’d have to make on her own. That was until last night, when her dear mother told her what to expect for the wedding night. Oh, [y/n] was not expecting that!

She knew a simple version of what her mother had told her — she would lay in bed with her lovely husband and, magically, she supposed, she would give birth to a baby nine months later. It was that, in a way, but, Lord, there was so much more!

And her mother, deciding upon doing differently from what was done to her very self, let [y/n] on everything. All the details and positions, and she even added the father’s own personal preferences, supposing it could be the same with Lord Blanc.

Needless to say, [y/n] did not sleep. She laid awake, turning around in bed, trying not to visualize the sexual positions, trying not to feel the pain beforehand. However, her eyes could not help but wonder how Lord Blanc would look like and if he would be hairless like her father (her mother’s words).

[y/n] was in despair. She couldn’t do those things with Jean, poor man. A maid added, before breakfast upon her questions, that the French were much more sexual beings than the British, and [y/n] could not allow herself embarrassment or pain. But how could she manage that? She was going to marry a sex machine, and she was a bloody virgin!

She knew, however, a man of gossip, and that the chitchat surrounding him suggested he was as sexual as a French man. [y/n] had only one choice: talk to Anthony Bridgerton.

They were friends. They were very, very close. Yes, when [y/n] got older, being a Lady didn’t allow her much fun as being a Lord allowed Anthony, but they still talked and confabbed together almost every ball. She could ask him those things, right?

I mean, it wasn’t very “ladylike” but [y/n] supposed the whole wedding night talk was not ladylike at all, but she had already heard it. She was already in the conversation. The least she could do was ask lord Bridgerton a favour.

She tried to picture herself in front of a man she barely knew, naked with all her insecurities and stretch marks and having to do all the things her mother instructed her to do: open legs, spread arms and so on; but she just couldn’t. Saying it wasn't the same as showing — but not in any universe would she ask her mother to show her how to… make babies.

So her only option was to find a man she trusted as deeply as herself, but much more experienced in lovemaking than herself.

“…had no idea what he could possibly be wanting of me…”

“Oh, Eloise, dear! He was courting you!”

“He was not!”

Eloise Bridgerton’s shout was the phrase capable of bringing Lady [y/n] back to reality. Her courage was totally fading as time passed. She looked around, noticing Anthony and Benedict were already up and about to be gone. [y/n] didn’t even notice when they excused themselves.

“Hm, I’m sorry, girls, Lady Bridgerton, but I do need to ask Lord Bridgerton something if you…”

Mama Bridgerton interrupted with a smile and a wave of a hand.

“No worries, go. I noticed you're pensive,” she said. Lady [y/n] smiled, and with a bow, she walked away, jogging a little to catch up to Anthony.

The three left ladies exchanged glances, but Eloise was soon back talking about her last ball and the troublesome gentleman she had met. Pen and Violet kept a knowing look on their faces, as if they had tasted something in the air before anybody else.

“Benedict, huh, sorry, Lord Benedict,” [y/n] said, rambling and gasping for air, “where can I find your older brother?”

Benedict grimaced but thought it was better to simply answer than to make conversation by correcting her and allowing her to call him just by his given name.

“He’s in his office, [y/n],” he said. “Want me to escort you?”

“No need,” she replied. “I am quite certain I know this house as well as my own.”

They both tilted their heads forward, a silent goodbye, and [y/n] kept walking towards Lord Bridgerton’s office. She knew he wasn’t living at that residence anymore, allowing his younger siblings and mom privacy — or better said, allowing himself some peace and quiet.

She knocked twice on the door, afraid her emotions were talking the best of her.

“Come on in,” said a deep voice from inside.

Lady [y/n] gasped for air, a deep breath and walked in.

“[y/n], hello,” said Anthony, looking up from his papers. “What can I help you with? Is my brother gone, and you require a chaperone to walk you back home?” he asked, getting up promptly.

They were friends, but as much as a female and a male could be friends in British society, therefore it was very rare when [y/n] needed to talk to Anthony in such private places and situations.

“Oh, no, milord, nothing of that source,” she replied, grasping her dress. “I simply, huh…”

Anthony waited as she tried finding the right words.

“I wanted to ask you for a favour.”

He only kept staring.

“Yes, a favour,” she repeated, mostly to herself, as if approving of the word. “I suppose by now you are the only one that can help me. My marriage is just around the corner.”

“Tomorrow, I know,” he said, because he did, indeed, know. It was marked on his notebook, it was all his mother could talk about. And even Colin, one of his younger brothers, had written about it in his last letter. Anthony had no idea why his family wanted so desperately to remind him that his best friend was getting married tomorrow — he had already bought two excellent presents in the name of the family.

“Do you need me for something concerning your matrimony?” he asked, noticing [y/n] had grown silent.

“Precisely,” she nodded.

“Is it borrowing a carriage? We do have fine ones,” he said. “Or do you need me to walk you down the aisle? Isn’t your father supposed to?” Anthony really didn’t want her to ask for him to walk her down the aisle. He wouldn’t be able to. He’d very much rather borrow the carriage.

It wasn’t like it would hurt him to do so if asked. He liked [y/n] extremely, which could be exactly the issue. They had grown up together, he thought that was the problem. He wouldn’t want his sisters to be married to someone he didn’t know, so why would he like it when it was happening to his very best friend?

Except when he thought about marrying his sisters, he wanted to vomit and die. Now, when he thought about marrying [y/n], his heart would hurt so badly as if it wanted to jump out of his chest and go right in her hand — because it was where it belonged.

But he always knew [y/n] wouldn’t marry him, so why, why did it hurt?

“No, I don’t need you for any of those things, I’m afraid,” she said, bringing him back to the factual thing happening. She stared at his beautiful and oblivious eyes. She had to speak up. “Last night, my mama told me some things I should expect in my marriage…”

Anthony swallowed hard.

“… especially on my wedding night. I didn’t know — I don’t know — what to do about it, Anthony,” [y/n] stepped closer to him.

The viscount was finding it very difficult to breathe.

“I suppose a lady such as myself and a lord such as you should not be discussing what I’m about to say, but I… I have no one else, and I will not allow myself to walk in my nuptial night knowing nothing of what is about to happen.”

“Lady [y/n], are you… what are you asking of me?” Anthony managed to ask, gulping. He wasn’t always formal, and he didn’t call her lady when they were alone, but he just needed to put up some walls between them. Even if they were invisible because [y/n] just kept coming closer.

“I don’t want Lorde Jean Blanc to be the first man I lay in bed with. I want it to be you,” she said, all in one breath.

She grasped her dress again, and lowered her eyes to his hands, so she could not visualize what she predicted would be a disappointment on Anthony’s face. How could she? No lady would ask a gentleman to bed her. Oh, god, not ask. She had begged.

“I want it to be someone I know, and like, and trust. Because I can’t bear the idea of allowing my body for use of a French man I barely know and having to just sit still because I have no idea of what he is going to do!”

Anthony Bridgerton desperately wished he had been sitting before listening to Lady [y/n]’s declaration. Not of love. Of necessity. She needed him.

He supposed she didn’t understand what she was asking, but he did it for her. No lady walks in and promptly asks a man to bed her, not unless she sees it can be her last opportunity to do so. And even then, she must desperately desire the required man, otherwise, she wouldn’t do it.

Anthony knew quite a bit about women and their first times. He generally wasn’t up for it — the tenderness and the passion, the waiting — it all scared him very much, but there was nothing [y/n] could ask him with her hearty eyes that he wouldn’t say yes.

But how could he say yes now? How could he make love with the woman of his heart and then walk away to see her marrying someone else?

Anthony reached for her chin and leaned it up, so he could stare her dead in the eyes. She tried ducking once again, but he didn’t allow it.

“[y/n], have you ever even kissed a man before?”

She denied it with her head. “I haven’t met Lord Blanc in person yet, and I’ve always thought that being him the one I’m going to marry, it would be unfair to any other man.”

Anthony nodded.

He then held her chin tightly, firmly, and with his other hand, he grasped her waist, bringing her closer. It was simply natural to do what he did next.

His lips encountered hers, gently, almost like a singular touch of a gloved hand, just allowing Lady [y/n] the space she needed in case she wanted to press her hands to his chest and push him away. She ended up putting her hands there, but not to move him away — she just wanted to be firm, press herself against Anthony and not force him away. He was much taller than she was, which gave her a certain instability in such feminine heels.

[y/n] never expected a first kiss to be so welcoming.

Anthony took advantage of the girl’s leaning towards him and took her by the neck, bringing her closer and closer and making her belong to him with a soft opening of his mouth and an exploration with his tongue. He entered her calmly, allowing her to savour the new sensation, and then he devoured her, tongue and lips, and tightened his grip on her arms, clutching her waist. He was marking her as his, for he knew, or at least assumed, that she would walk away altogether after that.

Neither of them had noticed time passing, minutes felt like seconds, and without [y/n] observation, she was leaned against the bookshelf Viscountess Bridgerton kept full of new books.

That was enough to light her up.

“Huh, Anthony…” she whispered, not noticing her voice would be different after minutes of kissing. “Should we be doing it here? In your mother’s home?”

Her words confused Anthony, and he was not up to letting go of kissing her neck. “Doing what?”

“Deflowering me,” she said, nonchalantly.

Anthony immediately stopped. His hands were still on her skirt, keeping one of her knees up and open for his touches, while his head, bent into the crook of her neck, found a way to face her. The word choice scared the hell out of him.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? Should I not have asked?” she did not keep her questions to herself. “Were you in complete control while kissing me?”

He gulped.

“That was more than just kissing.” And he had, in fact, lost control back there, but he was not about to admit it.

“What would you have called it?”

“We canoodled with each other,” he said. “And I recall some social parcels of London calling it ‘make out’ but it seems unfit.”

“Why?” she asked, lowering her knee and adjusting her skirt.

“Because I didn’t make you. I destroyed you.”

She was positive he was right. What she didn’t know was that she had destroyed him too.

He ran his fingers through his hair, waiting for her to disappear, regretful and resentful towards him, but she did none of the sorts.

“Do you have a mirror here?”

“What?”

“A mirror. A looking glass. Do you have it?”

Anthony held in the urge to smile. “No, I suppose not here.”

She pressed her lips together as if thinking what she could do. To save herself? Anthony thought, but did not ask. He so desperately wanted to ravish her right there and then. Maybe even deflower her, as she put it, but then he would need a safer space than his office in his mother’s residence.

“Well, then you’ll have to be my looking glass. Step closer,” she demanded while combing her hair with her fingers, trying to pin the left out parts.

“How’s that going to work?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anthony gulped, getting suddenly nervous.

“With my appearance,” she added, noticing his jitteriness.

“You have, hm… you have something on the corner of your mouth,” he said, nervously.

“Where?” she tried to clean it, presuming it was her makeup blurred, but Anthony’s expression appeared to be that she wasn’t cleaning it at all.

He decided to clean it himself upon her request.

Terrible idea.

“Hm, [y/n],” he uttered.

“Yes, Anthony.”

“Why me? Why ask me to…?” he wasn’t able to say the words. “Are you sure of this?” he asked lastly, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t want to hear her saying she didn’t prefer him much more than he was her only option. Or it could’ve been Benedict, but Anthony was very glad she picked him.

She seemed to think before answering. “I picked you because it was only natural. And I am certain of this because I cannot face my husband unaware of what he’ll do to me.”

Anthony shook his head, still helping her adjust her visual aspect.

“Besides, I heard the French dislike oblivious and non-sexual girls.”

That was enough for Anthony.

“Then why, honestly, why are you marrying him?” Marry me! he wanted to add.

She shrugged. “Because he’s there. He wants me. Father sends him paintings of me all the time, and he still wants to marry me after seeing how I am. I know paintings are not the same, but well, people here in London are seeing me for who I am, and they are still not picking me.”

“Perhaps because they know you are engaged?” suggested Anthony, because that was his very reason.

“That’s not it. If they wanted to be with me, they would’ve come forward. An arranged betrothal with a French lord wouldn’t have stopped someone who truly desired me.”

“And would you have said yes?”

She did not answer that. She did not know.

If any other lord had come forward and asked her to be his wife, would she have gone against her father’s wishes and done it? Would she have done it if Colin for example asked for her hand in marriage?

No.

Regardless, if Anthony had proposed…

Anthony disliked the silence that echoed after his question, so he decided upon a lighter tone when he spoke again. “I will teach you if that’s what you truly desire. I’ll bed you, and I’ll be patient, and I’ll show you what a man like, but also teach you what you can like.”

She looked at his eyes, expectantly.

“But only if you ask me, only if you assure me that it is what you want,” he said. “Please only ask for it, however, if you truly want it and won’t regret it.”

“I won’t regret it.”

Anthony and [y/n] exchanged a look. They knew they were doomed, even though they didn’t want to admit it.

“Tonight then. When everyone’s at the ball, say you don’t wish to go because your wedding is coming, and you want to rest. I’ll send a carriage for you as soon as your mother and father have left your house.”

[y/n] gulped, suddenly anxious for more of those kisses, for more canoodling, as he had put it.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said. “Thank you, Anthony.”

He closed his eyes tightly, mashing them as if he wished he hadn't heard her.

“Don't thank me.”

Anthony Bridgerton was waiting for the most surprising guest of his life.

It wasn’t every day he would receive a lady friend in his small but only his house, but this one was a very special lady.

Actually, that night, she was no lady at all.

Lady [y/n] had picked the most sensual of her dresses, the one she only had worn once before. That was because when she did, Anthony almost passed out seeing her in a crowded ball and wearing that red tight thing that put all her natural beauties in place and upfront for any man to stare at. In fact, he had made sure she would only dance with him and her father that night because he decided no one else was allowed that privilege.

She decided it was only fit to wear it once again, for this time it was her ultimate goal to provoke Anthony.

Hah! She had always pondered over it, but never allowed herself to think too much because Anthony was not the man in her future. He still wasn’t, but it felt natural to close her eyes towards her future just for one night and enjoy having Anthony, being Anthony’s.

He was waiting for her in his empty house (he had dismissed the servants), holding a glass of wine in each hand. When she arrived, he offered her one, knowing it would help her nervousness. It was supposed to be helping him too, but as a man used to alcohol, he would need something much stronger.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked, feeling unquiet. The dress was affecting Anthony, she noticed it, but that simply wasn’t enough for her enquiring mind, who wanted to know every step of the way.

“Slowly,” he answered, drinking more wine. “Think of me as your husband after the wedding. How would you let the scene play?”

Oh, he liked to see her imagining him as her husband. After all, it was part of his little plan. He wanted to bed her, to love her for the whole night as long as she could, so she would be addicted and too scared to risk loving another man that can never be the same as Anthony.

“Well, not slowly,” she said. “I’m not a very patient girl.”

Anthony let his brows go up.

“So show me. I’m here to learn, too.”

Drinking in a quick sip of all the left wine in her glass, [y/n] got up and walked towards Anthony, only to sit down over his lap. That was the boost of courage Anthony needed, the confirmation that she was there as much as he was.

“Kiss me.”

And he obeyed.

They didn’t start out calmly, as the first kiss had been. [y/n] didn’t allow Anthony to be slow or tender. She didn’t want affection. She would soon be a wife, she hoped the affection would come with time, from her true husband. At that moment, she was a lover, a concubine, slipping away in the dead of night to find her great, seductive love.

And how big and seductive it was!

She could feel all his power through her dress and his clothing because the position made it all so easy. It was almost like the perfect fit. Anthony bit his lip, knowing he could very well hurt her if he did the wrong thing.

As they kissed, Anthony allowed her hands to explore him, get to know him, and she was grateful for the opportunity. He seized the instant and concentrated on undoing the beautiful hairstyle she wore, pulling out the bobby pins carefully so as not to hurt her and positioning them beside their abandoned wine glasses. Anthony enjoyed being able to see her hair completely down and was delighted to see that it was still the same beauty as when they were children.

Anthony wished he had the gift of painting that his brother Benedict had, so he could paint her in the dim candlelight of his living room, with her hair down and her dress falling apart on his lap. The skirt lifted, allowing for more friction, and her full breasts were desperate to pop out. God, he would burn that dress that night, for he would never consent her to wear it in the presence of the damn French lord.

Why didn’t she claim to be his, and they put an end to this farce? It was evident from the way she writhed in pleasure as he played with the skin of her leg that she was his. She was Anthony’s and would never be anyone else’s. Both came from good-class families, and Anthony was a viscount! A much better position than the Baron, and he was in London, where [y/n] would remain with her family. So why didn’t she confess everything?

He would make her concede.

Grabbing her hips, he rose with her clutched to his chest, and carried her upstairs to his room. He would need a bed to convince her.

He sprawled her out on his bed, happy with the image he saw. If he allowed himself to daydream, she could be there because she was his wife, ring and all.

“Anthony, tell me what to do.”

The words were intoxicating.

“Let your breasts come out. Let me see them. Play with them,” please, he wanted to add, but chose not to say. She was the one who should be begging tonight, not him.

She did as she was asked, carefully lowering the neckline of her dress and showing her breasts. Anthony let his head fall to the side in pleasure as a wave of heat washed over him. He well remembered the day he’d realized that Lady [y/n] had grown breasts. He was pretty sure the day got written down somewhere in his teenage writings. And now, seeing them in their full beauty, with no clothes to separate them, drove him insane.

Leaping over her on the bed, he lay his hand over hers on her right breast and stared at her left for just half a second before biting into her pert nipple.

She felt a surge of pleasure and squirmed, kicking off her shoes with only the rubbing of the edge of the wooden bed. Anthony was golden when he heard the clatter of shoes falling to the floor.

“Are you enjoying it?”

She didn’t answer, just squirmed once more.

“I need you to say it, love.”

“I am enjoying it,” she never admitted how much ‘love’ had affected her, even more than the tender touch of his on her breasts.

“Good, I’m enjoying it too,” he said, moving from one breast to the other. “I love how full they are.”

She moaned something he was unable to understand.

“Use your words, love.”

She bit her bottom lip, meeting his gaze. “I like that my bosoms please you.”

He smirked and pulled her by the arms so that she sat on the bed. She sat up, confused, and he got to his feet. “I want you not to be tense. I’m going to take my clothes off.”

“Want me to take mine off too?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No, I’ll do it,” he said, holding his pants by the waist belt. He hadn’t worn a suit since [y/n]’s arrival, but he still had his vest over his shirt. “I want you to watch me.”

And watched him, she did, completely fascinated by the view.

She was stunned to discover muscle under all the tailored clothing Anthony was always wearing, but that wasn’t all that left her with her mouth hanging open. When his underclothing fell to the floor, Anthony allowed her to see his long, hard cock. [y/n] looked down, imagining and remembering what she had under her skirt.

Her mother had informed her that his and hers would be different, but she never imagined that his would be so…big. That would never fit.

“What is it, love?” he asked, kneeling in front of her, positioning his chin in her lap. His eyes showed concern, and he was right to feel that way, thought [y/n], after all, he should have known he had an anomaly between his legs.

“It’s big,” she whispered.

He smiled with pleasure, holding back a laugh. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s very big.”

He had to lower his face into her skirt, so she wouldn't see him laughing. Of course, her reaction was to be expected, being a virgin, but, God, what wouldn’t he give her, so she could repeat that in front of his brothers. Or rather, all of London.

“You can take it,” he said when his laughter vanished. He rose again and asked for her hand. “Get up, let me undress you.”

She did as asked, and he went to see her buttons on the back, one by one. She felt his fingers play with her soft skin, and she felt exposed but in a good way. [y/n] had presumed she would feel ashamed, but she felt alive and hot.

“Are all men like that? Is Lord Blanc going to be as big as yours?”

Anthony snorted, and he stopped being careful and just tore the dress away.

“No, Blanc’s cock is not half as big as mine,” he supposed she couldn’t understand, not yet, how that was a bad thing for Lord Blanc.

Before she could comprehend, her dress was on the floor, all torn apart, thanks to the Viscount little jealous fit. Later she’d worry how could she leave the house with a rubbish gown, but at that very second, she only felt hot and alive and desirable. The dress had worked its magic on Anthony.

She was desperate to cover some part of her, knowing her two hands were not enough to cover it all. At least, the candlelight is not as bright as it could be, she thought, holding her belly.

Anthony noticed the sudden blush, and hurried to grasp her hands and let her body completely open to his view. “Don’t be ashamed,” he whispered, closer to her ear, “you are so very beautiful. The most gorgeous miss I have ever seen.”

[y/n] couldn’t help but blush again.

How long had she waited to hear a man, a proper man of London society, to say that to her? To compliment her naked body even though it was evident she was just another wallflower?

And to have Anthony to do so, oh my! The most handsome of the British men — she was more than sure now, that she could stare at him defenseless, with all his glory.

He held her left hand and squeezed it a little.

“Are you still sure of this?” he hated himself for asking, for if she answered no, he would die right there and then. His member was in so much bloody pain, throbbing non-stop with desire.

She nodded. “Yes, Anthony. I do, very much, want it.”

Now more than ever, she thought.

She could sense he was smiling in the dim light. “Come,” he whispered, taking her to bed once again, this time slowly, as if scared she could break when naked.

She laid, spread, and he, positioned on top, started kissing her, lips and neck, and his hands wandered all over her body. Her breast felt hurtful with his touch, but it was a different kind of pain because it emanated to the centre of her very core, and when Anthony fingers found her entrance, she let out a soft moan.

The Viscount couldn’t help but smirk, and while one hand stayed there, playing around her core, the other went to her face, as he played with her hair.

“Describe how you’re feeling,” he demanded.

“I can’t,” she said between groans, “I don’t know how.”

“Just tell me, love,” he kept demanding, “when I do this,” he said as he let his tip of the finger play with the mouth of her arousal, “what do you feel?”

She bit her lip. “Anticipation.”

“How so?”

“It feels good, but it also feels like there is more.”

Anthony smirk widened. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, milord,” she nodded, feeling a little pleasure when he started using two fingers to wander around. “Sorry, I meant Anthony.”

He stopped his fingers. “Keep the milord. I like it,” he said, coolly.

It was her chance to smile. She reached for his hand at her entrance and pulled it forward, with more of a firm grip.

“I like it when you call me love, as well,” she let out, feeling a sudden wave of blush.

With the help of her hand, Anthony allowed himself to get in more deeply, to really feel her, and when he played with her clit, he felt like he could die in peace.

“You are so wet for me, my love,” he whispered, desperately to taste her. He knew it could be weird for a first time, though, so he only kept playing with her clitoris, wondering about her taste as she moaned loudly.

Thank God they were alone.

“I feel… I feel like…”

“Like bursting?” Anthony suggested, looking forward to facing her as he knew she was about to come.

He teased and slither, and she just kept trembling and moaning, until a sudden wave of absolute pleasure took over her, and [y/n] like she was at Paradise, the rise of relaxation stronger than she ever felt.

“Anthony, that was…”

“I know,” he said, before pulling his fingers and finally allowing himself some taste of her, even though it was not how he planned. He wanted to really taste her, core and everything, but the wetness on his finger would have to be enough.

He let her breath hard for a whole minute, while he just kept teasing and kissing her belly, shoulders and sucking her finger — he found it a very nice thing to do.

“Is it now you are going to… penetrate me?”

My God, gasped Anthony Bridgerton, shocked Lady [y/n] had said those words. “I guess you did learn to use your words,” he whispered, playfully.

She blushed. “Well, the finger thing felt very, very good, but I’m quite sure it isn’t the thing that gets me pregnant.”

Anthony rose from her belly to kiss her lips. “You do know quite a lot, huh.”

“I did my reser…” but [y/n] never finished her sentence, for she remembered the consequences of making love. “Am I going to be pregnant with your baby?”

Oh, Anthony liked that idea. He kissed her again, again.

“Probably not,” he replied after a while.

“That is not very sure.”

“Nothing ever is,” he said, smirking.

She nudged his arm. “Anthony!”

“You came to me, love, what do you want me to do?”

“Not get me pregnant,” she replied.

“I can’t make promises,” he said, letting his smirk fade away, “but I’ll try my best.”

She breathed out, relieved.

“But, anyway, you are getting married tomorrow so… no one would figure it out,” he added, only to mess with her.

“I don’t know how Lord Blanc is. What if he’s your opposite? How am I expected to explain?”

“By marrying me,” he answered before he could hold his tongue. Lady [y/n] froze at his touch. “Don’t worry,” he quickly added, “you are not going to be pregnant on your first try.”

Noticing her brows were down again, Anthony took the opportunity to kiss her body once again, and she came alive at full speed. He touched her core.

“You are ready,” he said, and with the help of his elbows, he got a little up on her, only to adjust himself over her entrance.

She bit her lip, expecting, waiting. She needed that. Not only that, but she was desperate to know how it would feel to have all of him inside her. And he wasn’t strong enough to wait any longer.

Holding his tip with one hand and massaging her entrance with another, he said: “This might hurt a bit. But I’ll give you time to get used to it.”

Anthony allowed his member to slither in her core, and waited so she could feel more comfortable.

She held her breath when she felt the tip of him enter, but managed to settle down when she breathed again. Anthony let some more of him into her, and she sighed.

“Does it hurt?”

“I just need… I want a moment,” she said.

“Wait,” then he thrust deeper into her, startling her. She widened her eyes and grabbed him in his forearms, feeling a slight discomfort, like the pressure of something breaking. “You better get used to it now that I’m all inside you.”

And inside her, he was, because she could feel him through her pussy, something hard, nudging her. He held on tight, waiting for her to adjust. Meanwhile, Anthony avoided looking her in the eye, as it would be too much for him, and he imagined if he could get her pregnant.

He had never dreamed of having as many children as his parents had, but there, with his cock at the centre of her, he decided it wouldn’t be all bad to have eight children. Perhaps ten.

“Can you move?” she asked, in a whisper.

It caught Anthony by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you move… it? I feel like it would be better if you moved,” she said, blushing for having to explain her wishes.

“Of course I can move, love,” he smiled, and started the movement.

He delicately and caressing moved his member inside her, but she quickly grasped his back, bringing him closer and whispered “faster”. That was his favourite word in the whole world, for all he wanted to do was to thrust and throb with velocity as his member required.

Feasting, his hip movements allowed Lady [y/n] some absolute pleasure, way better than the fingers and the waiting. She moved with him, trying to bring him closer every time he pulled away.

[y/n] was euphoric and Anthony was flaming, both so caught up in the moment they didn’t even notice when they got very close to coming. He kept charging and she grasped him tighter.

“I’m feeling it again,” she whispered between a moan.

Taking advantage of her state, Anthony kept thrusting, but he added his finger at the tip of her clit, just to make things easier for her. “Then come, my love” he demanded, for he was not able to hold himself much longer.

“Oh, my…” she whispered before moaning, feeling the last string that fixed her on reality getting cut.

Anthony exploded not much after, remembering to pull out. He did not want to, he so very deeply wanted to plant his seed on her, to mark her as his by a definitive mean, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. If she wanted to be with him, she should do it because it’s her heart’s desire, not because of her uterus.

He laid right next to her, and she didn’t hesitate before coming closer and nestling on his bare chest. They were both out of breath and wet; Anthony could feel a drop of sweat running down his forehead, and [y/n] could feel the molasses on her legs and belly. But they weren’t disgusted — quite the opposite. Anthony felt that if he held her any longer, he would regain the energy to do it all over again soon.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, applying pressure to the lady’s forearm.

“Different,” she said, surprising him with her choice of word. “I think I must have even changed my appearance. How am I?” she asked, turning to face him.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Magnificent,” he continued. “You are marvelous.”

She felt herself blush and buried her face in the Viscount’s chest.

“You can’t tell me these things,” she sighed. “You're going to spoil me.”

“So be it,” he replied, kissing her on the top of her head.

“Oh, Anthony,” she breathed, more regretfully this time, permitting herself to look at him. His eyes gleamed in the night, and she imagined hers did the same. “This was a mistake.”

Anthony froze beneath her. He was hearing the words he never wanted to hear, but she kept saying it, and he heard it all, for he wanted the explanation to be more than just denying his feelings.

“I believe… I don’t want to marry any French lord,” she proceeded. “I want… No, I can’t. But I don’t want Jean, that’s for sure, and now… I’m doomed. What a bad idea of mine to sleep with my best friend!”

Anthony felt the smile appearing on his face before he actually felt the pure happiness that came with her sentence. Did she realize she was making all his wishes come true?

“Then don’t marry him,” he whispered, kissing her cheek then her temple.

She stared at him, widening her eyes.

“Marry me, [y/n],” he whispered, closer to her ear. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave this room.”

She couldn’t help the tears coming down.

“I love you, Anthony,” she whispered back. Those were his favourite words, he gasped, correcting his early thought. “But my father…”

“He can’t do anything if we get to marry before he finds out.”

“Anthony! You are a Viscount! You need to get married properly!”

Anthony sat on the bed, bringing her up with him, and squeezed her.

“[y/n], I love you with my very heart and soul. If you say you love me too and wish to have me forever, there is no one, God or mortal, that is going to stop me from making you mine,” he said, nonchalantly, so confident in himself. “I have always desired you, but never as strongly as now, and if you tell me it’s Jean Blanc you wish to marry, I’ll step away. You’ll never see me again.”

“I don’t…”

“But if you say it’s me you want,” he kept going, ignoring her attempt of interruption, “then I am yours, [y/n]. And you are mine, and I’ll make you a Bridgerton by law, as I’m pretty sure you already are one by heart.”

She smiled, genuinely smiled, feeling she was the most beautiful of the human beings and the most enviable, for sure.

“I want you, Anthony Bridgerton, and I want you to make me Mrs. Anthony Bridgerton, for I’m sure to be the happiest of the ladies next to you,” she said, making him kiss her desperately.

They laid in bed again, caught up in kisses and canoodles.

“Now, what do we do?”

“Leave that to me,” said Anthony, before kissing her again.

Anthony’s plan worked.

Well, of course, it did. He had an infallible tactic, and the whole of London was cheering for him and [y/n] to eventually get married.

The morning after they had sex for the very first time — and second and third, for Anthony Bridgerton was exquisite to know he was going to marry his best friend — he went straight to his mother’s house. He left [y/n] at his.

“Mother, I might have impregnated Lady [y/n] [y/l/n].”

That was a very powerful and enough sentence on its own. Lady Bridgerton almost fainted, but recomposed herself, sparkling with joy, for she had planned to see those two together their entire lives.

She excused herself and went to [y/n]’s family home. It was Violet who arranged everything, in a lighter tone than Anthony ever could, even though he was right next to her when she spoke. [y/n]’s mother started jumping and clapping around, filled with happiness. [y/n]’s father was not even a bit happy, but after a long conversation, he realized there was nothing he could do but to give Anthony’s [y/n]’s hand in marriage.

And so, the French lord got excused to go back to his country before he even arrived in London, and the party planned to happen in the afternoon went on. But this time, it was Anthony the man at the altar.

[y/n] was so happy she couldn’t believe it, and she liked to have seen Anthony taking charge of making them official. When it was announced they were husband and wife, [y/n] jumped over Anthony to kiss him as a lady should never in the presence of her family and in a church, but she did not care, for she had just married her best friend and the love of her life.

“I love you, Anthony.”

“I love you too,” he replied as they sat together at the wedding reception.

“What happens now?” she asked, curious and anxious as she has ever been.

“I shall take care of you, as I always have, but this time I can burn all of your dresses that I don’t approve of, and I shall buy you new ones that will cover you whole, for I’m the only one that can see your wonders now,” he said, making her laugh.

“And I shall keep all of those uneducated ladies away from my Lord, forever,” she said, and he kissed her cheek, unable to hold in his touches.

“You hold that in for very long, huh?”

“Very long indeed,” she said, smirking, for she was not thinking about herself but about him.

“Do you remember what you asked me yesterday afternoon?”

It sure felt like an eternity ago, but she remembered.

“I want you to ask it again.”

She smiled.

“Anthony?” He looked at her eyes. “Kiss me.”

𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐬

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MDNI innocent!reader, a sprinkle of period typical misoginy and a dash of slut shaming <3 oral (fem receiving), crying, reader calls anthony “my lord”

a/n: here she is! plz be kind, writing this dialogue was painful and m’so very nervous about it ajksjsk

“and he uses… his tongue?”

daphne nods eagerly, her hand quickly bringing a napkin to her mouth, gently wiping away the crumbs leftover on her lips. “it feels quite…” her cheeks flush, “well, quite wonderful.”

if anyone was to walk by and see the pair of you, adorned in your pretty silk dresses sipping tea and indulging in strawberry shortcake, they’d never imagine the scandalous topic of your conversation. he licks me, she had said, whispering the words in a conspiratoy hush, between my legs. 

Keep reading

i swear the only thing ive been thinking about these days is kim namjoon. does that mean i’m in love?

Home short: Touch

In which Jungkook just feels bad about leaving you alone all the time, realizing that it's not all that common for people to be as understanding as you are- and while he realizes that, he also starts to fear loosing you, needing the comfort of your touch even while asleep, just to remind himself that you're still there.

Tags/warnings: comfort, fluff, bit of angst, kook just needs his girl no dirty thoughts just pure innocent love, partial Nudity, sensual touching?, it's not sexual tho, home couple being soft beans, kookers superior English skills, they honestly Check out cause he's tired cut him some slack

Jungkook is a rather physical person.

He shows his love in gentle touches and gestures rather than telling you outright over and over again. Actions speak louder than words someone might say, and its true when it comes to the singer himself; he enjoys the subtle things, like opening jars and bottles for you, getting you things from upper shelves, or helping you to move furniture or carry heavy grocery bags. He likes to help, loves to play his part in this dynamic you have, enjoys being needed.

He's also rather touchy, something you would've never thought he'd be.

Either sitting you on his thigh or lap, hiding your hand, or leaning against you; he always craves contact in some way. And for a long time, he held back a lot of his most personal urges in fear of being judged- it took time for him to really melt down to his very core and soul, to become as bold and honest as he was now. You're grateful for this trust every day.

"..hngg-" he grumbles, after having laid down behind you in bed for the night. His shower had been short, but he still smells nice and refreshed- having ditched his shirt to justly down in his underwear as he sometimes does. "Off." He mumbles against your skin, hands almost childishly pawing at the top you're wearing to bed. You simply giggle a bit before moving to take it off, before laying down again. His hands immediately run over the skin exposed, a satisfied sigh falling past his lips as he kisses sleepily against your shoulder and neck before settling.

He's had a bad day, you've felt it right when he came home. He'd talked about how he messed up some notes during recording today, how he couldn't get his voice to sound right, and how he probably stalled the progress of the new single now. He sometimes gets frustrated like this, and there's no need for you to answer him- he just needs to get it out you've learned, he just needs to say it out loud to someone once, and then he can move on from it, he once told you. You remember saying to him that that's good- that he should never ever feel as if he needs to hold these things back or bottle them up. You're glad he trusts you this much, after all.

"Better?" You ask, as he nods behind you, thumb moving gently back and forth over the soft flesh of your chest. He likes holding you like this, bare and without anything between you two. In moments like these, he doesn't have any ulterior motive you've come to learn; he just craves touch, just wants to be close. The first time it had happened had been when he'd had a particularly vivid nightmare of you leaving, disappearing out of sight before he could get to you. That night he'd asked to hold you, like this, and you'd let him.

How could you ever deny him?

"Soft." He mumbles out, as he runs his lips over the skin of your shoulder up to your neck where he settles, resting his head there before pulling you a bit closer. His legs move, entangling themselves with yours as he brings them closer too. "Mine." He hums out, and you nod.

"Yours." You say, and he smiles against your skin, his fingers now becoming still as he starts to move again. You get what he wants soon enough, turning a bit so he can lay down on your chest, something that he instantly does. He seems to search for a position for a second. "What is it?" You ask, as he moves around, before finally sighing out, arms snaking around your middle to hold you.

"Heart..uhm.. heartbeat. Yeah." He says, before his finger taps in the same tact as your heart for a moment- as if to show you. He loves sleeping like this, it makes him feel close, and comforted, and connected, and safe. "Love you." He drawls out. "Love you lot."

You smile too now, your hand now resting over his, before he takes it, intertwining your fingers to hold onto you during the night. "Love you too kook." You say, before fling asleep as well.