#Mayfair Residence

[beetlesbones]

[wellourgerdes]

1 hotel mayfair

1 Hotel Mayfair London The 1 Hotel Mayfair is located in London’s top hotel sector on the crossroads of Piccadilly and Berkeley Street. The place is masterclass in sophisticated, stylish and clean sustainability in the heart of London just a few steps from London’s famous Green Park. Walking distance from Green Park, Regent Street, and the glitz of the West End. In order to reduce its…

[jmunneytumbler]

Jmunney’s 2023 Emmy Wish List

Jmunney’s 2023 Emmy Wish List

CREDIT: Screenshots I’ve been making an Emmy wishlist for most of my adult TV-viewing life. Every year, the task keeps getting more and more Herculean with the proliferation of an endless supply of new shows. I could easily name about a hundred people who deserve an Emmy in 2023, but instead, I’ve decided to do the opposite this year by just picking One Wish Per Category. These aren’t necessarily…

[bonvoyageservices]

Looking for grand residences by Marriott London? Bon Voyage Services offers you Grand Residences by Marriott, which is often described by owners and guests. For more information, call us today at +9715515266880.

[bosbas]

Chapter 1: I said, "dancin' is a dangerous game"

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader WC: 2.5k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, lowkey why do i ship daphne and y/n....

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

May 13, 1812 - You were in Hyde Park less than ten minutes before you saw Daphne Bridgerton's figure out of the corner of your eye. Delighted that she'd joined you earlier than expected, you waved her over.

"Hello, Daph," you greeted cheerfully, scooting over so your best friend could sit beside you on the bench. "I didn't think I'd see you for a few hours, given how many gentlemen asked you to dance last night. Did none of them call?"

Daphne groaned, a scowl set deep on her face, as she took a piece of bread from your basket and broke it into chunks to feed the ducks.

"Don't remind me. Most of them called, actually," she responded. "If only Anthony had let me have three seconds with them I might have been able to discern whether or not I was actually interested. He barged into the sunroom and promptly kicked everyone out. There was not a single suitor left in the room by the time he'd finished!"

You snorted. "Ah, so the overbearing eldest brother is once again to blame."

"Isn't he always?" she responded, too annoyed to match the lightness in your tone.

You just smiled to yourself and fed the ducks silently, knowing Daphne well enough to hide your smile from her, given that she was more than likely fuming at Anthony's constant meddling. You knew he meant well, but he was known to go a bit overboard at times. Well, most times. Especially when it came to Daphne's courtships.

"Anthony's the biggest rake in Mayfair, anyway. I don't know exactly what moral high ground he thinks he's standing on but it's certainly not as sturdy as he assumes," continued Daphne, still upset over that morning's happenings.

"Is it really that bad, Daph?" you said in an attempt to console her. "At least you're not getting hordes of unpleasant men at your doorstep every day. And you know the kinds of men that frequent the ton aren't always the kind you'd want to spend your afternoons with."

"I'm not getting any men at my doorstep! That's the problem!" exclaimed Daphne, exasperated. "I know you might not share the same desires as me, but I would eventually like to get married and have a family."

"I want to find a husband, too," you insisted, your tone bordering on defensive. "I just don't particularly feel bothered to look for one during my first season."

Daphne sobered immediately, coming out of her annoyance toward her brother as she could sense you were upset. "I didn't mean it like that, I swear," she insisted, placing a hand on your shoulder and looking into your eyes. "It was just-"

"I understand," you smiled at her, placing your hand over hers. "I just don't have the same urgency as you do, on account of my father having absolutely no stake in my marital status. No stake in anything about me at all, actually."

It would be a sad sentiment if you weren't used to it. You were an only child, and your mother had died after getting ill when you were only five years old. Your father, of course, was quite busy with the land he managed, and thus most of your upbringing had just been you and your governess. And the Bridgertons, of course.

You had met Daphne when she was eight and you were seven, and the two of you had gotten along splendidly since then. Since you had no real family of your own, bar your absent father, you spent copious amounts of time at the Bridgerton residence at Daphne's insistence. You now found yourself to be a semi-permanent fixture in their house, feeling just as home there as you did at your father's home.

This proximity to the Bridgertons had made you intimately familiar with Anthony's overprotective demeanor. Ever since you and Daphne were young, Anthony had gone out of his way to make sure that his siblings were cared for. Sometimes that included you, too. But unfortunately, he could take it too far sometimes.

"Did you like anyone last night, at least? Your dress was quite magnificent and I know I'm not the only one who noticed," you winked at Daphne.

She hummed thoughtfully. "I don't entirely know. I don't think one dance is enough to know whether I truly like someone," she responded, slumping down on the bench.

"Especially not when Anthony cuts the dance short halfway through," you laughed, recalling the eldest Bridgerton's attempts to thwart Daphne's search for a husband.

But your comment did nothing to lighten the mood. Instead, it seemed to make your friend even more irritated.

"It's my second year out in society! I still don't have a husband. Not even close to it, apparently," continued Daphne, aggressively tossing bits of bread into the pond.

"Well, you have to marry eventually. Anthony can't keep you away from every man for the rest of your life!" you argued.

But this did little to quell Daphne's annoyance. "He's certainly trying," she muttered.

"We can ship him off to the West Indies for the season," you joked. "Surely he won't be able to interrupt your suitors from halfway across the globe."

Suddenly, Daphne raised her eyebrows, looking at you with a devious smile.

"I was only joking! We can't actually ship him away," you laughed. "Besides, how would the ladies of the ton ever survive without the most desirable bachelor who is always just out of reach?"

Daphne snorted, amused at your dig at Anthony. "No, no, we don't have to ship him away," she said. "But you are correct in saying that I need time away from him to fully explore potential matches."

You hummed in agreement, imagining how much easier life would be for Daphne if her older brother simply... let her be. "Is he going on a hunting trip soon?" you said hopefully.

Your best friend shook her head, still smiling at you like she was plotting something.

"What is it?" you pressed, laughing at her expression.

"Can I ask you a favor?" she said, an expectant look in her eyes.

“Yes, I’ll kill Anthony for you. I’ve only been waiting for you to ask,” you joked.

“No,” Daphne laughed. “I’m serious.”

“Go on then,” you nodded.

“Could you ask him to dance at tomorrow’s ball?”

“Me? Ask him? Are you out of your mind?” you sputtered. You had never danced with Anthony at a ball, and you couldn't fathom the first time you did so being after you were the one to ask him.

“Y/N, please. I can’t just rely on forlorn glances across the ballroom to secure suitors. I need to actually speak with them, and I won’t be able to if Anthony keeps... hovering.”

Granted, hovering was a very generous word for what Anthony was really doing. But still, you looked at her, uncertainty in your eyes. You weren’t particularly keen on asking Anthony to dance, knowing he was famously opposed to marriage at this point in his life. Yes, you had grown up around him, but that didn’t mean he was interested in you at all, and you didn’t want to face that rejection if you could avoid it.

“Don’t give me that look! I promise it’ll work,” cried Daphne, desperate. “Just tell him you feel like dancing but don’t want to give another man the wrong impression since it’s only your first season and you’re still biding your time. Most of which is true.”

She made a good point. You didn’t want the hordes of men that seemed to flock to Daphne just yet. And would one dance really hurt that much?

---

The music in the ballroom pleasantly surrounded you as you stood next to Violet. Daphne had left to dance with Lord Wilson, a bachelor of very distinguished background who seemed to be hanging onto every word your best friend said.

Just as you turned to Violet to comment on how well-suited the pair looked, Anthony stormed over to where you were standing.

"It's unbelievable that she's even giving him the time of day," he said lowly, looking wholly unimpressed by the dance happening a few feet in front of him.

You could feel Anthony growing tense beside you as the seconds ticked by, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. Three seconds of his sister speaking with a man and he was ready to explode already? He was worse than you thought.

You saw Daphne lean back as she laughed at something the gentleman said, and you knew you had to act fast before Anthony intervened.

“Oh, the music is wonderful tonight! Anthony, would you care for a dance?”

He tore his gaze away from his sister and looked at you, perplexed.

“Are you asking me to dance?”

“I believe I am, Anthony,” you said.

He scoffed, not quite believing you. “That is not very proper of you, Lady L/N.”

“And you are a great authority on propriety, I presume?" you said, a playful edge to your voice. "Given your… adventures as a rake, surely you have a better idea of what is proper than I do.”

Anthony choked at your bold choice of words, not used to people calling him out so publicly. “Y/N! Why do you want to dance with me then, if I'm such a rake?”

You rolled your eyes. “I just enjoy the music and want to dance. And I don’t want to give any other men the wrong impression,” you recited exactly what Daphne had told you to say.

He nodded reluctantly and took your hand. “Very well. One dance, then. I don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression of me either.”

This was the last time you ever did anything for Daphne. God, how difficult could one man be?

But all of your annoyance faded away once he placed his hand on your hip and spun you around. This was rather nice, you found yourself thinking. You hadn't properly danced at a ball yet, and you couldn't help but think that you'd missed out on a rather enjoyable activity.

The dance was going along quite smoothly, and you and Anthony seemed to be melting together, no longer two individuals but instead moving more like one entity. You were especially enjoying whenever his grip shifted slightly and his hand ran across the small of your back. To be truthful, you were simply having fun.

That is until you felt Anthony shifting you across the dance floor so you could get nearer to Daphne and the gentleman she was dancing with. Feeling Anthony's shoulders tense underneath your gingerly placed hands, you looked up at him.

Looking into his eyes, you raised your eyebrows. "She's fine, you know. You don't have to watch over her every second of every ball."

Anthony rolled his eyes, dismissing your comment. "Of course I do. She's my sister! I have to take care of her. I would never forgive myself if anything happened to her or if she ended up betrothed to a dolt."

"Anthony," you softened your tone. "It's quite alright. It's not all up to you. You've got an entire family to keep her safe. And me, of course."

You could feel his muscles relax under your hands. "Thank you," he breathed out. "I know all of that to be true. I just worry about her. And about you! But luckily there aren't many suitors of yours to scare off."

"Oh," you said, your voice squeakier than you intended. "Thank you?" you questioned. You weren't quite sure how to take his comment.

"No!" he rushed out, immediately realizing what his words sounded like. "I didn't mean it like that. Daphne had just mentioned that you're not as interested in finding someone right now since it's your first season. And I hadn't really seen you dance with anyone at one of these balls before. And-"

"It's no trouble, Anthony," you smiled, giggling at how flustered he'd gotten. "I appreciate the concern nonetheless."

He shook his head, still not believing that he'd been so rude toward you. As much as you were a familiar face around his home, he couldn't quite tease you the way he did Daphne or any of his other sisters, and he was dreadfully embarrassed that he had made you upset, even if just for a moment.

"If you ever want to dance again, just come to me, understood?" he said, his voice turning serious. "I don't need another one of you to worry about."

You could barely contain your laughter as the music came to an end. "Yes, Anthony," you said dutifully, smiling at how silly he was being.

Looking over at Daphne, you were pleased to see that everything had gone to plan and she'd had the chance to talk to Lord Wilson the entire time you'd been with her brother. It was a relief that she'd finally gotten a normal courting experience.

Before Anthony could reach her and wrench her away from her suitor, Daphne rushed over to you, grabbing your arm excitedly.

"Shall we take a turn about the ballroom?" she suggested, leaving you no room to protest as she led you away from her mother and brother.

You laughed at her excitement, glad that your best friend was finally enjoying herself.

"Thank you so much, Y/N, truly," she gushed, squeezing your arm affectionately. "That was absolutely incredible. It's the longest time I've been able to spend with a potential match without Anthony hanging over my shoulder."

"I'm happy to do it," you said amusedly. "He was that lovely, then?"

"Oh, absolutely not," she shook her head. "Lord Wilson was dreadfully boring. But at least now I know! And I don't have to pine over him or wonder what he would be like. I know for certain I'm not interested, and I can focus on finding my true love match."

"That's wonderful, Daph," you laughed. You truly held so much affection for her. It was endearing to see her so excited over spending time with a man she didn't even like.

Suddenly, Daphne slowed her pace. Turning you around, she held both of your hands and took a deep breath. "Yes, it was. Which is why I must ask you to dance with Anthony tomorrow night as well."

"What do you mean? Ask him to dance again? I thought this was only for tonight," you sounded unconvinced. Asking her brother to dance one time had already been enough of a hassle, but having to pretend to need him to dance with you once more was looking like an insurmountable challenge.

"Please, Y/N," she begged. "It's the only way I'll find a husband that isn't someone like Nigel Berbrooke," she added, whispering the last part.

It was true, Anthony seemed to have impossibly high standards that only the most unpleasant bachelor in Mayfair seemed to be able to meet. If you could do anything to protect Daphne from that unpleasant fate, you would do it.

"I suppose I could try tomorrow night. Though I can't promise he'll want to dance with me again. Anthony seemed quite reluctant tonight," you conceded.

"Nonsense," said Daphne, rolling her eyes. "Anthony loves you dearly, I can't imagine he'd ever turn you down."

"Whatever you say," you responded, unconvinced but unwilling to dampen your best friend's chipper mood. Besides, you had a wonderful time with Anthony tonight. How could another dance possibly go wrong?

—

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[strangererotica]

EXPLICIT CONTENT | MINORS DNI

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

PART ONE

After accidentally causing Reader’s very first orgasm, Anthony does what any gentleman would do: he teaches her how to make it happen again, anytime she likes… ♥️

In keeping with Bridgerton’s vibe, Reader is a young woman with zero sexual knowledge or experience. I imagine she’s around nineteen or twenty years old and while she has had suitors, none of them have inspired in her the feelings Lord Bridgerton evokes…

Lord Anthony Bridgerton. Six days have passed since your carriage ride together, and instead of making peace with yourself over your embarrassing display in front of him, you now have even more questions than answers.

Firstly, what was that overwhelming rush of feelings you experienced in his carriage? And secondly, why had Lord Bridgerton reacted so calmly while watching you carry on as you did? And thirdly, had he never really intended to call on you, even though he said he would?

In truth, Anthony Bridgerton had been preoccupied with thoughts of you since delivering you home last week. He’d originally intended to call on you, but felt that approaching the subject of what he could obviously tell was your very first orgasm would be impossible while in the company of others. So, he’d conceived an admittedly unconventional plan to discuss the matter with you, in private…

Anthony knew you had questions, and as a gentleman, he didn’t want to leave you confused or even worse, feeling as if you’d somehow done something wrong. Anthony was well aware of the fact that for young ladies, sexual education was limited to none. With all the privileges of a male upbringing, Anthony had acquired plenty of sexual knowledge and experience without the attached shame and social stigma a woman would receive if expressing herself in such a manner…

The sun had gone down over Mayfair, a crisp Autumn evening settling in as its residents did the same. You’d retired to your room for the night, ready to sleep and hopefully dream of carriage rides with Anthony Bridgerton, and without embarrassment. Being so close to Anthony had felt exhilarating, at first, until that terrible-wonderful-beautiful-terrifying surge of energy had taken hold of you. If only you could repeat the events of that afternoon, the ones that involved Anthony’s recusing you, his chivalry, his act of kindness…his touching you…without the resulting fit that had seized hold of your body. A realization washed over you. Could what you experienced have somehow been caused by Lord Bridgerton? He had observed the extent of your outrageous display with complete ease. It was a bit irritating, in fact, that he seemed to understand exactly what was happening to you, while you remained completely overwhelmed and in the dark.

You gazed at the ceiling, frustrated tears burning your eyes. What would happen if Anthony told anyone of your frightful episode? You could only assume he had not spoken word of it to anyone, because surely Lady Whistledown would have mentioned it in her latest scandal sheet. Clearly, Anthony Bridgerton was an honorable man. You chided yourself for thinking anything less than a gentleman of him moments ago.

Suddenly, a shadow at your window caught your eye. Usually, birds didn’t perch on your windowsill this late in the day…and what else could have caused the shadow, besides a bird? You closed your eyes, preparing for sleep. A dull thudding sound came from the direction of your window, lurching your body forward in bed and forcing your eyes open wide.

Anthony Bridgerton was crouched outside your window. Surely, you must be dreaming. And what a scandalous dream to be having, you thought to yourself with a giggle. It was only when Anthony tapped his knuckles against the glass that you realized, much to your horror, that you were most definitely not dreaming.

He smiled and pointed to the latch on your side of the glass, making a turning motion with his hand. You left your bed for the window, quickly grabbing a robe to cover your nightgown, which did little to conceal the shape of your breasts.

You unlatched the window and lifted it only so far as to hear each other speak. “Lord Bridgerton!” you whispered harshly. “Are you mad??”

Anthony’s smile faded only slightly, his head tilted in thought. “Possibly,” he conceded. “But nevertheless, I had to speak with you.”

“And why now?” you asked. “At the most inappropriate time? In the most inappropriate way-??”

“-Because,” Anthony interrupted. “The nature of my intended conversation with you demands privacy.” He sighed, glancing down at the latch again. “Now, are you going to allow me inside?” Anthony asked. “Or would you prefer I catch my death of cold? Or perhaps-.” He peered over his shoulder at the ground below. “-Falling to my death would better suit your-.”

“-Oh for heaven’s sake!” you snapped, throwing open the window, to Anthony’s delight. “Hurry in before someone sees you…”

He swung his legs over the windowsill, nodding a polite “thank you,” while keeping his steps as quiet as possible. Your eyes swept over the yard, trying to make out the face of anyone who might have witnessed the Viscount Bridgerton of all men climbing through your bedroom window. Thankfully, the grounds looked bare; you sighed gratefully, content with remaining free of scandal. For now, at least.

You turned to find Anthony seated on your bed, a sight that nearly gave you a heart attack. He saw the horrified look on your face, and immediately stood up- “Forgive me,” he said. “I did not wish to offend you. I find it…” He paused. “…Difficult, to know where you and I stand…to judge the nature of our relationship, after-.” Anthony swallowed, uncharacteristically at a loss for words.

“-After my frightful display in the carriage?” you offered, and he nodded.

“Yes,” Anthony replied. “Which, to be completely transparent, is exactly the reason I called on you tonight-privately,” he emphasized. “Because the nature of such a conversation is surely too sensitive as to be eavesdropped by others, do you not agree?”

Your eyebrows lifted, confusion written all over your face along with a blush of shame spreading over your cheeks. “People fall ill regularly, Lord Bridgerton,” you said, trying to calm the embarrassment making your voice tremble. “I fail to see how my…spell, though humiliating, as you seem eager to remind me, should warrant such a clandestine meeting as this...”

Anthony took a step closer; you flinched backward. “I do not wish to harm you,” he insisted. “Nor do I mean to imply wrongdoing of any kind on your part. If anything, it is I who acted thoughtlessly in not calling on you sooner, for not explaining that your-.” He smiled softly. “-Spell, or, falling ill as you call it, was not humiliating at all…”

You realized, for the first time in six days, that the feeling had returned. It stirred between your thighs like a dangerous, delicious secret. And while you couldn’t understand how, you were somehow sure that Anthony knew of your secret, too.

He took another step closer, and this time, you didn’t move backward. “Are you familiar with…” Anthony chose his words carefully. “…With the ways a woman’s body experiences pleasure?”

Your eyes widened; Anthony realized he may need to proceed with even more caution than he’d anticipated.

“When you…feel good,” he tried, watching your eyes for any sign of understanding. “That warmth you experience…inside your body…”

Anthony took another small step closer; you swallowed, feeling as if all the air had suddenly left the room. “…When you…touch yourself…”

He saw the lack of understanding in your eyes, and asked “you do touch yourself…don’t you?”

You shook your head, bewildered by Anthony’s lack of actual explaining. “Of course I touch myself, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied matter-of-factly; he seemed surprised by your blunt response. “I touch myself every day.”

“I’m glad to hear-.”

“-Everyone touches themselves every day-.”

He tipped his head in thought. “Well, it’s doubtful everyone-.”

“-In fact, I fail to see how that explains anything about my behavior last week, Lord Bridgerton,” you finished. Anthony looked slightly confused, and asked “when you touch yourself…do you not feel the way you felt in the carriage?”

You shook your head, embarrassment washing over you again. “No,” you replied. “I’ve never felt anything comparable to that while touching myself.”

Anthony considered his next question, and his reasons for asking it, carefully. “How do you touch yourself?” he asked, worrying immediately that he’d gone a step too far. Everything about this conversation was becoming more inappropriate by the second, but at least you seemed to have some experience in pleasuring yourself. It was a good start, Anthony reasoned.

You didn’t seem offended by his question in the slightest. “I touch myself each time I pull on my gloves, for example,” you explained, still not at all sure how this was relevant. “I brush my hair, which means I must touch myself to do so…” You continued to describe absolutely innocent everyday examples of ways in which you touched yourself, none of them pertaining to masturbation, as Anthony soon became aware.

He held up a hand to stop you, a gentle yet frustrated smile on his face. “While all of the examples you’ve given do indeed describe touching oneself,” Anthony replied, his smile fading. “They do not describe the manner of touching that would arouse feelings like the ones you experienced during your…spell, in my carriage.”

You stared at him blankly, completely confused. “How else would one touch themselves, my lord?” you asked. Anthony’s chest dipped as he exhaled, deeply. He hadn’t stopped thinking of the sounds you made in his carriage the week prior…of how you looked seized with pleasure, your pretty features contorted in ecstasy…the way your scent had remained in his carriage, how he’d used it to get himself off on the way back from your home…

Anthony knew he was treading on very dangerous ground. But despite his better judgement, he found the words he should not say passing through his lips, and his fingers drawing closer to touch your cheek: “Perhaps I might teach you, then?”

Your skin warmed beneath Anthony’s touch, his fingertip tracing your cheek and resting on your lips. It was all too much, the racing of your heart, the intensity of his gaze holding yours like no man had before. The beautiful ache between your legs was now pulsing, throbbing in time with your heartbeat.

“May I teach you?” Anthony asked again, softly. His thumb stroked the curve of your chin; your legs felt weak, unable to hold you. “Yes…yes,” you replied, every inch of you trembling. “Please…”

Anthony’s lips curved in a slight grin, but his behavior retained the calm sensibility of an instructor preparing to teach. He guided you toward your bed, gently imploring you to “lie back.” You followed Anthony’s direction, taking his hand as it was offered. His lips parted when your robe slipped off your shoulders, revealing the curve of your breasts, your peaked nipples lifting the fabric. You moved to cover yourself, but Anthony stopped you. “Do not be embarrassed,” he murmured, his voice low, sincere. “Your body is beautiful, (Y/N). It should not be a source of shame…not here. Not now.”

Anthony brought your hand to his lips, pressing your index finger to them in a pretend ‘shh.’ “No secrets,” he whispered. You whimpered softly, unconsciously pressing your thighs together, attempting to soothe the tension between them. Anthony noticed your discomfort…every part of him noticed. His cock twitched at the sound of your arousal, at the way your scent lifted through the thin fabric of your gown and straight to his nose. He watched your body tense as you tried to fend off the inevitable; you were going to come. And Anthony was going to watch it happen, again.

He loosened the cravat at his neck, the heat in the room increasing by the minute. He led your hand over your breasts, watching you gasp as your nipples perked to meet your palm. “That’s a good girl,” Anthony praised, his voice slightly strained. “Do you see the way your body responds?” He exhaled slowly, his cock pressing uncomfortably against the restraint of his trousers. “Now,” Anthony continued. “Bring your hand lower, like so…”

He guided your touch downward, dusting along your belly. You watched with widening eyes as your fingers moved closer to the space that throbbed more intensely with every breath you took. Anthony swallowed, feeling his resolve weaken. He had to keep himself under control; you were fragile, completely unaware of just how vulnerable a position you truly were in. A less honorable man than he would likely take advantage of an innocent young woman in such a state, having given him her full trust, legs spread and waiting for his command. Anthony clenched his jaw and resolved to continue your lesson, his desires forced into check.

He paused your hand just above the tender space you’d never touched, that no one had touched before. A space that in some ways belonged to Anthony already, as only he seemed able to arouse these desires in you from the start. How fitting, then, that he should be the one to guide your hand in exploring yourself, to the place that swelled and wept only for him…

Anthony’s erection was becoming distracting. He wondered if you’d notice, and ask about it. Thankfully, you seemed too consumed by the sensations affecting your own body to notice anything around you, for which Anthony was grateful. If you did ask to see it…looking all wide-eyed and innocent at his cock…asking why it stood like that, why he looked so intense-did it hurt…? What is it for…? Can you show me, my lord…? Anthony knew he’d crumble like a pastry and end up doing god only knows what…

He pressed his wrist against it, a subtle attempt at soothing away some of the pain denying himself was causing. Instinctively, you’d pulled your hand (and Anthony’s covering it) further between your legs, till your touch was hovering just above your clit. Anthony’s eyes were hooded, his lips parted and dry as he watched you. “Touch yourself, (Y/N),” he murmured, his voice husky, wavering. “Allow your body to tell you what she needs…”

Anthony gently lowered both his hand and yours, his fingertips fanning over your clit. You drew in a sharp breath, your hips bucking, the muscles in your stomach tensing as you lurched forward. “Shh…shh,” Anthony comforted you. “It almost hurts, does it not? A feeling so intense, it frightens you…like bringing your fingers too close to a flame…”

He lightly circled his fingertips over your clit again, pulling a helpless whine from your throat. Anthony’s cock twitched against his wrist, begging for relief. Sweat beaded along his hairline, his brow tense with concentration as he forced himself to maintain control.

“Focus,” he said, both to himself and you. “Lean into the feeling, frightening though it is…” Anthony used your hand to massage yourself. Your heels dug into the bed in response. “Let go of all the tension you carry,” Anthony whispered, his hand working over you. “Give in to the feeling….give in to...”

Anthony’s words failed as all his senses were consumed by the image, the scent, the sound, of you coming undone beneath his hand. You whimpered and wept, soft sobs of pleasure that spilled from your lips as your body convulsed. Your feet kicked wildly, making a mess of the bedding, sheets tossed this way and that as you flailed. In your beautiful struggle, your nightgown was thrown above your knees, putting your pretty, pouty lips on full display for Anthony. The scent of you was abundant, no longer inhibited by the cover of your gown. Anthony abandoned his pretense of modesty, aggressively rubbing the outline of his cock through his trousers while his other hand continued clutching yours.

He pulled away suddenly, a labored groan roaring up from his chest. You were just beginning to come down, your mind awash with the fuzzy, delirious bliss of orgasm. Anthony climaxed beside you, grunting through his release, filling the front of his trousers with semen. He turned to find you lying with your arms outstretched, your chest rising and falling and glistening with sweat. Your legs were still spread wide, your embarrassment long-abandoned, a big, satisfied smile lighting your eyes. Your smile faded just slightly when you noticed the look of exhaustion on Anthony’s face.

“My lord?” you said, concerned. “Are you alright?”

Anthony chuckled, nodding his assurance that he was well. “I assure you,” he replied, kneeling to sit at your bedside. “I am more than alright…”

He took your hand in his once again, feeling the slickness of your arousal on your fingertips.

“Did you…” you began, unsure how to ask. “…Did you do what I did, just now?”

Anthony’s brow lifted, his smile widening. “In fact, I did,” he said, to which you replied, in happy surprise, “I did not know that men could do it, also!”

Anthony threw his head back laughing, before quickly admonishing himself for making too much noise. He leaned closer and gave your forehead a chaste kiss, before making his way to your window.

“My lord?” you whispered. Anthony paused at the windowsill.

“Yes, (Y/N)?”

“If there’s anything else you might wish to teach me,” you said. “You’ll find my window open, from now on.” A mischievous grin turned the corners of your lips. “Remember that, will you?”

Anthony smiled, his mind already teeming with a thousand filthy things he wanted to show you. “I will remember,” he said, and exited through your window. ♥️

[farfallasims]

Mayfair Residences, Henford 🌷

Now available for download HERE.

[jude-duarte-wannabe]

masterlist

requests; open / closed playlist requests; open / closed [send me a driver and prompt and i'll make a relationship playlist]

fluff [F] smut [S] smau [SMAU] angst [A] personal favorites [<3]

a shit tone of bakery requests

meet the characters; marceline 'marcy' bennett - broadway bug [charles leclerc x broadway actress girlfriend reader] phoebe windsor - hamilton - billion dollar baby [lewis hamilton x pop singer wife reader] viviana maria martinez sainz - since we were eighteen [carlos sainz jr x childhood best friend wife reader] saylor natalini - stop in the name of love [lando norris x law student girlfriend reader] kaia mayfair - die for [oscar piastri x alt singer highschool sweetheart girlfriend reader] manon anais garnier - the scent of love [arthur leclerc x baker girlfriend reader]

formula one;

charles leclerc; my own little devil; your devious little plan to make charles jealous and regret leaving you high and dry the previous night goes wrong [S]

boyfriend material; just a look at what boyfriend charles and my original character marceline will be like in my smau series; the broadway bug [SMAU + F] lewis hamilton; watch you sleep; your husband wakes you late at night after being gone for months racing, he needs you to help him sleep [S + F]

irresistible; working from home while trying to hide the fact that your married and pregnant is hard when your husband can't keep is hands to himself [S]

husband material; just a look at what husband lewis and my original character phoebe will be like in my smau series; billion dollar baby [SMAU + F]

a big old teddy bear; your husband is nothing but a big old cuddly teddy bear, *cough raccoon cough* when he's sick [F] lando norris; ~nothing yet~ oscar piastri; ~nothing yet~ carlos sainz; make me water; your older boyfriend wants to try something new [S]

we can't be friends; after one too many drinks down the hatch, you decided to shoot your shot with your best friend who you've wanted for far too long [S + F]

childhood sweetheart material; just a look at what childhood best friend to husband carlos and my original character viviana martinez will be like in my smau series; since we were eighteen [SMAU + F] [<3]

resident evil;

leon kennedy; ~nothing yet~

carlos oliveria; ~nothing yet~

chris redfield; ~nothing yet~

bridgerton;

anthony bridgerton; ~nothing yet~

benedict bridgerton; ~nothing yet~

colin bridgerton; ~nothing yet~

criminal minds;

spencer reid; ~nothing yet~

aaron hotchner; ~nothing yet~

luke alvez; would you be so kind; after a long case, the last thing you wanted was to watch the love of your life take home another girl that wasn't you [F]

a court of thorns and roses;

azriel; beautiful angel; azriel needs his sweet girl but he's exhausted and you want to help him but you've never been on top ever. [S + F]

game of thrones;

jaime lannister; ~nothing yet~

titans;

dick grayson; ~nothing yet~

[startwelve]

Perfect wife… or mistress?

Pairing: Anthony Bridgertonxreader/Bedenict Bridgertonxreader Summary: You go to have tea at your friend Eloise's house, and her older brothers seem to have some interest in you. Warnings: None Note:It may be that I do two other parts, but they are two alternatives. I mean, one where you end up with Anthony and another with Benedict, if you liked how this fic turned out.

You swore you were going to pass out any minute.

An unbearable heat had settled over the City of London. And you, like all high society ladies, had splendid clothes to envy. These days you hated them.

You would quickly fan your fan of your family's distinctive color, trying not to let the sweat show on your face, as you looked out at the streets of Mayfair, sitting in your carriage. It seemed to take you forever to reach the residence of your friend Eloise Bridgerton.

You met when you were introduced into society at Queen Charlotte's ball. Your mother, as her only firstborn, was anxious to introduce you to every gentleman who came to speak to you. At first, you didn't mind, but there came a time when you felt suffocated, the corset was tighter than usual, and the sleeves of your dress itched. You needed air. When you finished dancing with a gentleman with an important title you did not know, you said goodbye and almost ran out, pretending not to.

Not far from you, a young woman was sitting on a bench, staring into the void. You recognized her, Eloise Bridgerton, sister of Viscount Anthony Bridgerton and Benedict Bridgerton, you knew because you had heard your cousins talking about them, eager for one of them to be her husband.

You noticed that she looked lonely, maybe, like you, overwhelmed. Carefully, hoping not to disturb her, you approached her and greeted her with a small "hello," not knowing that it would turn into a long conversation about hating this dance and the society in which you lived, the beginning of a friendship.

And there you were, going to her residence for tea.

Inside Aubrey Hall, in the living room to be exact, they sat on the sofa, Benedict drawing on a sheet of paper and Anthony reading the newspaper. Eloise was sitting next to a table with desserts and a tea set, writing in her notebook, eagerly awaiting your arrival.

Benedict frowned at her and said with a smile, "Are you expecting a suitor, Sister?"

Eloise gave him her characteristic smile and closed her notebook.

"No, I am expecting Lady Hartford," she said.

"Who is Lady Hartford?"

"My new friend I met at Queen Charlotte's ball."

"Did she introduce herself at the ball?" asked Anthony suddenly.

Benedict laughed.

Eloise was about to answer him, but was interrupted when the servant announced your arrival. Those in the room rose, Anthony quicker. They entered and Eloise walked excitedly up to them.

Anthony and Benedict couldn't take their eyes off you. You were dazzling, exquisite, beautiful….

Anthony thought that with your beauty, you would make the perfect wife.

Benedict thought that with your beauty you would be the perfect muse.

You bowed slightly as Eloise introduced them, bringing them out of their trance. When you saw them, you agreed with your cousins. These men were attractive and a good choice for husbands. But you erased those thoughts when you remembered the reason you were invited, and that one of their sisters was your new friend.

"Eloise, your house is beautiful," you complimented.

"Thank you. Now come," Eloise said as she walked over to the table of desserts and tea.

"The heat is unbearable," you complained. You grabbed the cup, took a sip and asked, "Did any suitors visit you today?"

"Fortunately not you?"

"Yes, five," you replied, laughing as you remembered what one of them told you. "One told my mother that my hips were perfect for having heirs."

You and Eloise laughed out loud. Anthony looked up and looked at you slyly, wanting to check if the comment was true.

"Are you thinking of accepting any proposals?" asked Eloise.

"Yes. I am a woman and the only daughter of a widowed mother. It is my duty to accept any proposal." This statement did not please Eloise, "Of course, I have certain requirements for my future husband."

"Which ones?"

You began to list them… many, drawing the attention of two brothers.

Could it be that you would be the perfect wife… or mistress?

[iistoleyawaffle]

Regine and her bestie Judith drinking smoothies and going for a jog around Britechester. While wearing their new activewear by:

@caio-cc and @joliebean

Selfie in front of Judith’s home❤️

Mayfair Residence by @farfallasims

[mielpetite]

Night Bright as Day, Vol. 3 - 5

Come on Crowley, you can’t feel things like that outside where you’re vulnerable, go back in! 😅

Note: About the addresses- I’m sure they’re terribly wrong but I had to put something on the envelope. The 19 I stole from the address of the place that inspired the bookshop though I don’t remember seeing a street number in the show. And Duke Street is a place with a lot of posh residences in Mayfair. 🤷

If you want to see advance pages of this story, please consider joining my Patreon. For just $2 a month you get access to oodles of lovingly crafted, tasty Good Omens content… if you’re into that sort of thing, give it a try!

[rococo4thesims]

✨ Hastings House ✨

The Duke & Duchess of Hasting's Mayfair residence. The ballroom as seen in season 1 episode 8 was by far my favorite part of this build. I love how the checkered dance floor contrasts with the beautiful stonework! This took a bit longer than expected as I also created the custom portrait of the Duke & Duchess.  

The frame used in creating the Duke And Duchess’ portrait is based from @anachrosims Baroque Era Portraits!

Enjoy!

✨ Download HERE ✨ Download The Duke & Duchess of Hastings HERE ✨

Become a Patreon HERE ✨

Early access, Public release September 7th

[profmagix]

"In the wake of your leave"

Jophiel was lying down on the couch in the antique shop, he would have known three days had passed since Azazel left for Heaven had he been counting.

He frankly didn't really know why he kept returning, or why he kept staying at the shop after such big heartbreak happened in this very location; but he's a creature of habit, and the comfort it brings him outweighs the pain so he rests here. If you were to ask him why he was here, he probably would just answer that this place feels warmer, it gets more sun and is more cozy than his Mayfair apartment.

The truth was, even after its return to his possession, he still feels empty there. He had moved most of the plants inside of Azazel's living space, he had even somehow found a cardigan that would match his aesthetics hung on a door he could see (now that he thinks about it, was that a subtle gift that Azazel left for him? he feels suddenly way sadder) and has assimilated this space as his 'rest' space. Even though he doesn't really *do* rest anymore, he could only get himself to get some shut eye around Azazel, which Jophiel finds a little embarrassing but that's the only way he truly felt safe anywhere, really.

The sofa didn't feel Heavenly at all, nor did it feel especially Demonic... It just was a plain human annoyance that got created to annoy him in this specific moment.

The moment being: three days after Azazel left for Heaven.

Jophiel should probably start calling him his angelic name once more, right? But he can't really bring himself to say it, because right when he is about to remember it: it escapes him. Azazel is so ingrained into his psyche, as himself, as an angelic being; that him not being *Azazel* feels foreign...

(That or it's just the Metatron somehow impairing his praying ability to his old (is old the right word here?) friend.)

As Jophiel is to continue wallowing on the humanly annoying couch, he hears a bell chime. He is getting up quickly, his legs splay out a little as he's about to chase the customer off, but all he sees is starkly white envelope laid before the shop's doors.

He looked around outside but all he found were people just walking down the street, not really paying attention to him.

The letter, aside from being a white one could only describe as retina damaging, there was nothing else on it nor specifically adressed to him or the bookshop... Jophiel was hesitant for a second, maybe he should leave it for the other resident of the shop to collect; but he felt this urge to open it, as if it was for him.

Fortunetely (or unfortunately), it was for him. He tried not to let any teardrops drop onto the picture inside the envelope.

Of course he recognised it, he knew what this was. And he hated it.

After Azazel left him to go to Heaven, he shouldn't have the right to contact Jophiel, especially with such an intense moment.

He hated it. He hated that he did it, he hated that he was ok with pointing a gun at him, he hated that with one word he was able to erase most of his stress and follow through with a promise. The trick played spectacularly, but that didn't erase the nerves he had, and then later with the whole kerfuffle with the zombies and the tricks and the dinner.... He hated everything about that night.

(He hated that he had to lie to himself about the feelings he had.)

Jophiel kept relatively calm, he took the picture out and turned it in his hand, nothing abnormal about it aside from the wear and tear from all these years being in Azazel's possession. (He hated that he found it endearing.)

He recalled the words of that night, of trusting one and letting them do their work.

He wishes he could go up to Heaven and just scream at Azazel to finally let Jophiel love him without remorse, to trust that he was going to be protected like always.

He wishes he could go up to Heaven and just scream at Azazel to finally let Jophiel love him without remorse, to trust that he was going to be protected like always. That Jophiel was willing to fall from Grace if it meant that their love didn't need to be hidden. Either way, he'd still be on his own side; but somehow Azazel still saw Jophiel as still part of Heaven, as an angelic angel that never did wrong against anyone.

He wishes Azazel would have trusted him with the decision to love and cherish him, but all that happened was Azazel going back to Heaven and he hated it.

He hated he didn't get to say I love you, or he didn't get to say anything (do anything) that mattered enough for Azazel to stay.

Jophiel hates Heaven, Jophiel wishes he could hate Azazel (he never will, anyway).

A little writing prompt and drawing I made inspired by @asleepyy 's Oopsie Omens AU and this week's prompt challange in the OO discord too!! Had a lot of fun doing both of these :)

[drconstellation]

Obligatory Reminders and Crossing the Lines

Have you been wondering why Shax tries to do a mail delivery to Crowley as he escorts the shop keepers to safety from Aziraphale's Eldritch Ball? It seems a pretty random thing to do at that moment.

SHAX: I brought your mail. CROWLEY: Why? SHAX: It stacks up by the front door. CROWLEY: Keep it for now, not a good time.

It's not the first time Shax has tried to give Crowley his mail. We first see her hand a pile over on the park bench in S2E1, while they have an introductory spy vs. spy catch up, in St James Park.

SHAX: I brought your mail. CROWLEY: Anything interesting? SHAX: Bills, mostly. I don't understand why they won't just deliver them to your car. CROWLEY: Send the bills to Hell's finance office. SHAX: I did. They say they can't accept my signature as your replacement.

Bills, mostly. That aren't being accepted by Hell's finance office, unless Crowley signs them. And they expect to find him in the official residence of Hell's ambassador plenipotentiary to this corner of Earth, in Mayfair.

Next, we see Crowley redefining all that mail as "junk" and discarding it.

uh huh. Lets ignore the conveniently placed disposal unit for the moment...

We need to stop and define what those "bills" actually are. Because they are not actually the financial type of bills. Well, they could be. But this is the GOmens AU, so they have a second meaning as well. Paying your bills is also meeting your duties and obligations to another party, and this is something Crowley is refusing to do right now.

I don't think its as simple as Hell being short staffed and they just haven't got around to doing the change over (I know I suggested the latter recently, sorry) and that's why they aren't recognizing Shax's signature. It's that Hell actually hasn't let Crowley go - he is still "on the books," so to speak, despite all that has been said and done since the Nope-ocalypse. He might call himself a "former demon," and he might call Hell his "former side," but that is definitely NOT how Hell sees it, despite the fact they aren't harassing him or giving him tasks to do.

Actually, that should be haven't been harassing him, because since Gabriel "disappeared," they have been back on his case. The mail is a warning sign, but Lord Beelzebub's summons really should have given you the chills.

Crowley protests that they had a "generalized understanding" that he would be left alone, but Beelzebub declares that "we don't."

Ah. So all is not as it appears. They are just playing nice because they want something (Gabriel) and in reality Crowley's position in relation to Hell really is fragile. Yet outwardly he seems more worried about Aziraphale.

It goes downhill from here. Shax begins to stalk him.

This image of Shax is just delish. The sharp "V" of her her decolletage reminds us of a stork's bill, her avatar animal, and it's stabbing down at the snake on her belt. She might be seeking the Frog Prince who escaped Heaven but she's also got a certain snake in her sights.

Shax can't can't cross the threshold of the bookshop without an invitation from Aziraphale. This plays into the old belief that supernatural creatures such as vampires, demons and faeries can only enter a house if invited in. We also see this extended to the Bentley, once "ownership" is extended to the angel, but the door of the bookshop is the important border here for now.

Then have this threat of war being declared:

War on Aziraphale, not Crowley, as they still consider Crowley to be on Hell's side. They don't see it the way Crowley does as Us and Them, to Shax there is still only Heaven and Hell.

So we come back to the second round of mail delivery:

Crowley is about to escort the human shopkeepers to safety and Shax confronts Crowley right on the threshold with his duties and obligations. He really doesn't want to have that conversation right now, not here and not with Shax. As far as he is concerned, he has no obligations to Hell any more, and he's not taking any notice of their demands in any form, either, so Shax may as well just get out of the way and take the mail with them.

And with that, Crowley crosses the threshold, leading the humans out.

At this point in the story you might be asking what's the big deal about that? Crowley has been going in and out over that doorstep several times a day lately, and has crossed it hundreds of times over the last couple of centuries since the bookshop was built. It's not a barrier to him.

The significance of this boundary line has been highlighted to us in S2. We have Shax actually telling us that she knows she can't cross the "threshold" in S2E3, then she asks again in S2E5 where the boundary line is just before Mr Brown is hauled off into the demon Legion. But its even more than that.

On one level its the line that Crowley has drawn for himself. He's not going back to Hell if he can at all help it, and he's quite resolute about that. It's his side or no one's side, from there on in. He reinforces that when talking to Aziraphale in the Final Fifteen.

On another level, I'm wondering if we could consider this a step on the eponymous Hero's Journey? Crossing the Threshold is one of the early stages of the journey where the hero crosses into danger or the unknown. We're shown things aren't normal outside by the mist and green light. Then he diverts off unexpectedly to Heaven with Muriel. Just throwing it out there to see if its worth exploring a bit further. I'd say we've only got the early stages of the journey in S2, with the remainder to come in S3.

[bonvoyageservices]

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[simp-ly-writes]

The Silent Duke (pt. 1.5)

─────── · · A Smosh Bridgerton/Historical AU

Pairing: Duke!Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: The newest writings from Lady Whistledown has been published detailing this seasons most eligible of bachelors and bachelorettes.

─ · · TAGS: bridgerton alternative universe, historical au, old-fashioned society, talks of marriage, hopeless-romantic reader, angst, fluff, and drama

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 471 | PART TWO

─ · · A/N: are we excited? 👀 (because I am! ✨)

─────── · ·

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has occurred to me that it has been quite some time since my last update but fear not- your writer is back to report on the tons gossip.

A new season is upon us, will romance bloom within the Queens gardens once more? As last season we welcomed a most charming of couples, Penelope and Colin Bridgeton following his eldest brother the Viscount Anthony's and Viscountess Kates romance the year before. Will we be seeing Mister Benedict finally find love? Or will another family take to the spotlight?

Well, this author can already report to you that that is the case for a certain Duke has decided that this season he is to return back to the ton. After much time away studying amongst scholars and artists alike, the Duke Agnew has taken residence back in our fair city of Mayfair and has already caused quite the stir for hopeful mama's. Yet not anyone has gained the chance to make the Duke's acquaintance even when hosting their first event to start the season that it makes this author question how our Queen has faired with this information.

But even the most introverted and closed-door personalities do not stray from my pen as I've learned a great deal about the Duke Agnew. He has interests in literature, a patron of the arts. He houses a vast number of animals and collection of trinkets brought from his travels abroad and is said to have been spotted playing pall-mall and polo with his closet friend Mister Tran; a globe-trotter and seasoned sailor turned trades businessman who has also taken to the floor this season in the looks for a wife.

Yet that look seems to have already narrowed towards a certain Miss (name) as the potential couple has been seen dancing at balls and promoting around high park together. Could these most eligible of singles have already made up their hearts and minds? Or could there be another to split these two apart?

Well the ton most definitely thinks so as Miss (name) has been declared this seasons Diamond of the First Water and various mama's and papa's are ready to fight tooth and nail for their sons to have a chance with the charming and most beautiful (name).

But this author has been informed that apparently the ever intelligent and elegant (name) has shown little interest in finding a husband this season- so what is to think of their relationship with Mister Tran?

A most scandalous situation we find ourselves observing as Miss (name)'s block is filled down and around the corner with suitors and gifts these past afternoons. Whatever will come from this?

Well fear not, dear reader for this author will let you know even before the first mouth of gossip can open.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

─────── · ·