#talk bridgerton fanfiction

[chaneajoyyy]

Dear brilliant and stunning librarian, would you happen to have a list for:

Miguel O’Hara x black or poc reader

Simon Basset x black or poc reader

Please please please with a cherry on top if you have the time. 🙇🏾‍♀️

Oh thank you boo🥹. Hey love!!! I sure do!!!

MIGUEL O'HARA X BLACK OR POC READER

on the way, sunday mornings- @demiesworld

"idk if it’s weird but do you know that thing where you grab your boobs for comfort?? imagine doing that to miguel 😭😭", a change in place, "omgg sunshine reader and her baby bots are an epitome of cuteness 😤🥺 i bet she would refuse to call then any other name than baby bots and watch miguel slowly loosing a "battle" - he will end up calling them like that too 😭", "i feel like miguel def gives rly mind blowing orgasms but not on purpose tho??", "no one can tell me that miguel isn’t the biggest gentleman ever!! He will carry your bags, open doors and all that like his life depends on it (all of it obviously with his constant frown but deep inside he couldn’t be happier)", mornings, "oml https://www.tumblr.com/inkdrinkerworld/723831735977197568/i-feel-like-miguel-def-gives-rly-mind-blowing imagine him giving you head…", "miguel would actually be *so* gently while fingering you..omg", "ab riding with miguel makes me go feral. like r is being so needy, and he's just like “this is all you're getting”, "can i request grumpy miguel x sunshine reader where miguel is more grumpy than usual because a spider keeps hitting on reader, but they’re so oblivious to the flirting and miguel interprets the interaction as them flirting back, when they’re just being nice (if that makes sense, no worries if you don’t want to :) )", "what about grumpy!reader and grumpy!miguel, like sexual tension and staredowns and aaalmost kissing but not and WHEEWAWWWSEDR", "sunshine civilian!reader and grumpy!miguel's date getting interrupted by some other anomaly and him being all grumpy and annoyed while she's just like "it's fine! just don't get hurt !!" , "could you write a blurb where autistic!reader is having a non-verbal day and miguel stops peter b from asking her a lot of questions and stuff because she can't respond? thank you <33", "Miguel prompts you say?? could i request "just...come here." pretty pls and ty xxxx", "pretty pls could u do headcannons of when miguel is jealous LORD cant get enough of him 😔😔😔", "Miguel asking Peter B for love advice since he wants so badly to ask the reader out on a date but it's been so long since he got involved with someone that he just don't know what to do 😂🩷", "Hiiiii what do you think about Miguel x grumpy!reader? I see Miguel and sunshine reader quite a lot here and as a black cat/ fellow grump…I was curious~", "Miguel doesn't want anyone to know but he actually loves that Peter brings Mayday to the association. His heart melts every time she laughs and he honestly loves watching her powers develop.", "for miguel maybe number 1 from the gesture prompts?? possibly with autistic reader<3", "mon bébé!! would u ever consider writing more abt your harleyquinn!reader x miguel?? i loved itttt soooo🥺🥺 maybe one where he learns about her past relationship with the joker and how bad he treated her which makes him want to protect and love her even moreee (also it just makes him want to track down the goddamn clown and beat the fuck outta him) I LOVE LOVE LOVE UR WORKKKK", "fawn my love!! If it’s no bother, what do u think abt miguel being with a harleyquinn!fem!reader? i am dying to hear ur thots on that!b🤍🤍"- @inkdrinkerworld

multiple endings- @infernalodie

drip- @daydreamingsirens

SIMON BASSETT X BLACK OR POC READER

pleasing the duke series- @royallyprincesslilly

*IF ANYONE KNOW ANY MORE MIGUEL O'HARA AND SIMON BASSETT FICS PLEASE HIT MY LINE!!!!*

[underoosparkerr]

i don’t know who needs to hear this but it’s not an “x reader” if the reader has a name.

it’s not an “x reader” if the reader has a name.

it’s not an “x reader” if the reader has a name.

it’s not an “x reader” if the reader has a name.

it’s not an “x reader” if the reader has a-

ps: nicknames and last names not inc in this rant

[undiscoverable-words]

Late Night Talking

I. The Debut

Phoebe was not sure what she was going to tell Penelope. She sat in the carriage across from her mama and rubbed her sweating palms across her knees. It didn’t help. Her mind flooded with her father’s threats after she returned to London, disgraced. There was no accounting for what could have happened to her, and for his slack she was grateful, but it all still made her stomach turn. 

“You will do great, dear.” Her mother promised, giving an unconvincing smile. 

A young woman’s debut was one of the most important moments of her life, as it helped shape and determine the debutante’s future. But after everything that occurred during her year away, Phoebe felt lucky to get a debut at all. She was sure her father would disgrace her and forfeit his title and estates to a distant nephew or cousin, and yet he allowed her debut. Calling Cecil generous was rare among their circle, everyone knew the way he truly behaved, but in this moment Phoebe would describe her father as generous. 

Phoebe mirrored her mother’s weak smile and clenched her fists in her lap as she gazed outside at the trees going past on their way to the palace. There was plenty to dread about the afternoon, and her buzzing brain could not decide what to worry about the most: perfecting her debut, re-entering London society, or seeing Queen Charlotte again for the first time in a month. The viscous scowl that etched the Queen’s face the last time she laid eyes on Phoebe made the debutante shudder, even now. And at the memory, her heart began to ache. 

During her year abroad, Phoebe had been fortunate enough to become acquainted with Prince Friedrich of Prussia. It had taken a handful of encounters for him to admit why he was in France, but once he admitted he was recessing from the London season after a failed attempt at finding a wife, Phoebe had to ask him all about it, and what she had missed. 

She had felt guilty for missing the chance to debut with one of her closest friends, Daphne Bridgerton, but was intrigued by the Prince’s tale that happened to involve her a great deal. As he went on, Phoebe felt disappointed at his interest in her friend, and then elated to find out that Daphne had found herself a love match with the Duke. And the joy was wholly selfless, as she felt more excited for Daphne to be in love than she did for the Prince’s availability, though she had to admit it was nice to know he was not spoken for. 

Phoebe would be lying if she had said Prince Friedrich was not attractive. She loved to see him smile, his whole face lighting up with joy, and his eyes bright. His blond hair shined in the sunlight, and his accent was more charming than she had expected, although maybe it was his personality and temperament that charmed her.

“It’s too bad,” She said, feeling bold, and warm from the flutters in her stomach. “I was meant to debut this season, if I were there perhaps it would not have gone so poorly for you.” 

The Prince flushed, but reassured her that he was charmed by her words and not at all offended by her courage. 

“The season is not over, Miss Pembroke, perhaps it is lucky that I met you now.” He said, returning her sentiment. 

He called on her often after their revelation. Phoebe felt like the luckiest girl in the world to enjoy her time abroad with such perfect company. When they were together time warped as if they had known each other for years and as if time went at lightspeed in each other’s presence. After weeks of courting, the prince wanted to propose to Phoebe. He invited her to meet his aunt, Queen Charlotte, and assured Phoebe that the Queen only wanted him to be happy, and to find a suitable Princess. 

“Do not worry, my love, once she meets you she will be just as charmed as I, and agree to have us married post-haste.” Friedrich reassured, with a loving, doting smile as he enveloped her hand in his. 

He moved to caress her face, and nearly kissed her in that moment. His breath fanned her cheek as she stared up into his bright blue eyes and already felt as if she could not breathe. 

“Marry you?” The Queen scoffed, eying Phoebe. 

Friedrich reached for Phoebe’s gloved hand and gave it a squeeze as he pleaded with his aunt. 

“She was meant to debut this season, Tante, it is fated that we met and formed a love connection, don’t you think?” He tried. 

The Queen looked on at Phoebe, wholly unimpressed. 

“No matter the consequences, you shall have a wonderful season, darling, I can feel it.” Amelia said, pulling her daughter away from the ghostly memory of her freedom and happiness. 

Phoebe nodded, offering a hum, but not moving her gaze from the window. She was not as sure as her mother that things would go well. 

Friedrich followed Phoebe through the gardens, trying to reach her. Once he finally grabbed hold of her hand, he spun her to face him. She did not want him to see her so ashamed, so she cast her eyes to her shoes in the dirt. 

“Darling, it is no matter. We can marry whether Tante blesses it or not. I know of a place that will marry us expeditiously, and then we can be happy together and build a life, and one day look back on today and laugh.” 

Phoebe’s heart lurched, aching, both sad and hopeful. 

There was no doubt that upon reflection the plan to run away was entirely flawed and shortsighted on both sides, though Phoebe still felt every last reverberation of heartache once it all fell apart.

The carriage halted, arriving at the palace. If the scorching sun, tight corset, and high stakes were not enough to make Phoebe feel faint, the utter number of debutantes made her feel suffocated and insignificant. Her breathing felt sharp as she stepped down from the carriage and waited for her mother to join her.

The pair had agreed to meet in the early morning hours, prepared for a long journey on the way to their nuptials. When Phoebe reached the main foyer, there were royal guards standing in her path. She was informed that Prince Friedrich was shipped off to Austria alone, and that Phoebe was never allowed to see him again. 

Phoebe spent the rest of her year abroad focussing on writing, and practicing her musical talents, as well as her French. She returned home to an angry father and a smudged reputation. This was also when Phoebe learned that Queen Charlotte was an incurable gossip, and was not afraid to disgrace the young Miss Pembroke for daring to fall in love with her nephew the prince. 

And now she stood in front of the Royal Palace, waiting to present herself to the Queen alone this time, hoping to not be disgraced further. All the while her father’s words rang through her mind as she made her way up the front steps, arm in arm with her mother. 

“You stupid, foolish girl! Now no one will have you when you make your debut. That is not what we had planned for you. You have ruined yourself!” He yelled, causing Phoebe to flinch, and hide the tears rolling down her cheeks. 

“Now, Cecil, surely we can find someone willing to marry her and still love her.” Her mother tried, earning a nasty scowl from her father. 

“By God, Amelia, does she get her stupidity from you? Is that where it was inherited?” 

Amelia gasped, and Phoebe stared as her parents argued. 

“What about the Bridgerton boy? He, too, just came home from traveling, and he also had a disgraceful engagement blunder last season. Surely he would be happy to court our Phoebe.” 

The debutante in question watched as her parents schemed a sure-fire match for her without considering consulting her. 

“That’s it! You must marry Colin Bridgerton. Do not disgrace yourself or our legacy further, but do what you must to enamor him with you. I will not let you become a spinster.” 

“Oh, yes! I shall set up another appointment with the modiste to be sure to get the most lavish, breathtaking, eye-catching dresses for our little girl!” Amelia beamed, leaving the room to make the arrangements. 

Cecil turned to his daughter, a look of disappointment, pity, and disgust piled into his wrinkles. 

“There, girl. We’ve found a solution for you. Do not ruin this more than you already have.” 

Phoebe hoped she would not run into Penelope until later in the week, perhaps at tea, or during a promenade, though none of those seemed like the right time to tell one of her best friends that she must marry the man who holds that friend’s heart.

[moirindeclermont]

Happy Sunday!! Today prompts for my Polin Kinktober are Dirty Talking and Dacryphilia (which is a form of paraphilia in which one is aroused by tears or sobbing - this story is my version of that k!nk) also, there is going to be some exploration of body image issues, so if you're sensitive to that, keep that in mind. This is also more modern!au than regency.

Colin knew he had to stage an intervention.

He left Pen for a round of shopping and she come back almost in tears, not having found anything. Or to be precise, she did find plenty of stuff, but no one had her size. Which was also Colin experience, sometimes, being so tall, but it seems it weight on her a lot.

Which is why he staged that intervention. He don't have the pretence it would fix her problems, but maybe it will help her a bit.

His resolve straightened when he noticed she didn't ask him to follow in the showers as usual.

So, he did wait in their bedroom, already naked, for her to arrive.

She looked like a siren or a goddess, as she walked almost naked in their space.

She looked at him and smiled, knowing why he was here.

"How did you know I needed some of your reassurances?"

He smiled back, inviting her into the bed. "I know you sweetheart and how hard you are working on loving your body."

He did know. Hours and hours of therapy.

"I also know sometimes it is normal to have a little bit of a down. I want to help."

Pen caressed his cheek. "You been here helps, more than anything in the world. But yeah, proceed with your intervention."

She chuckled as she was kissing him.

"Lie down love and open the towel for me, please," he said, whispering against her ear.

She trembled a bit but she listened to him, her gorgeous body unveiled for him and him only.

Intervention was just a name he gave to this: he would undress Pen and calling her all the beautiful things she deserved until she was crying - the emotional release she needed after the physical one.

Colin loved to be able to do this for her, her tears and sob not because she was feeling ugly, but because his words and action made her feel beautiful and cherished.

He started by straddled her, caressing her cheek again.

"There is nothing I love more than losing myself in the splendor that are your eyes. They shine so bright when I'm near you. They become almost black when I do something you like. Your lips too are sinful just to look at, as I want them all over my body. Your tongue is a s devilish as the rest, making me feeling so good."

He accentuated each word with a soft touch on said parts that made her gasp and tremble slightly.

He kissed her again, deeply, before moving down.

"I don't think the poets have yet thought of a word good enough to describe what I feel when I can see your lovely neck on display," he stopped to give a light bite to said neck, making her giggle, "and you know that your breasts are my religion. I have never seen something so transcendental. Full and round, and the way the flesh spills when I squeeze them," he said, squeezing them, "if I could I would make you forsake every bra, so I would just access to these beauties every single time."

He paused to give each breast a kiss and a light suck on the nipple, making her moan.

"You waist and your tummy. I know how you feel about them, but I love every roll and every stretch mark. So good under my hands, it makes me want to kneel in worship," he whispered, squeezing and touching, while his tongue followed some of her stretch marks. Pen was looking at him, her eyes shining with unshed tear as he went down.

"The curve of your stomach that dips into your mound. I dream about that curve. If I was good at math, I would find its equation, because somehow I can grab it as it was made just for me," he added, demonstrating his statement. He went on her hips and her thighs, a kidding where she was most sensitive for now.

"I tremble the first time I touched your thigh. This creamy expanse of skin and muscle and, yes, fat... Because it's not a bad word, I love how you squeeze me when I put my cock there."

And then, her ass "you don't know how many times I almost fall, just walking, because I was lost looking at your fantastic ass moving." He confessed, hearing her laugh softly.

"And this pussy," he said opening her legs wider "this pussy is my religion. Your auburn curls glistening with arousal at my words, the way your vagina clutch and stretch around my cock. Your clit, the source of your pleasure. My altar on which I give myself to you." He put one finger on her slit, finding her wet.

"I love eating you while my hands find every dip and curve of your body," and then he did just so, teasing her with tongue and mouth as his hands went to touch her hips and waist, her stomach and her thighs, all the places he most loved.

"Fùck, Pen... I need you," he said breathless and as she nodded, he align himself, entering slowly.

"The way you accept me inside you," he said before starting thrusting, "so wet and warm, it's like you were made for me."

He lift her legs and put them on his shoulder, chasing the right angle.

Pen was sobbing by now, he left her tears untouched as she was watching him, moaning her pleasure. "Pen, my love. You are everything I always dreamed and more," he said as tears were falling on his face too. He didn't care. She was more important.

They released almost at the same time, Colin slightly before Pen, as if his orgasm triggered hers as well.

Only then he moved, kissing her again and tasting their tears combined. It was always so emotional for both of them, when they did it like this, but as they cuddled and whispering love words to each other, they had not a care on the world.

Colin did make Pen laugh the next morning: he sad he would start a sewing course, so he could make her dresses she liked.

[caitlinsnicket]

caitlin snicket's 🌸⋅ forever masterlist ⤜⤜⤜

“my words are unerring tools of destruction, and I’ve come unequipped with the ability to disarm them”

i found that the old way i did my masterlist (making a post and putting links on it) was unpractical and complicated in the long run (there's a limit of links you can put in one post), so i found it easier to put everything in a google doc.

my previously written fanfiction is under the fandom name, and then under the character/characters. beside of the name of the fic is a tag saying what it is (headcanon, one-shot or series) and how it is (sfw, nsfw, kinda nsfw). on the very top of the doc is the date of the last time i've updated it, for better navigation.

click here to have access to the masterlist!

do not repost, copy or translate any of my works!

[andthebubbles]

✍🏼 Last line(s) tag

Thank you for tagging me @thegreatobsesso! I was going to wait to do this once I got back to working on my other WIP where new stuff is being written, but then I was like, what the hell, I can share this from another fic which I've been editing.

Excerpt below is from what I've been calling the 'shared duties fic' (Bridgerton fic), set three months after Edmund dies, and (canon divergence) six(-ish) months after Anthony almost dies from influenza and then doesn't completely get better, so when Edmund dies and Anthony becomes the Viscount, he eventually has to share duties with Benedict because he can't do everything by himself. (Yeah I just wanted a&b sharing duties and this is just what my (bloodthirsty) mind came up with 😇 No I did not want to cause Anthony undue endless chronic suffering, no... (I swear this was the only way to get him to even consider allowing Benedict to help!!))

Further/more specific context re this excerpt: Benedict is 17 here and Gregory is 2...ish. (And Benedict has been spending more time with the younger siblings because Anthony can't right now.)

---

“Is Anthony back yet?” Francesca asked when her mirth subsided, when she began to cling to him again, and Benedict sadly shook his head.

“He’s still very busy, Franny,” he told her just as he had previously prepared with Anthony, always the same story every time any of the younger ones asked. “But he sends all his love and he can’t wait to see all of you again soon.”

Francesca nodded, caught somewhere between a tremulous smile and her eyes welling up, so Benedict quickly sat down with her on the floor and tickled her until she wriggled and laughed again. “This is from Anthony,” he said, and planted a kiss in her hair. “Next time you see him, you shall have to give him one back, understand?” Francesca nodded, shyly smiling, and Benedict patted her cheek, then raised his voice slightly, “Now, shall we all have our bedtime story?”

“Yes!” Daphne said, bringing over the book and Gregory and Hyacinth with the nanny, and together they formed a half-circle, half-pile on the floor.

“‘Once upon a time,’” Benedict began to read with one finger running under the words so that they could follow along, “‘there was a miller who left no more riches to the three sons he had than his mill, his donkey, and his cat. The eldest had the mill, the second the donkey, and the youngest nothing but the cat. The youngest, as we can understand, was quite unhappy at having so poor a share—’”

Gregory giggled and crawled into his lap, so Benedict read the rest of the story with his chin resting in his hair.

As the nanny put Eloise and Francesca to bed after much hugs and kisses and some more tears, and the nursemaid took Hyacinth while Colin and Daphne stayed up for a little longer playing marbles, Benedict took Gregory over to his bed.

“I like that story,” the boy announced like it was something so profound and important, his fingers in his mouth as Benedict tucked the blanket around him. “The cat is very, very smart.”

“He is, isn’t he,” Benedict agreed.

“And I am the youngest too!” Gregory enthused.

Benedict chuckled. “I think you’re forgetting Hyacinth. She’s your baby sister, remember?”

Gregory’s brow wrinkled adorably. “But… she doesn’t count. She’s a girl. I’m not a girl.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I’m a boy!”

“Indeed. Am I a boy too?”

“Yes. You’re a boy.”

Benedict couldn’t hold back a grin, nor the gentle hand he ran down the side of Gregory’s face before he leaned in and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Goodnight, Gregory. Sleep well.”

He watched the boy settle down, his favourite toy soldier tucked beside his pillow, a small but beatific smile on his face. “Goodnight,” he replied, already starting to drop off into sweet dreams, “…Papa.”

Benedict froze. Then he looked up, hoping against hope that no one else had heard. Colin and Daphne had taken their game outside, and the others were being tucked in and fussed over by the nanny, so in silence a full minute passed before he felt returned to his body, before his chest heaved and spasmed as he sucked in precious lungfuls of air.

Oh God, he thought and sank into the nearest chair, elbows on his knees and digging his fingers into his hair until it hurt. Oh good God.

He stared at his sleeping youngest brother for a very long time.

---

Tagging @colettebronte, @faye-tale, @smooth-boob to share some last lines if you want :3 (and anyone else who wants to do it ofc!)

[pinchofhoney]

i know that the last time i showed up here was last november. i also know that i have five stories started and more than twice as many messages in my inbox, but i've watched bridgerton and i just need to write something for them (or else i'll die)!!

that's why i'd like to ask with whom would you like to read a short story based on a shawn mendes' song perfectly wrong? (i'm just in the little mood for hurt) and of course, i'd like to ask you to leave me your other ideas in my inbox<33

thank you, and hopefully see you soon<3

[lilmissasap]

what if i started writing for bridgerton u guys

[loonfull-sonnetzz]

Haiiii darlings sorry for being super inactive. Just finished bringing Bridgerton so 👀 I might write some Bridgerton fics teehee 👀👀

[bookwormscififan]

He Listens

Read on AO3!

A/N: The hopeless romantic in me wanted to write a thing based on a sequence in season 3 of Bridgerton that I absolutely loved. I just think it's beautiful when someone listens to your opinion to the point of gifting you something that's perfect from that opinion.

--

Mad strolled down the street, picking at the hem of his shirt while looking through the store windows. His thoughts were interrupted by the collision of himself into someone, and he muttered apologies as he glanced up to see who he’d walked into.

“Mare,” His cheeks flushed as he looked into the amused face of the lecturer, smiling kindly as he held Mad’s shoulders to steady him. “H-Hello.”

“Hey, Mad,” Mare replied, brushing off Mad’s shoulders before stepping back, pointing a thumb behind him with a crooked smile. “How do you like the music?” Tucked under one arm was a satchel, treated leather with a gold clasp, the same one Mad had bought him as a joke gift years ago.

Mad tilted his head in confusion before he registered the busker playing an accordion down the street, out of tune and too fast for Mad to properly process. Biting his lip, Mad turned his attention back to Mare, taking a deep breath before answering.

“The tempo isn’t right. They’re playing too fast for anyone to appreciate the music, and the tune isn’t right. For that instrument, the song should be played in a B Major scale, but the musician is playing it in C. There isn’t enough time for the tune to surround you before they’re on to the next bar.” His flush darkened when he realised he’d been rambling, turning away from Mare as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Interesting. I have to go,” Mare stated, touching Mad’s shoulder lightly before walking away, leaving Mad to marinate in embarrassment before deciding to walk home.

----

“Wait, tell me again. Mare just… left?” Jackie asked around a mouthful of his sandwich, popping up behind the couch Mad had flopped onto. “Like, no proper goodbye or anything?”

“He touched my shoulder,” Mad mumbled, looking at Jackie with an expression that could only be described as ‘pitiful’. “Said he had to go, and I just… let him.” Grabbing a cushion, he pressed it over his face before screaming into it, sounding utterly broken.

“Maybe he was running late,” Jackie suggested, leaping over the back of the couch to sit at Mad’s feet, laying a reassuring hand on his ankle. “He’s a teacher, right? He probably had a class or something. I’m sure he’ll call you soon.”

“Doubt it,” Mad shot down, lowering the cushion. “I went on a tangent. Not the short types that you tell me aren’t bad, but one of those where I point out all the issues with something. He’s not going to talk to me ever again. Idiot,” he finished with a smack to his forehead, groaning at the pain that registered.

“Alright,” Jackie patted Mad’s ankle before effortlessly turning him so they were sitting face-to-face. “Give it until the end of the week. If Mare doesn’t speak to you by then, I’ll watch those space documentaries you’ve been asking to watch. If he talks to you, you don’t get to feel bad about yourself for a month.”

----

As Mad’s luck would have it, Jackie won the deal. Mare knocked on the door of his and Jackie’s shared apartment at the end of the week, bright yet apologetic smiles and holding a violin case. Mad let him in with a furrowed brow, offering him a coffee before sitting in the seat opposite him.

“I’m sorry I rushed off the other day,” Mare began, carefully taking the violin out of its case. “After what you’d said, I wanted to make sure I did this right, and I couldn’t risk forgetting a single thing you’d pointed out.” Standing, Mare set the violin on his shoulder, giving Mad a gentle smile before beginning to play.

At first, Mad was confused, but then he began to recognise the tune, and his cheeks flushed. Every detail Mad had pointed out, every flaw in the busker’s performance, Mare had rectified and was now performing for him. Mad closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him as Mare continued to play.

It took a few moments after Mare had finished for Mad to open his eyes, looking at Mare with a dazed expression. Blinking slowly, he watched Mare pack the instrument away, startling when he sat beside Mad.

“You… played the song… exactly how I’d described it.” At a loss for words, Mad just stared at Mare, opening and closing his mouth like a fish. “Why?”

“Because you wanted to hear it played right,” Mare answered softly, “Because I wanted to see your face as you listen to the song played properly. I like watching you truly enjoy something.” He moved slowly, setting a hand on Mad’s knee before shifting closer, looking into Mad’s whiskey-gold eyes with a smile.

“I-I thought you were annoyed,” Mad mumbled, brushing his fingers over Mare’s hand on his knee, breath catching when Mare turned his hand to hold his. “People always get annoyed when I tell them things like that.”

“Mad,” Mare began, holding Mad’s hand tightly. “I’ll never be annoyed with you. I think you’re amazing. The greatest person I’ve ever known. I’m in love with you, I thought you knew that.” His teasing smile faded when he saw Mad’s eyes widen, moving to release his hand before Mad held tighter.

“Say that again.”

“I-I love you, Mad. I think I’ve always been in love with you,” Mare whispered, leaning forward as Mad’s lips parted slightly. “I use that satchel you bought me because it makes me feel like I’ve got you with me all the time. You’re perfect to me.”

The second Mad’s eyes darted down to Mare’s lips, he was being kissed, heart pounding in his chest as Mare’s lips pressed against his. Closing his eyes, he let Mare control the kiss, melting against him as his chest filled with warmth.

“Oh, good, you’re finally together. I was waiting for you to finally kiss. Mare, is there any way you can get Phantom to come over?” Jackie asked as he passed the living room, laughing when Mare threw a cushion at him before walking away.

--------------------

@iamvegorott @brokentimewatch @rattyboyisemo @dungeon-dragons-dragons

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

love is just a camouflage (for what resembles rage)

Chapter 2: Yours truly, Lady Whistledown

by @dollypopup and @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Summary:

History so does love to repeat itself, does it not? With time dripping through the hourglass, the entire Ton is abuzz with wonder. One should heed such as a cautionary tale, however: it would do well to remember that the eyes of history are ever watching.

Same as mine.

OR

What if. . .Penelope really, truly, from the bottom of her heart, had no remorse about what she’s done as Whistledown?

Relationships:

Colin Bridgerton/Penelope Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton & Francesca Bridgerton

Tags:

Angst, Family Feels, Sibling Bonding, Lady Whistledown Reveal, Whine and Wine, Colin Bridgerton SadBoi Era

Authors' Note:

Diggy diggy dig dig

[vivaciousoceans]

If you enjoy my writing....consider commissioning something...

[zegrasdrysdale]

if things are going the way they're going w the first part of the nico au then y'all will be getting it today - probably some time during game 1 of the scf !! so so exciting, and i love how it's turning out already

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[undiscoverable-words]

Late Night Talking

II. Diamond

The Diamond of The Season.

Phoebe was sure there was a mistake. She cautiously made her way towards Her Majesty, breath shaking and palms still clammy. She was so worried she might trip that she only watched the floor as she walked. Her mother held onto her arm, looking straight ahead, smiling graciously at the Queen. Once she reached the end, Phoebe allowed herself to look up at the Queen, letting out a low breath, her throat feeling tight. 

The Queen looked on, observing Phoebe in all that she had to offer. There was immediate recognition on Her Majesty’s face as she stared down at the young girl who had requested to marry her nephew the Prince not four months prior. The Queen arched her brow as she watched Miss Pembroke shake like a leaf. 

“My Diamond,” Queen Charlotte announced, smirking as the entire room filled with hushed gasps and Phoebe jolted, staring up at the Queen in a panic. 

Her Majesty was always one for a bit of drama. 

“I told you you would do well, my dear.” Amelia complimented her daughter as they retreated to a recess of the room. 

“I don’t understand,” Phoebe admitted, breathing heavily, wishing she was not currently squeezed by her corset. “I thought– She…” Phoebe swallowed the marble that sat in her throat. 

How could Her Majesty sneer at Phoebe one moment and then grant her the highest honor of the season the next moment. If Phoebe truly was the Diamond, surely she was good enough for Prince Friedrich. Phoebe’s heart lurched and ached at the thought of the prince. She missed him and his sweet smile dearly. 

Once back at their Mayfair house, Amelia was quick to announce to Cecil that their daughter was, in fact, not ruined after all. He showed minimal reaction, other than the surprise Phoebe found in his eyes. 

“Perhaps Her Majesty realized that anyone who caught her nephew’s eye was not to be hastily disregarded.” He offered, clearing his throat. He then looked directly at his daughter, and said with the most stern of tones and expressions, “I still have final say of the man you are to marry, do not forget.” 

Dearest Readers, 

This author would be the first to admit that Miss Pembroke was not a suspected first choice for the title of Diamond for the season, though is Her Majesty the Queen anything if not surprising? Perhaps the new birth signified in Spring applies to Miss Pembroke, where she was previously left for dead in the cold of winter, she now blossoms anew to shine as bright as a Diamond for her debut. 

However, gentle readers, do not take this as a declaration of agreement with Her Majesty. I suspect some deeper reasoning behind the choice to name Miss Pembroke, the sole daughter of Lord Cecil Pembroke, as the season’s Diamond. As I stated in previous seasons, the declaration of a Diamond does not exempt said Debutante from any fall from grace. Perhaps Her Majesty simply wished to hoist Miss Pembroke higher just to watch her fall farther, and more consequently, shatter. While coal under pressure may turn into a diamond, said diamond under pressure may crack.

Whether or not this Diamond should fracture, you know this author waits with bated breath. What an exquisitely invigorating start to the season. Are you on the edges of your seats, Ton? I know I am. 

Lady Whistledown

Phoebe read the newest pamphlet the following morning with her breakfast tea, and felt her eyes well with tears. It all made perfect sense. The Queen was only setting Phoebe up for failure, sure to flounder under the pressure of being a Diamond. The shame and anger Phoebe felt bubble up inside her made her long for the distant memories of France. She pushed them away quickly, as any thought of France only reminded her of Prince Friedrich. 

“Dear, we must be ready for visiting hours! I have no doubt you’ll have a queue of suitors this morning.” Her mother said, startling Phoebe from her macabre thoughts. 

Feeling defeated, Phoebe nodded in agreement, resigned to whatever might come her way this season. Her mother beamed, leading her upstairs to her lady’s maid to help her change into her day dress. While not having much of an opinion on how the day should go, Phoebe was in charge of choosing her attire, and opted for one of her less exciting dresses, pale sage with sheer tulip sleeves and light beading. She decided she would save her new favorites from France for when she found a suitor she specifically wanted to impress. 

Cecil called his daughter into his office, intercepting her on her way to the drawing room. The low lighting within the office made Phoebe uneasy as she was used to a room with more windows allowing for more natural light. Her father sat at his desk, slightly hunched over an array of papers when she came to the door and knocked gently. 

“Daughter.” He greeted, gesturing for her to enter. 

She obliged, walking carefully as if the floor would shatter at her weight. Cecil cleared his throat and looked up from his papers to examine his daughter. 

“You wanted to see me?” She prompted, feeling uncomfortable under his scrutiny. 

“Your mother tells me you are to receive visitors this morning, and I urge you to be the absolute closest you can to perfection. The early stages of your debut are crucial, and if you wish to avoid our agreed upon arrangement for you to seek out a courtship with Colin Bridgerton, I suggest you try your hardest to impress the callers you may have. I will be in after visiting hours are over and I have received a list of your callers to discuss your next move at tomorrow’s ball. Do not promise any dances unless the caller in question ranks higher than a Baron, though I doubt it.” 

Phoebe stood, shrinking at his implications that she was still a lousy prospect for suitors. 

“Why did you want me to pursue Colin– Mr Bridgerton, if you want me to accept nothing less than a Baron? He is a third son, and has no title.” 

“That was before you were named a Diamond.” Cecil explained through gritted teeth, practically spitting at the term Diamond. “Go. We can discuss further after you meet with your prospects, as I said.” He adds, promptly dismissing her from his office. 

Phoebe felt nothing but shame on her way down the stairs to the drawing room. Her father had revoked her of any confidence she might have had, and that was very little already. She arrived at the drawing room just before the clock signaled the top of the hour. Tea and biscuits were set up, readily available. The seating was made ample for the possibility of a hoard of suitors, though Phoebe thought that rather ambitious. Her mother sat by the window, smiling as bright as the morning sun, eager to watch her daughter begin the courting process. 

All but a quarter of an hour passed before the first visitor was announced to Phoebe and her mother. 

“Mr. Bridgerton for Miss Pembroke.” 

Amelia seemed unphased by the coincidental arrival of the man her and her husband had previously selected for Phoebe to encourage. Phoebe, however, was extremely surprised and slightly suspicious of his presence, wondering if her mother and Dowager Bridgerton had corresponded and set up the meeting. 

Colin entered the drawing room with a rather immodest bouquet of chrysanthemums wrapped in a thick ribbon of the signature Bridgerton blue. Phoebe’s demeanor changed to one of warmth at the gesture and she smiled broadly at him as he came farther into the room to present the flowers. 

“For you, Miss Pembroke.” He stated, offering Phoebe the bouquet. 

“Thank you, Co– Mr. Bridgerton.” Phoebe smiled, admiring the flowers. 

She gestured for Colin to sit and he obliged, cautiously glancing at her mama to be sure he wasn’t being untoward. With no objections, Colin adjusted his posture to remain comfortable, and cleared his throat. 

“If I may, Miss Pembroke, you looked rather lovely at your debut. All of us Bridgertons are happy that you’ve returned from your travels and seem to be faring well. And to be named the Diamond, that must be an honor, despite what Whistledown may have said–” Colin went on, causing Phoebe to stifle a giggle. 

“It is good to see you again, as well, Mr. Bridgerton. How was your tour of Europe if I may ask?” 

Colin smiled brightly and began to regale her of his time abroad, getting lost in the descriptions of the many places he explored. Phoebe admired how he looked so enchanted at even the memory of his travels, and she was happy that his trip was more fortunate than her own. 

Having grown up next door to the Bridgertons, Phoebe was well acquainted with the bunch, specifically attached to Colin, Daphne, and Eloise. She felt at ease amongst a familiar face, and enjoyed his conversation for the better part of the hour, completely unaware of her lack of other suitors. 

She felt guilty after the next thought passed through her mind. Colin Bridgerton was far more handsome than she could recall from two seasons before. It made her heart drop at the realization that she had thought something about the man one of her best friends was completely enamored with, but she could not help the way her mind drifted as she watched him speak so spiritedly. She admired the sparkle in his eyes as he told her tales of Greece, and she took note of the dimples near his mouth when he smiled. Phoebe lost herself in admiring the details of her dear friend’s face.

“Pardon me, I seem to have prattled on far too long.” Colin interjects his own line of thought. He clears his throat. “Mother sent me to extend an invitation for tea tomorrow afternoon before the first ball of the season.” He said, meeting her eyes. 

She noticed his were a mixture of brown, green, and grey depending on the light, and had to avert her gaze before she stared. 

“Daph– excuse me, the Duchess of Hastings will be there. She is most excited to see you again.” 

Phoebe smiled as he corrected himself in favor of formality during proper morning calling hours, rather than allow their acquaintance with one another afford them familiarity. 

“I would love to come to tea, please send your mother my thanks, and let her know I will absolutely be there tomorrow. It was great seeing you again after all this time, Colin– I mean, Mr. Bridgerton.” Phoebe corrected, trying to maintain the creeping blush up her neck. 

The pair was not yet ready to forego their previous friendliness as children for the more proper encounters they would now be a part of as young adults of the Ton. 

Colin thanked Lady Pembroke for her hospitality and took his leave. Phoebe and her mother were now alone in the drawing room. Amelia looked at her daughter and smirked. 

“Was that planned, Mama?” Phoebe asked, turning to face her mother by the window. The Chrysanthemums sat, soaking in the sun, and complemented the design of the room. 

“Not one bit, my dear. But you two seemed to get along better than I remember. Perhaps there is something to be said–” 

“He is just an old friend, Mama. Colin Bridgerton is not a serious suitor, he called as a favor to his mother and sisters.” Phoebe interrupted. 

She did not want her mother to imply that there was or ever would be anything between her and Colin Bridgerton. She could not bear the thought of how that would hurt Penelope, whether Colin returned her affections for him or not. 

At dinner, her father made it a point to voice more snide remarks towards his daughter. 

“It was rather quiet this morning, was it not?” He raised an eyebrow and stared her down, silently asking her to challenge him, or to admit defeat. Phoebe could not be sure which. 

“Mr. Bridgerton called on her, darling, isn’t that something?” Amelia said, still convinced this was a sign of fate for the two within the marriage mart. 

“I am to visit with the Bridgertons tomorrow for tea.” Phoebe elaborated, hoping to halt any schemes her parents may try thinking they have secured her a match. 

Cecil grumbled as he cut the slice of roast on his plate. 

“Having only Mr. Bridgerton call does make things uncomplicated.” He said, before the dinner returned to silence.

[inlovewithpandora]

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[maybeacloud]

Only The Good Die Young || E. Bridgerton

Summary: Fem!reader is staying with the Bridgertons for the social season and decides to confront Eloise about her feelings.

Word count: 0.8k

Warnings: None

<A/N> This is the first piece of fanfiction I have shared with anyone so it might be a bit rough, but if you have any feedback don’t be afraid to comment! Also, English isn’t my first language, sorry about any spelling errors :P

…

It was already past dark and most of the Bridgerton household had retired for the night. Only one person remained, curled up on a small sofa in the drawing room, her nose buried deep in a book. You could not help but stare. You were not sure you could ever get enough of it. Eloise’s hair, which had previously been pinned up, now hung loose around her face, and a burning candle cast a gentle light on her face.

You walked up to her, drawing her attention away from the yellowed parchment. “May I speak to you about something?” You said hesitantly, suddenly too nervous to meet her gaze.

She laughed “Of course you may. You can always come to me.” Her smile was as warm as always, and her eyes looked like deep blue waters in the flickering candlelight. You suddenly felt hot, as if you skin was burning, and you forced yourself to look away.

“If we are to remain friends-“

Eloise cut you off; “Of course we are, what makes you believe that we would not?” She tried to make it sound light hearted, but the words came out sharper than she had intended.

“If we are to remain friends” you started again “I can not keep secrets from you”

You looked down on your friend. Her face had settled in a worried expression. You suddenly regretted bringing up the topic but that was to no avail. You must finish what you started.

“I have these - feelings - that I would like to discuss. And I do not expect you to feel the same way…” at this point you had started pacing back and forth like a trapped animal.

“… but in these past few weeks I have come to know you as someone who is not quick to judge others, and I sincerely hope you will grant me that kindness…” Your steps slowed.

“For I hope I have not misjudged you, ms. Bridgerton.”

As you turned to look at her, your eyes meeting for the first time since you started you rambling, you knew you had to tell her. You could not keep a friendship build on lies.

Her eyes were wide and her lips were parted slightly as if she was wanting to say something. You stood in silence for a moment allowing her time to intervene. But she just tilted her head slightly, her eyebrows furrowing into an expression of worry and confusion.

You realised you had dragged this out for far too long. And you suspected your nervous fidgeting had not helped soothe your friend’s worries.

“Every time I look at you, Eloise, it’s as if my whole world disappears and I am left with nothing but blank space; I am left grasping to find my way back to reality because if I am alone with you my mind will wander to places it should not.” You could not afford to stop talking, for if you did you might not find you way back.

“I am willing to throw away whatever dignity I have if it means I get to hold you, and it scares me. Because I- I have never felt like this before.” That last sentence came out more as a whisper.

Eloise sat still as a statue, unchanged, and for a second you started to wonder if you had imagined the whole thing, but then she moved. She straightened her posture, looked down at the book laying on her lap and hesitated for a moment before fixing her gaze back onto you. You suddenly felt unable to breathe, as if a weight was put on you chest.

Eloise, without breaking eye contact, untangled her bare feet from her nightgown and slowly stood up, meeting you at eye level.

Her face was impossible to read as her expression seemed to change constantly.

“Eloise, I-“ You started to apologise, but all words left you as you felt her hand reach for yours. Her touch was warm, like a small spark that quickly grew into a burning fire. She held onto your hand, still with her eyes fixed on you. And without thinking you took a single step, almost closing the distance between your bodies.

She was close enough for you to feel her warm breaths against your skin and you could not pull your eyes from her face. You were desperate to memorise every freckle on her face, the way the flickering shadows from the candlelight softened her features and then there were her eyes. They were like a frozen lake; idle on the surface, but beneath it lies a deeper water, constantly moving with the current. They wandered across your face before settling on your lips.

“Tell me…“ She trailed of, her voice was low and husky. A shaky breath escaped your lips and she took that as an invitation to start slowly guiding your hand upward until your palm rested against the bare skin right below her collarbone. “…tell me if you want me to stop.”

And with that she fully closed the distance between you, and as your lips met hers you knew that you never wanted her to let go.

…