#this is what happens when I watch things like Bridgerton

[starlooove]

And I’m standing ten toes down behind Eloise

[fantasyoverreality98]

i found my screenshots from when i first played wayhaven and it made me remember what it's like to not feel empty inside

[leloise]

OUGH OKAY. i loved that, i was so thoroughly invested the entire time. it definitely lost me in a couple places during the second half, and i was NOT AT ALL expecting the way multiple things played out. overall really really enjoyed it!

[florencemtrash]

Take it Off - Azriel x Reader

Summary: You and Azriel have been friends for centuries... but what happens when he wakes up one day to find that things have changed? And how will he react when you start wearing Cassian's clothes?

Warnings: Angst. Jealous Azriel. Suggestiveness and then some (I don't know what warning to put, but it's spicier than my usual stuff is all I'll say). Cassian is an absolute menace... good for him

Author's note: Did I write this to procrastinate editing SSIB Ch 22 after watching Bridgerton S3?... yes

Is this a fucking game to you?

Cassian grinned over the lip of his cup, raising his brow in a poorly disguised expression of confusion. He’d been playing the innocent fool all throughout breakfast, seemingly oblivious to the daggers Azriel was throwing his direction every time he made you laugh.

Internally, he and Nesta were both cackling. He threw his arm over the back of his meta’s chair, plucking the cream puff she held out for him, and tossing it into his mouth with a shit-eating grin. 

I’ve not the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Azriel. Although it hurts me deeply to see you so upset.

Upset was an understatement. Azriel was holding onto his glass of orange juice so tightly cracks were beginning to form beneath his fingertips. 

You elbowed Azriel in the ribs, brows furrowed as you pointed your slice of toast towards his hand. “Are you ok?” You whispered low and just for his ears. 

The molten anger in his eyes melted away, hazel eyes softening as he took in your concerned expression. You were the first and only one of his family members to watch him so intensely. You could unravel the meaning in every twitch of his jaw, every rhythmic tap of his fingers against his thigh, every flicker of his shadows. You knew when he was upset, when he was happy, and when he wanted to laugh but had trouble expressing it. The only thing you weren’t aware of when it came to Azriel was how unbelievably in love with you he was. 

But that was his own fault. 

You’d watched him fawn over Mor for centuries, watched as he practically crawled on hand and knees for any kernel of affection she was willing to throw his way. Then, when you thought he’d finally gotten over his feelings for her, he’d chased after Elain’s heels like a dog in heat. You didn’t even want to begin thinking about Gwyn and the way she’d trampled over his hopes with the simple phrase, “I love you as a friend, Azriel. Nothing more.” 

No. It was entirely his fault that you’d learned to bury your own feelings for him so deep they’d become background noise — as inconsequential and ever present as the sound of your own breathing. 

Still… you couldn’t help but notice the secrets swimming in his eyes, the hurt and longing there that you could only guess the origin of. Who’d hurt him this time? You wondered. 

“I’m fine.” Azriel whispered, his hands ghosting over your thighs before deciding against touching you there. 

You hummed, clearly unconvinced. You held your toast in between your teeth, tasting the raspberry jam explode on your tongue as you reached over and carefully peeled Azriel’s fingers off his injured glass. 

His heart stuttered at the sight of your lips as they closed around your thumb, licking away crumbs and jam from your fingertips. But then his gaze dropped to your chest and his stomach soured. 

As Madja’s apprentice, you’d acquired a special interest in botany — an interest that had all but shoved you into Feyre’s studio so you could learn the skills necessary to depict all manner of flora and fauna in your field journal. When you’d complained about finding paint and charcoal stains over your clothes, Cassian had jumped on the opportunity to give you his old shirts to use as painting smocks. He had to congratulate himself for the stroke of genius. After all, he and Nesta had been discussing plans on how to get Azriel to admit his feelings for months now. 

Azriel did not respond well to outright suggestions or bullying. If he told Azriel to pull his head out of his ass and ask you on a proper date, the Shadowsinger would only hunker down on his preconceptions that he was unloveable, and that you were far too good for him. If he revealed to Azriel that you’d secretly loved him for decades that would only make him feel even more embarrassment and shame. 

No.

  Jealousy worked far better when it came to Azriel.

You looked comfortable and happy in Cassian’s clothes — a fact that escaped no one’s notice. You had the sleeves rolled up past your elbows, the rows of buttons at your back haphazardly done without wings to accommodate. You’d worn that particular shirt a half dozen times now and replaced any scent of Cassian with your own. 

Still, you were wearing another male’s shirt… and it was starting to drive Azriel insane.

“I was going to get rid of these and thought you might like them for… painting.” Azriel shifted on his feet, holding out the neatly stacked pile of clothes for you. 

You were laying on your stomach in bed, colored pencils and textbooks splayed out around you, but quickly righted yourself and sifted through the piles he handed you.

You held one up for a better look. 

“Azriel, you were just wearing this last week.” It still smelled like him — the scent of the Illyrian mountains at night woven through the soft, cotton material. “I can’t take this. Or this. Or this!” 

“I have more just like them.” 

You huffed, fists balanced on your hips. 

Azriel was a simple male with ample space in his wardrobe. When he wasn’t in his Illyrian leathers he wore the same three outfits on rotation, all of them nearly identical. If there was anyone who shouldn’t be giving away clothes, it was Azriel. 

“I really appreciate it, Az, but I’m ok. I don’t need these. Cassian already gave me enough hand-me-downs to last two decades at least.” 

A muscle in Azriel’s jaw jumped out. “Well I’m glad for that.” He was practically seething. You noticed, as you always did, but you couldn’t imagine that you were the cause of his frustrations. 

“Are you sure you’re alright, Az? You’ve been acting strangely the past few days.” 

“It’s nothing.”

“I doubt that.” 

There were various things on his mind, chief among them you. So he took hold of the olive branch you’d extended him and laid down beside you, talking about everything and nothing at all. But one thing he avoided talking about at all costs was how the gentle scraping of your nails through his hair as he rested his head in your lap made him want to lock the door and never come out. 

He wanted to bury his face beneath your sundress and then tear it to pieces. He wanted to dive under the covers and leave an assortment of marks on your skin. To hold you so close that you began to smell like one another. 

You lay down beside him, leaning your head against his shoulder so he caught whiffs of your elderberry and lemon shampoo. 

“You know you can tell me anything, right? That’s what friends are for.” 

Right… friends. He was starting to hate that word. 

“Yes… I know.” 

How long do you think he’ll last?

Nesta felt Cassian’s soft laugh blow over the back of her neck as they crouched just behind the door of Feyre's painting studio.

Azriel had been undeniably irritable the last two weeks, his patience fraying like a linen skirt with the hem torn off. Cassian was still sporting a bruise on his cheek from this morning’s sparring session after one of his teasing remarks had hit a little too close to home. 

Not much longer. Look at him, Nes. He’s practically vibrating.

Nesta slapped her hand over her mouth, stifling her laughter. 

Azriel was restless, his wings kept opening and closing with agitation and the curve of his ears had long since turned a bright shade of pink. He’d had his shadows knock over a cup of ink earlier, sending its contents splattering over your shirt and staining the fabric beyond repair. But you’d only shrugged and said, “It’s my painting shirt. It’s meant to get dirty,” before going back to your canvas with a soft smile. The moment you’d turned your back to him, he’d silently cursed the ceiling. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid. He kicked himself, too focused on your continuing conversation to think that his meddling brother and sister-in-law might be watching. 

He hadn’t expected his emotions to take over so quickly, least of all with you. You’d been his best friend for over two hundred years. You were a staple in his life, more familiar to him than the childhood blanket he still had tucked away in his drawer. There was no reason why he should suddenly wake up one day and realize with a shock of surprise that he loved you and couldn’t imagine living in a world that didn’t have you in it. 

It had been such a silly moment as well. You’d been getting ready for Starfall, your hair done up and a flush of color spread over your cheeks and lips. He’d come to check in on you and lost his breath when he saw you sitting at the vanity, holding up earrings to your neck to see if they matched the satin of your deep blue gown. And then you’d politely asked him to lace up your dress and he’d nearly swallowed his tongue in surprise, forcing his hands to stop shaking as they brushed against your spine. Gods he’d wanted to throw himself off a balcony that night, if only because you’d be the one tasked with healing him. 

He wanted to throw himself off the balcony now. Let the ground swallow him whole so he wouldn’t have to make a fool of himself in front of you… again. 

I give it another week. Nesta declared.

Cassian smirked. I know my brother. He won’t last another three days.

In the end they were both wrong. 

It only took two days for Azriel to finally snap.

“Take it off.” 

You swiveled around in your chair, tongue pressing against your cheek as you wondered what gave Azriel the audacity to march into your private lesson with Feyre and make such an out-of-character demand. 

“What?” You asked, furrowing your brows. 

Azriel stood as still as an obsidian statue in the doorway. His wings loomed over his shoulders, talons reaching towards the ceiling tense and twitching. 

“Take. It. Off,” he repeated through gritted teeth. He clutched a neatly folded shirt in his hands, knuckles pale and bloodless from the tight grip. You’d been wearing Cassian’s clothes almost every day this past week and he couldn’t stand it anymore. He couldn’t stand sitting beside you at the dinner table or in the library, the laughter in his throat dying when he caught Cassian’s scent drifting off your skin. 

It was maddening the way you didn’t think anything of it. 

Yes, Cassian was practically a brother to you, and yes, he was a mated male but… fuck it bothered Azriel so much to think of anyone else laying claim to you. To think that one day you might actually walk around wearing another male’s clothes because you loved them. To think that that male wouldn’t be him. 

He’d tried to bring up the topic with you in his own round-about way, but you’d shrugged off all his suggestions of wearing something — anything — else. 

“If you want painting clothes, why don’t we go shopping this afternoon? I’m sure Feyre has recommendations. Or we could just walk around the Rainbow until something catches your eye.” 

“I’m not a full time artist, and it seems silly to spend money on clothes you intend to ruin.” 

“Why don’t you ask Feyre or Mor for hand-me-downs then? They’ll fit you better and the sleeves won’t drag so much.” 

“I like it when my clothes are loose.” 

Feyre glanced between the two of you, namely the flare of Azriel’s nostrils and the way he ground his teeth so intently you worried he’d crack a tooth. 

“I’m… going to leave now.”

“Wait—Feyre!” 

The High Lady kissed your cheek, a knowing look in her eyes, before scurrying out the door. 

Don’t scowl so much, Az, you’re making her nervous. She chirped to the Shadowsinger before slipping down the hallway and disappearing. 

She made it all of ten feet down the hall before crowing, “It’s happening!” to the others. 

It’s happening?! Mor leapt out from her bedroom, a robe hastily tied around her waist and soap suds clinging to her hair. “Fey—” she hissed.

Feyre pressed a finger up to her lips, cutting her off. They’re in the art studio now. 

I fucking KNEW IT! Mor squealed in delight, stomping her feet soundlessly into the floorboards as she allowed Feyre to grab her wrist and drag her forward. 

I won the bet, Nes.

You didn’t win, we both lost!

Semantics. 

Why you bas—

Feyre, Rhys, Mor, Cassian, and Nesta streamed into the foyer. There was an air vent here that led directly to the art studio two floors above them and painted over so expertly it may as well have been part of the molding. The sounds traveling through it were muffled by echos and distance, but nothing that fae hearing and magic couldn’t overcome. 

“That’s it!” The chair you’d been sitting in skittered back with a squeak. “What is your problem, Azriel? You’ve been agitated for weeks now. You won’t tell me, or any of the others, what’s wrong and every time Cassian so much as glances in your direction you look like you want to tear his throat out!” 

Azriel said nothing as you stomped forward and dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind him. Whiskey eyes flickered down to your hand — the hand you currently had closed around his wrist — and he shuddered. 

You didn’t even want to begin to unpack the hidden meaning of that response as you brought him to the center of the room and let go. 

He dropped the shirt on the nearby desk, hands lowering to the hem of your painting smock with a grimace. 

“I need you to take this off.” He repeated with a frown.

“What kind of person marches into a room and demands that their friend take off their shirt?” 

He flinched at that word — friend.

“Az!” Your voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and his anger. “What is going on with you?!” 

“It’s nothing.” He growled out, but he tugged at the hem like its very existence was a personal offense.

“Clearly it’s not nothing.”

“Can you just take off your shirt and put this one on?”

You shoved him away. It wasn’t even like he was asking you to get naked, you both knew you were wearing something beneath this, but it was the way he was asking that grated on your nerves — like what he was requesting was perfectly normal and you were the ridiculous one for not listening.

“No.” You folded your arms over your chest with a huff. You were just being stubborn now, but you didn’t care. 

His eyes turned tortured and he clasped his hands together in front of you. “Please?” He begged.

“No! Not until you tell me what’s going on and why you’re acting this way!” 

“I don’t want to have this discussion while you’re standing there smelling like another male!”

That was… not what you were expecting.

You gaped at him, unsure whether to howl with laughter, or slap him across the face. 

“That’s what this is about? You’re upset because I’m wearing Cassian’s clothes?” You gagged at the mere thought of what Azriel was insinuating. 

“Well that was a little hurtful.” Cassian mumbled. 

Mor slapped the back of his head. “Shhhhh. I’m trying to listen.”

Azriel shifted on his feet, color beginning to spread high on his cheekbones. “It’s not about Cassian… not really…”

You tapped your foot on the ground, waiting for him to continue. Azriel felt naked. Stripped back like one of your insect specimens lit up beneath a microscope. Your eyes raked over his every movement. Even his shadows, usually so attention-seeking, cowered behind their master’s back whispering to one another about how Azriel might dig himself out of his own grave. 

“Well?” You snapped. 

Azriel shrank back, “I… I like you, Y/n.” 

You rolled your eyes, “I know, that’s why we’re friends. I like you too.”

“No. Not… not like that.” Azriel groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Oh I’m fucking this up so badly it’s not even funny anymore.” 

“I don’t even know what it is you’re fucking up. I—”

“I love you, ok?” He said in a burst of energy.  “I love you and not in the way that friends are meant to love one another and Cassian’s an idiot and I’m a jealous bastard and I… I…” 

You stared back dumbly. “You can’t mean that.” 

Azriel’s face fell. “And why not?”

“Because I have been here for decades, centuries,” you jabbed his chest with a finger, “And you never once looked at me that way. Never once considered me as anything more than a friend. You’re upset because I’ve been wearing Cassian’s clothes the last few weeks? Well guess what, Az, I’ve watched you walk in and out of those doors for years with your poorly concealed hickies and that lovesick look on your face, and I never made it your problem or anyone else’s.” 

“Well I want you to!” He shouted. It was the first and only time you could remember him raising his voice. “I want you to make it my problem, Y/n. I want you to tell me that you love me and I want you to shout at me for all the stupid decisions I’ve made because I’m yours. I’m yours to shout at. I’m yours to get angry with. I’m yours to love if you’ll still have me and…” Azriel gasped for breath, chest heaving as he came face to face with the fact that he’d just said those words out loud. Those words that he’d kept close to his chest with the rest of his secrets. Those words that proved just how completely at your mercy he was. 

Please say you’ll still have me. His eyes begged. 

When you didn’t move or say anything, he felt a piece of his heart wither away. He lowered his eyes, suddenly interested in a speckle of red paint that had smeared under his boot, “Forgive me. I’m… I’m sorry I didn’t… I shouldn’t have—” 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Azriel.” You muttered breathlessly. 

Then you flung yourself into his arms and crashed your lips into his. 

Kissing Azriel was better than you could have ever imagined. The fantasies you’d constructed late in the night when you were lonely blew apart like paper houses, crumbling in the face of reality. His mouth fumbled for purchase against your lips before slotting into place with a strangled moan. He lifted you in the air and you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, tightening them until you could feel him harden between your legs. 

His tongue flitted over your lips tasting like oranges and magic. 

But his hands. 

His hands. 

You couldn’t get enough of them as they slid up and down your back, squeezing and pressing into your skin until he’d memorized the curve of your spine. You wove your fingers in his hair, tilting his head so you could stare into his hazel eyes before diving in for another taste. 

He walked you back to the desk, shadows flinging the tins of charcoal and pastel pencils off the furniture so you could perch there instead. Then he surged forward, pressing his hips into the space between your legs so he could feel the heat that gathered there. It sent shivers down his spine.

This… this was everything he’d ever wanted. You were everything he’d ever wanted. Not some unapproachable female he admired from afar but hardly knew, but someone who’d seen every inch of his soul and never flinched. Someone who’d nestled into the hidden corners of his heart and grown there like a willow tree. 

You moved your hands over the wide expanse of his back, digging your nails in to feel every twitch of muscle, every shudder, as he latched onto the side of your neck and slid his tongue over the sensitive skin there. 

He smelled like mountain rain. Like fresh wind and petrichor and sea salt. 

You smelled like lemons and safety. Like maple leaves and lavender and… Cassian.

Because you were still wearing his gods-damned shirt. 

Azriel felt his blood boil, and an instinctual rage took over as he growled low in his throat, bunched the fabric of Cassian’s shirt in his hands, and tore it in two.

You pulled away from him at the sound of ripping fabric, but kept your grip on his solid shoulders as air blew across your skin.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his lips pink and raw as he leaned his forehead against yours in a daze. You continued to breathe each other’s air like you were drowning. He seemed just as in disbelief as you, if not more. 

“Azriel…” You whispered, chest heaving. 

He looked at you with half-lidded eyes full of heat. “... yes, Y/n?” He asked breathlessly.

“I think you ripped through my dress… and my bra as well…” 

“Oh…” He fingered the ruined fabric that fell loose around your shoulders and realized that your back was indeed on full display. The straps of your bra slipped down and the mangled buttons of your sundress clung to their loops by weak threads. “Oh…oh gods.” 

One hand flew up to your chest to keep the fabric in place while the other slapped over your mouth, suffocating the laughter that threatened to burst forth. 

Azriel’s ears and cheeks turned brighter than the sun as he slowly lowered you down to your feet, fumbling over apologies like he hadn’t been shoving his tongue down your throat mere seconds ago. 

“I’m so sorry—” 

“Azriel, it’s ok.” 

“No, I was being an ass and now I’ve ruined your dress and—” 

“You can buy me more.”

Azriel’s shoulder dropped. “I can?” “You can.” 

He shook his head very seriously. “Yes, yes you’re right, I—” Azriel had always been the beautiful one — the one that drew eyes when he walked into a room. The one that had females and males falling out of their seats for a proper look at his elegant features. But right now he looked so helpless, so flustered and unsure of himself that you finally lost it. 

Champagne bubble laughs slipped out of your mouth, light and airy, and sent a shock of warmth through Azriel’s chest. It was infectious the way the skin stretched over your cheeks. The light in your eyes couldn’t be contained no matter how hard you tried. 

He couldn’t help himself. 

He started laughing too. 

What began as one of his reserved chuckles grew into uncontrollable peals of laughter that echoed throughout the studio and had you clutching onto the desk for support. 

Azriel doubled over, one hand holding the stitch in his side together as you howled. 

“Oh gods. I can’t—” You hiccuped. “I-I-I can’t breathe.” 

Soon you were both kneeling on the ground, clutching each other’s arms for some semblance of stability. You gasped for breath, wiping away tears from the corners of your eyes. 

Azriel captured one of your hands, weaving his fingers through yours before bringing your wrist to his lips for a soft, reverent kiss. You thought you’d experienced enough emotions for today ranging from frustration to anger to a joy you couldn’t begin to put into words. But you were certain your heart could handle one more shift in the atmosphere. 

Wordlessly you tugged off Cassian’s shirt, dropping it to the side where shadows caught hold of the cursed fabric and quickly tossed it into the fireplace. The flames crackled with triumph, eating away at the shirt with a vengeance. 

“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” 

“We can agree to disagree.” Azriel murmured, his eyes growing dark and heavy. His gaze drifted down to the soft skin now exposed from your tattered dress, the thin straps clinging to your arms, the gentle swell of your breasts as you breathed heavily. 

His fingers danced over the straps in silent permission, eyes searching yours for any hint of hesitation. But you were open and wanting and desperate for his touch. You crawled into his lap and a faint nod was all he needed before the pale blue fabric of your dress fell down and bunched about your waist. The bra followed, and then you were sitting there naked from the waist up, feeling the heat grow between your bodies as Azriel looked at you with pure adoration in his eyes. 

“Am I dreaming, Y/n?” He whispered, rubbing circles into your hip bones. 

You smiled softly, “Have you dreamed of me before?”

“Yes. Many times.” He kissed your chest, slowly dragging his hands down your ribs as you shivered and fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, and then his belt buckle. “But we never got this far.” 

“Hmmmm, I think we could go a little further.” 

“NOT IN MY STUDIO!” Feyre’s voice echoed oddly through the room, sounding muffled and far away. 

Azriel’s wings flared out, hiding you from view as you yelped and pressed your chest against his. Your cheeks burned with embarrassment about being found in such a compromising position. But the door was closed! And so were the windows!

His shadows finally found the culprit in the air vent.

“Godsdamnit—HAVE YOU BEEN LISTENING THE ENTIRE TIME?!” Azriel shouted. 

A moment passed before Feyre answered, “... No,” in a much softer tone. 

“We missed part of the beginning,” Cassian chimed in. 

Azriel groaned, dropping his forehead against your shoulder as you were stunned into silence. He muttered something beneath his breath that sounded oddly similar to, “I swear I’m going to kill him one day.”

Azriel helped you to your feet and finally, you put on his shirt. 

“Are you happy now?” You teased, arms dropping to your sides. 

The corner of his lip twitched upwards. You looked… very good in his clothes with the sleeves rolled up and a sliver of your dress (now skirt) peeking out from beneath. 

He looked towards the vent, then wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you close so he could whisper, “I would be happier if I saw my shirt and that dress of yours on the floor of my bedroom.” 

His hand slid up your skirt, squeezing the back of your thighs in a way that had you stiffening. 

All at once he was second-guessing himself. Maybe he’d taken things too far. Maybe the lust-filled haze had cleared and you didn’t want him anymore. 

You swallowed and wrapped your hand around his wrist, gently guiding his fingers to your core. You let him know just how much you wanted this. 

A roar of blood sounded in the Shadowsinger’s ears. 

“I think that sounds like a very good plan.” You murmured in agreement and his eyes turned black as night.

He stole another long kiss before scooping you into his arms. 

“Az, where are we going?” You giggled into the curve of his throat as he flew down the hallway and stairs. “We just passed your bedroom.” 

“We’re not going to my bedroom.”

“Well we missed my bedroom too.” 

He didn’t respond.

Azriel skidded to a stop at the top of the staircase, already well aware that his family had gathered at the bottom and were waiting to bombard him with questions. 

Azriel smirked at you, leaned down, and kissed your cheek. “When I take you to bed properly, it won’t be with our nosey family members in the house.” He ran his tongue across the line of your jaw all the way to your earlobe and whispered, “I want any noises you make to be for me, and me alone.” 

“You are certainly a man of poetry, Az.”

He smiled. “Only for you.” 

“Well, well, well if it isn’t the two love—” Shadows flew into his mouth, muffling his words. “HEH! Azz! Whazthf—”

“I’ll see you in a week.” He said to no one in particular, his shadows opening the door of the River House. 

“Where are you going?” Mor asked, her eyes zeroing in on the bright red mark blossoming on your neck. What the fuck? She mouthed at you, giving you two thumbs up as Azriel crossed the doorway with you in his arms.

“None of your business. I’ll see you in a week.” Then he looked down at you, eyes growing soft. “We’ll see you in a week,” he corrected himself. 

Your stomach bottomed out, heat flowing through your body as you heard him make such a declaration in front of... well everyone. You couldn't wait to see where he would take you and where he would take you.

"Ready?" Azriel asked, a sultry smile growing on his face.

"Ready."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face in the hollow of his throat as he took off into the air. 

[ladysharmaa]

New life

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Anthony has an argument with his wife, who is from a lower class, when she makes a mistake while promenading with Anthony

(gif is not mine)

Y/n felt like a fish out of water. She didn't grow up in the privileged life that her husband, Anthony, had. Of course her life wasn't bad either, so many others had it worse than her. Y/n was the daughter of well-known merchants, and despite their busy lives where she had to start working as a child to help her family, she was grateful for everything she had.

And then everything changed. Y/n was used to having to speak louder, wipe her hands on her old skirt after touching someone's dirty money, and do manual labor. Until one day, Viscount Bridgerton saw her, and it was love at first sight. A love that was rejected by both for too long.

Anthony was the one who gave in first. He started going to her parents' stall more often, buying things he didn't even need and that others could do for him just so he could look at Y/n. It was indisputable that there was a connection between them. Anthony insisted that they couldn't ignore how they felt about each other, but the girl was afraid. A daughter of merchants marrying into the upper class? It could only go wrong, and to make matters worse it would ruin the reputation of the Bridgerton family. But Anthony made her feel things she never thought she would feel.

Her parents, upon realizing what was happening, warned her of the dangers, but they just wanted to see their daughter happy. In the end, Y/n ended up confessing her love for Bridgerton when he came to her stall saying it would be the last time if she wanted it. Instead of answering him, Y/n took his hand, taking him to an isolated place, where no one could see them, and pulled him into a passionate kiss.

Now, six months after they got married and were living a very happy life together, Y/n was still trying to learn the rules of society. It was a work in progress, and Anthony's mother and sisters helped Y/n a lot, explaining everything she could and couldn't do. There was so much information that she often just followed her instinct, ending up breaking some rules. Fortunately, she had just been among family and hadn't had to listen to anyone's judgment.

It wasn't easy being thrown into high society, dressed in the best dresses that she tried her best not to get dirty, speaking softly, and letting the maids do everything for her. But she would do anything for Anthony, and now she had a lifestyle that many would kill for. She couldn't complain.

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

It was a sunny day and so, Y/n and Anthony decided to promenade through the park, taking the opportunity to go on a small boat trip. Everything was going well, the woman had fun touching the crystal clear water and watching the fish that fled quickly while Anthony, who was responsible for the physical work, smiled in amusement.

So, they decided to end their afternoon with one last walk through the park to enjoy the last rays of sun, Y/n's hand on Anthony's arm. Y/n was telling him for the thousandth time how excited she was to go play pall mall the next day with the rest of the Bridgerton family. But Anthony never complained and listened attentively and patiently.

But the couple's peace was ruined when a little in front of them, a woman who Y/n quickly recognized as Earl Harrison's wife, was shouting at a maid. She was already old, and was on her knees on the floor trying to clean the woman's expensive dress. People were sending them looks and Y/n felt fury run through her veins when no one intervened, allowing that maid to be basically humiliated in a public square.

She took a step forward, but was pulled back by Anthony, who was holding her hand while sending her a look. "We have nothing to do with this. It's better not to get involved."

Y/n frowned, shaking her head in denial. "No. I'm sorry, Anthony, but I can't do this. But I promise I'll control myself." She then added in a whisper, "If she doesn't irritate me."

"Y/n…"

But Anthony didn't have time to finish his sentence because his wife was already putting on a fake smile, approaching that scene. "Excuse me, what is happening?"

"Lady Bridgerton, look!" the Countess exclaimed while pointing at her maid as if she were an inferior being, noting that she was waiting for Y/n to take her side. "I came to have a picnic on this beautiful day, but this incompetent woman dropped the cake on my dress. It was my favorite!"

"You sound like a child." Y/n said truthfully, not caring about the gasps heard. Anthony sighed behind her.

"Countess Harrinson, I tripped over a stone. My deep apologies, it won't happen again." the maid, still kneeling on the floor, whimpered. The woman rolled her eyes and gave her a small kick, forcing her to move away.

"It won't happen again because you're not coming back with me. I don't accept mistakes, especially like this." The Countess said coldly, while Viscountess Bridgerton became redder and redder with anger.

"But I—"

"You know, Countess Harrinson, she won't be coming back to you because she's going to work for Viscount Bridgerton. We'd be happy to have you,…"

"Mary." the maid said, putting her hands to her face and crying. "My apologies. Thank you, Lady Bridgerton. That's very kind of you."

"How dare you!" the Countess exploded in anger. "You just disrespected Earl Harrinson's wife." Anthony's wife continued to look at her indifferently. The other mumbled in frustration, "I'm going to destroy your family's reputation."

"I'd like to see you try." she narrowed her eyes, not looking away from her until the Countess was already well away from them, the other maids hurrying after her. However, the crowd that formed stayed in the exact same place.

"Y/n, what do you think you're doing?" Anthony hissed. "We shouldn't have intervened."

"You can't really expect me to leave her here on the floor. Just because she's a maid doesn't deserve to be treated like this." Y/n snapped angrily at her husband, helping the poor woman to get up from the floor.

"I'm not saying she deserves it." he growled, he too beginning to get unnerved. "But you can't talk to an Earl's wife like that. This is a hierarchy, Y/n."

"If I see someone being mistreated, you can be sure that I will speak however I want to whoever I want."

"Watch it." Anthony warned with his jaw clenched. He looked around, noticing that they were attracting even more looks and attention. People were already starting to murmur among themselves, and Anthony was sure it wouldn't take long for rumors to spread. "Stop it and we'll talk at home."

"Don't treat me like I'm the insolent one." Y/n hissed, pulling her arm away when Anthony tried to pull her closer to him.

The maid seemed to be increasingly panicked, now being the cause of an argument between the Bridgerton couple, who were well known in society. On the other hand, the woman was quite touched by Y/n's kind gesture. In the midst of such an aggressive society, there were people with pure hearts who were not afraid to defend what they believed in.

"We'll talk at home then, Lord Bridgerton." Y/n ended up saying after a few long tense moments in which the two exchanged glares. She straightened her dress and started to walk, but stopped and looked over her shoulder at the maid who was hesitant to follow. "Come on, Mary, when we get to the mansion I'll introduce you to the rest of our maids who I'm sure will help you settle in."

The atmosphere was tense throughout the carriage ride. Anthony and Y/n continued to avoid talking, knowing that an argument would immediately begin. Instead, he seemed to be caught up in his thoughts while his wife was busy talking to Mary, who slowly seemed to be starting to relax.

When the carriage finally stopped, although they were angry with each other, the Bridgerton got out first to help Y/n out, as she was quite clumsy and it wouldn't be the first time she almost fell out of the carriage in her long dresses. .

"My office. We need to talk." he said in a low voice into Y/n's ear who nodded.

"Juliet." the Viscountess Bridgerton called one of the maids. "This is Mary. Please show her her duties and introduce her to the rest of the people. Make sure she feels welcome."

"Of course, Lady Bridgerton."

Finally, the couple was alone, but spirits seemed to still be high. Anthony continued to be frustrated with Y/n because she didn't realize that there was a hierarchy in society, and they couldn't do everything they wanted, or it would harm not only them but the entire family. On the other hand, Y/n felt that Anthony was supporting social injustice, and that no human being should be treated badly just because they are from a lower social class.

"If you're waiting for me to apologize, I won't."

"I'm hoping you realize the gravity of what you just did." Anthony snapped, running a hand over his face with a sigh. "No matter how much it costs you, you have to respect this society and its rules!"

"But I don't agree with these rules!"

"I don't care about that!" the man exploded, not seeing how Y/n flinched. They had never argued like this. Obviously, they had already disagreed on some issues, but never to the point of raising their voices. "You were selfish! Everything you do affects you and all of us. You have to stop thinking only about yourself!"

"Selfish?" Y/n muttered, looking at her husband with a frown. Those words seemed to be like a knife in her heart.

"Did it occur to you that Francesca is going to start her season in a few months? Now surely all the suitors will know about this family's reputation. That we don't respect hierarchy. That I married someone who has nothing to do with this lifestyle."

Y/n's eyes filled with tears. Her voice was shaking, but she tried to keep herself in control, "Well, I'm sorry that I let you down. It wasn't my intention, Lord Bridgerton. I'm sorry that you married someone who wasn't supposed to be here, living with all this money and stupid rules of etiquette. But I will always do what I think is right. Because unlike you, I know what it's like to be looked down upon by the upper classes."

Anthony looked at her with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing several times. "Wait, Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I don't regret marrying you."

"It doesn't matter what you meant. Really, you should have married someone who was already into this lifestyle, who knew what the hell they were doing. I'm trying, I swear." Some tears fell. "But it's difficult. And dealing with these people, who think they are superior to others, I can't do it."

"Y/n…"

"But you're right. I should have thought about your family. Your siblings could be harmed by what I did, and that was the last thing I wanted. My apologies for that, I will make sure I fix this."

"No, no." the Bridgerton man said, looking desperately at the woman. The woman who gave up her life to marry him, and has tried hard every day to adapt. And here he is, who instead of helping her criticizes her for defending what she believes in. "You're not going to do anything because there's nothing to fix."

"You don't need to say that, I already realized I made a mistake."

"But you didn't, I did. I let myself be influenced by everything that is wrong in this society, and that's why I'm disappointed in myself. But you, my beautiful kind wife, just did what was right, and I'm proud of you. You are not selfish, god you are nothing like that. You do so much for this family, I don't know what came over me to say something as barbaric as that."

"Anthony…" Y/n sighed, not knowing what to say. Her husband, in turn, seemed to have relaxed when Y/n finally called him by his name and not his title.

"I love you. I married you because I love who you are and want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want our children to be as kind as you, and we can raise them to be good people, who help others. I'm sorry for the way I treated you."

Y/n remained silent but let a small smile appear on her face. Anthony also realized that they were better off with each other and took a step forward.

"I will kneel and beg for your forgiveness."

"What are you waiting for?" she teased.

Although she wasn't expecting it, Anthony actually lowered himself to his knees at her feet, looking at her in amusement but also with sincerity. "My apologies, Lady Bridgerton. I will not repeat my mistakes again. I love you and how fierce you are. Now, will you please forgive me?"

"I don't know, Anthony, maybe I need something more convincing." she said, closing her eyes when she felt her husband lift her dress a little to place small kisses on her legs.

"I'm all yours, Y/N. For the rest of my days."

[leviathanspain]

not without him

anthony bridgerton x reader

synopsis: you knew birth would be no easy feat, but you knew you wouldn’t be able to do it without him

you clutched onto the white bedsheets, they were drenched with blood, and you were writhing on the bed as the doctor shouted orders at the nurses.

one had a cloth to your forehead, dabbing away your sweat and your tears. you couldn’t stop crying, it was an unbearable pain, that only got worse as the night went on.

violet had tried to prepare you, coming to her for advice on how to birth a bridgerton child. she had her most difficult birth with hyacinth, and just hearing her story sent chills down your spine.

anthony had been away in london when you went into labor. you knew he shouldn’t have left aubrey hall so close to the end of your pregnancy, but being the viscount meant there were things that required him present. you had hoped that your child would have some decency and arrive after the father, but the urge to push only became greater.

you feared that anthony wouldn’t make it, he was supposed to be here an hour ago, having rushed from london upon hearing the news.

the nurse looked down at you, “you have to push, my lady.” her voice quivered, as if she could feel your emotion. you teared up more, “no please- we have to wait for the viscount.” you felt weak, and you faintly heard the doctor shout that you were losing blood.

the nurse looked down again, and seemed firm, “you have to push, there is no time to spare if we wait for the viscount.” she dabbed your forehead again, “you and this baby will die if you don’t push now.”

you cried harder, “i need him here. i can’t do it without him.” you were scared, frightened by all these unfamiliar people. yes they were there to help you give birth to your first child, but you didn’t care, it wasn’t your husband dabbing your forehead or encouraging you.

your vision went fuzzy around the edges and your head fell back into the mounds of pillows that held you up. you could still hear the door push open, shouts being echoed into the room and finally, “let me through-“ his voice.

you heard a clatter of gear hit the wooden floor and you felt relief as he rushed to your side. anthony, still cold with the winter air, brushed the hair from your face, kissing your cheek. he saw how weak you looked, and could see the doctor’s expression.

“you can do it.” he whispered sweetly, “i’m here, you can do it.” he grabbed your hand, clutching it tightly and with his encouragement, you did the one thing you had been putting off.

the nurse over you seemed overjoyed that you were finally listening, there was fear among the doctor and staff that you would bleed out before anthony got there.

you grunted, weak from the blood loss. “push, my lady, push!” the nurse above you shouted, and you grunted loudly, doing as she said.

there was a brief moment of pause, relief that washed over you as you heard a newborn’s cry. you blinked away the sweat, feeling the damp cloth across your skin as you looked over at anthony, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of you. he was smiling brightly, but tears brimmed in his eyes, “you did it.” he whispered, “my lady….” he brushed the side of your face with a hand, and you closed your eyes, exhaustion washing over you.

you could see the light creeping through the curtains. it had been kept dark for you, candles burning just as you liked, even wearing your favorite nightgown. you could feel the pain, that ache that reminded you of what had happened.

you called out to your handmaid, watching as the door opened and instead, in stepped anthony holding the baby in his arms. your eyes softened, and you cooed, “my love.” you beckoned him to the bed, and anthony sat down carefully, the newborn in his arms was peacefully sleeping.

“good morning.” he kissed your forehead, “you have no idea how much i love you. i-“ he faltered, looking down at the baby to compose himself before he continued, “i almost lost you. please,” he looked at you, “please don’t ever scare me like that again. i beg you.” he whispered. he was happy at the birth of your son, but he wouldn’t have been if you had lost your life.

you looked at him, nodding. you didn’t want to say anything, instead looking down at the baby and resting your head on anthony’s shoulder, “have you thought of a name?” you noticed the baby’s fell head of hair and smirked, “looks like he got my hair.” you looked at the baby’s nose, “and your nose.” you laughed slightly, and anthony shrugged, “everyone says he looks like you more.”

his siblings must’ve arrived in from london. you smiled, but anthony knew what that smile was, “you must rest. the doctor said you lost a lot of blood, that you shouldn’t even think to lift a finger today.”

you sighed, “i won’t protest, i am feeling exhausted..” you didn’t know how to feel, your heart had never felt so much love all at once, “my boys.” you cooed, touching the baby’s hair as anthony kissed your forehead again.

[munsonsmixtapes]

Tired of Waiting

Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

summary: little pieces of your life as you fall in love with Anthony

cw: hurt/comfort

very loosely inspired by Love Story by Taylor Swift

Age 7

The first time you met Anthony, you had been playing hide and seek with your siblings. Your brothers had invited him to play and had declared that he be the seeker. Immediately, you had thought he was cute with his disheveled hair and outfit that was covered in dirt for reasons unknown to you.

He got along with your brothers quite nicely, but didn’t seem to pay you any mind. Almost as if he didn’t like you. And Anthony didn’t like you. He thought you were a know-it-all and didn’t like how you told him what to do.

You hid yourself in the tree above you and tried to hold back your giggles as you watched the boy and your brothers look for you, calling out your name as they did so. You let out a laugh that was a bit too loud and all four of them looked up, Anthony’s eyes going wide as he saw how high up you were. He thought it was very irresponsible of your brothers to let a girl such as yourself climb up there. But instead of helping, they all just laughed along with you.

Taking matters into his own hands, Anthony climbed up to help you despite your objection. You didn’t need his help. You got up there so you could certainly get down. And you certainly didn’t need help from a boy. Especially not one who was your not your brother.

“I do not require your help,” you told him, but he just ignored you, climbing the tree quicker than you ever could.

“No one said you didn’t require it, but I am offering.”

“Then I shall stay up here.” You crossed your arms over your chest, planting yourself down on the branch that you had been standing on. Thinking about letting him help you made you feel weak, like you couldn’t do it for yourself and you most certainly could.

You turned to face the setting sun as Anthony continued to climb to you, paying him no mind. You weren’t leaving that tree until he went away. He was not going to make you look like all of the other women. Because that was not what you were. You were just a girl trying to live out her freedom until it was time to discuss marriage.

Everyone stopped when there was a loud crack coming from below you. You sat up and sure enough, the branch was separating from the tree. Anthony finally reached the branch and him grabbing onto it made it completely break off, causing the both of you to fall to the ground in a loud thud.

He landed on top of you and made multiple apologies even though the fall hadn’t been that far, but you had hurt your knee, probably had even broken it. You screamed in response to the pain and your brothers quickly pulled him off of you and your oldest brother, Henry carried you inside to have your scraped knees taken care of. From that moment, you vowed that you would always hate Anthony Bridgerton.

Age 12

You got over your hatred for Anthony pretty quickly and the two of you had been attached at the hip ever since. You’d chase each other through the garden, threatening to kiss the other once you were caught, but that never actually happened. No matter how much you wanted it to. You knew it was wrong for a boy and a girl to kiss if they were not married, but that didn’t stop you from imagining what it would have been like to press a featherlight kiss to Anthony’s lips.

And Anthony felt just the same. He had realized that the feelings he had thought were hatred were actually of love. He had loved you and more than just a friend. He knew that he was young, but he wanted to marry you. So badly that it hurt. He vowed that as soon as the two of you were of age, he’d do it. If he had the guts.

Age 16

As you got older, you and Anthony talked much of traveling the world together. You’d go to Spain and Paris, and Italy and wherever else your hearts desired. You’d both sit in the study of your house and spin your globe for hours, closing your eyes and spinning the thing and deciding you’d had whatever it landed on to your ever-growing itinerary.

Not long after, Anthony told you that he would be traveling with his uncle through Europe. Coincidentally to the exact places you both had discussed going to. You had been a little upset, but ultimately felt elated for him to be able to do something so exciting. He promised that he would write and bring something back, but that didn’t seem like enough. You had spent every single day for the past nine years together and now you were going to be miles apart with only his letters and gifts to keep your company.

The next week, you saw Anthony off, giving him a hug that lasted a little too long for friends and stayed there until his carriage disappeared down the road. You felt tears fall from your eyes but wiped them away until you were alone.

You knew it was only going to be for a few weeks, but without Anthony, a part of you was missing. A piece of your heart had left with him and you were hoping, praying that he’d finally get the hint and come back and ask for your hand like you had been wanting for years. But he didn’t.

Age 20

Those few weeks had turned into months which eventually turned into years. Anthony had been gone for four years and you eventually threw away the letters he was sending you, knowing that everything he had said was a load of shit. He has promised to come back and marry you, but clearly that hadn’t been of importance since he had yet to do just that.

So, with that, you decided that it was finally your season to find a husband to which your mother reluctantly agreed. She had her heart set on you ending up with Anthony, but since he had failed to propose, she decided that it was probably for the best to just get on with it.

As soon as you had been declared ready to wed, suitors lined up at your door with gifts and many compliments which you took with a smile. All of them were gentleman, but none of them seemed right. The onto one you wanted was out of reach.

You found yourself at yet another ball to meet more suitors that you had forced yourself to go despite your want to stay home and read Anthony’s letters over and over again. You had been dancing with the man your mother had insisted was the right fit for you and no matter how nice he was, you had decided that he was a bore. All he seemed to want to talk about was his family and as nice as it was that he loved them so much, you could only hear about his six siblings for so long.

You looked around the room as he spoke and your eyes locked on a beautiful man by the refreshments table. He has the prettiest brown eyes and hair that was the perfect amount of messy. He was definitely your type and you had been determined to talk to him.

Once the song ended, you excused yourself from Edgar and made a beeline for the man that has caught your interest. His eyes locked on yours and for some reason, they seemed familiar, almost as if you had looked into them before. He gave you a smile and you swore your legs were going to give out at how pretty it was.

“Hello,” you greeted him with a curtsy. “I’m-”

“Lady l/n,” he finished, taking your gloved hand and pressing a kiss to it. How could he have possibly known your name? Unless- No, he was in Paris last you had heard.

“Anthony?” You asked and he just smiled. It really was him! In the flesh! How had he come back and not told you? Perhaps the announcement had been in the letters you had failed to open.

“I believe you should address me as Viscount Bridgerton,” he said, his lips right by your ear, causing you to shiver.

“That would mean that I respect you and at this moment, I don’t.” You pulled your hand from his and headed out of the ballroom, down to the courtyard.

Anthony took off after you, quickly gaining up on you. What had he done wrong? Once upon a time, you worshipped the ground that he walked on and now you were treating him like he was dog shit you had just stepped in.

He told you he was going to come back and marry you and now that he had, you didn’t want anything to do with him. He knew that he had been gone longer than intended, but he had hoped you still would have been happy to see him. Apparently, he was wrong.

Anthony followed you into the hedge maze that took up most of the courtyard and was having trouble keeping up since you had sped up into a run. What even was the purpose of a hedge maze?

He eventually caught you by the wrist and you tried to wriggle out of his grasp, but it was no use. You were tired of running, but you were also tired of waiting. If you said the word, you’d be wed to Edgar within a month and Anthony would have been kicking himself because he hadn’t gotten there sooner. It was what he had deserved.

“Stop running,” he commanded through labored breaths and you just shook your head.

“No,” you replied. “I will not. I am so upset with you that I can’t even comprehend it.”

“Upset with me?” He still had no idea what he had done.

“Yes!” You looked so upset and exhausted that all Anthony wanted to do was hold you in his arms as a way to comfort you.

“Why?”

“Why? Be serious, Anthony! I have waited years for you and I shall not wait any longer. I am done with you.” That was like a stab to the heart. You should have just killed him. It would have hurt a lot less

“Done?” You couldn’t be done with him. You had spent too much time together for that to be true.

“I am to marry Lord Fletcher.” Fuck, he was too late.

“That man is a bore!” You had no interest in hearing his thoughts. He lost his privilege to tell you what he thought when he left.

“He is no such thing!” He really was, but you weren’t going to give Anthony the satisfaction of being right.

“And may I say old enough to be your father.” He was that too, but you weren’t really going to marry him so it didn’t matter.

“But he will be my husband. A role you could have taken on if you had bothered to show up.” With that, he he let go of your hand and watched you move further into the maze.

“But he doesn’t love you as much as I!” He yelled, loud enough for you to hear. You quickly turned around and marched towards him and grabbed him by his coat before pressing your lips to his. You felt him gasp into your mouth but he quickly melted into you, his lips moving with yours.

“You love me,” you said against his lips.

“More than you’ll ever know.” He pulled away and reached into his pocket for the ring he had bought for you in Paris. He opened the box you gasped at the beautiful ring sitting inside it.

“Anthony, it’s beautiful.”

“And it’s yours.” He removed the ring from the box and slid it onto your finger, tears welling up in both of your eyes. “It always was.”

“I’m sorry. I was horrible to you.”

“No apologies necessary,” he shook his head, pulling you into another deep kiss. “Now, shall we go make the announcement?” He asked, offering you his arm.

“We shall,” you nodded and looped your arm through his, the two of you making your way back into the ballroom to announce your much anticipated engagement.

[fushitoru]

chapter 4: the game a bridgerton!au

pairing ⸺ duke!satoru gojo x fem!reader

summary⸺ dearest gentle reader, a new season is upon us as the ton gets ready for a season filled with drama, heartbreak, and passion. after being crowned diamond of the season, duke gojo⸺only looking to marry just to secure his inheritance⸺has his sights set on you, the easiest (and most obvious) option. later, when you catch his saying unsavory things about you on a terrace when he least suspected it, you swear to never marry gojo. as london's fashionable set goes through yet another wedding season, will there be hope for scandalous gossip, hate, and thinly veiled insults, or will we witness blooming love and passion?

warnings ⸺ nsfw, enemies to lovers, bridgerton au, angst, fluff, SUGGESTIVE, eventual smut, jealousy, misogyny, regency era au, gojo being infuriating, reader also being infuriating, both of them are clueless honestly

chapter summary: satoru has some revelations about you. both you and satoru share some quite...happening days at the manor, including an eventful game of pall mall. (4.9k)

a/n WARNING this chapter is suggestive. like always minors dni. not edited at all bc im sick of this chapter lol (like always i fear). see u at the bottom ;)

prev. the manor | next. the fall

general masterlist | series masterlist

Dearest reader, 

It has come to the attention of This Author that Miss Itadori, the undeniable diamond of the season, has made her appearance at Gojo Manor a full week ahead of the rest of the ton. Such early arrival can only provoke speculation: might the tender buds of affection be blossoming in the Kentish countryside? Shall we soon witness Miss Itadori departing with more than just fond memories, perhaps even a ring upon her finger? These are the very questions now fluttering through the minds of young ladies and their ever-watchful mamas, who may find their carefully laid plans to ensnare Lord Gojo dashed before the house party has even begun.

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

Gojo leaned back in his chair, fingers absentmindedly drumming on the armrest as he watched you fumble with the library door. The soft fabric of your nightgown slipped off your shoulder, a glimpse of bare skin catching in the dim light⸺something not lost to Gojo’s eyes as he watched your figure disappear angrily. Your face was flushed, eyes wide and uncertain. Despite the flurry of emotions playing across your features, what struck him most was the way your hands trembled as you fought to maintain composure.

His lips pressed into a thin line as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. You had come here⸺of all places⸺into his sanctuary, and for what? A part of him couldn’t reconcile the image of you sneaking into the library in the dead of night with the proper, composed lady you portrayed during the day. The whole encounter felt surreal, leaving a knot of confusion coiled tightly in his chest.

His gaze lingered on the empty doorway after you vanished, a strange hollowness settling in his chest. He rubbed the back of his neck, trying to shake off the feeling, but it clung to him like the shadows of the room. His fingers tightened around the armrest, knuckles whitening as if he could grasp onto something concrete⸺something that made sense. But all he was left with was the lingering echo of your footsteps in the hallway and the ghost of your flushed face in his mind.

He rubbed a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. His mind kept returning to the way your nightgown had slipped from your shoulder as you fumbled with the door. The pale fabric had slid down so effortlessly, exposing the curve of your bare skin. It wasn’t scandalous, not really⸺not enough to warrant the way his thoughts kept circling back to it. And yet, he couldn’t shake the image, the unexpected flash of vulnerability. The sight of it stirred something in him, a quiet confusion that unsettled his usual composure.

What was it that made him notice? Gojo’s brow furrowed as he considered it, his fingers absently drumming on the armrest of his chair. He had witnessed plenty of women in far less modest circumstances (most of them courtesy of his friends, who forced him to go to ridiculous events), and yet, this felt different. There was something about the way you had tried to maintain your dignity, the way you had fought to compose yourself even as your face flushed and your nightgown betrayed you. It was... distracting.

The memory of your fearful expression gnawed at him. He had expected haughty arrogance or calculated charm, not genuine fear. You weren’t like the people who usually surrounded him, playing their part in society's grand performance, all vying for his attention. There was an intelligence in your eyes, a spark that made him feel something unsettlingly close to admiration.

He couldn’t make sense of it. Why did it matter that you were different? Why did he find himself enjoying your company, despite the fact that you seemed entirely uninterested in his? He drummed his fingers against the armrest, contemplating the possibility of pursuing you for the rest of the season⸺though he quickly dismissed the thought. You were uncooperative, difficult. A chase after you would be nothing short of exhausting. 

And yet...

His attention shifted back to the desk, to the scattered papers you had left behind. Gojo reached for them, his fingers brushing lightly against the edge of the parchment as though handling something fragile. The numbers and diagrams were a mess of scribbled notes, and yet, they held a strange familiarity. His brow furrowed as he traced the lines with his eyes, piecing together the fragmented calculations. Then, like a puzzle falling into place, it clicked.

Venus. Of all things, you had been calculating the size of Venus.

Gojo’s hand froze midair, hovering over the papers. He blinked, his breath catching in his throat. He had assumed⸺no, expected⸺you to be reading some frivolous romance, a book about love and passion, something fitting for a young lady sneaking into a library. But instead, you were working on complex celestial calculations.

He had pegged you for a typical young lady of the ton⸺someone more interested in the latest gossip or the affections of suitors than in the stars. It annoyed him, more than he cared to admit, that he had been wrong.

Gojo set the paper down, his hand resting on the edge of the desk as he leaned back in his chair. The flicker of irritation that sparked in his chest was unfamiliar, unsettling even. It wasn’t just that you had surprised him⸺plenty of people had done that before. No, it was the fact that he had misjudged you so completely. He prided himself on being perceptive, on seeing through people’s masks with ease. Yet here you were, slipping past his assumptions with nothing more than a few scribbled notes and a fleeting presence.

His gaze dropped to the floor, and for the first time in a long while, he felt uncertain. Gojo wasn’t used to feeling this way⸺unsettled, annoyed, and a little too curious for his own good. He tapped the papers lightly, lost in thought. What did it mean that you had gotten under his skin like this? That he found himself wanting to unravel the mystery of you, to see what lay beneath the surface of your carefully constructed facade?

A sigh escaped his lips, low and quiet. His hand finally left the papers, and he leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling as if it held answers he couldn’t quite grasp. The world around him was filled with people who either fawned over his charms or remained blissfully unaware of his true nature. But you? You saw right through him. You challenged him, unsettled him, made him question things he had never thought to question before.

With a final glance at the empty doorway, Satoru leaned forward again, ready to dive back into his work. But this time, his thoughts weren’t solely on his family’s ledgers. They were on you⸺and the undeniable pull that had started to form between you.

And inevitably, because Satoru is distracted, he lets the lull of sleep sneak up on him, swathing him in its deep, heavy blanket.

No, Satoru hears himself think. You’re not supposed to be here.

You’re sitting on his bed, somehow made it up to his chambers. A part of Satoru comprehends⸺in all his sleep-deprived glory⸺that he is definitely dreaming, but there’s an overwhelmingly stubborn part of him that dominates his entire consciousness, refusing to accept the fact. 

You’re leaning on your elbow, resting on your side on the foot of his bed. Part of him wants to believe that you are really here, sheer nightgown that seems to get shorter and shorter⸺slipping up your thighs⸺every time his consciousness paints an image of you. The sheer material drapes over your figure, accentuating the gentle curve of your waist and the fullness of your hips, painting a picture that torments him.

“My lord,” you whisper. 

It’s just his title, but your voice carries a sweetness it never holds in reality, dripping with an unfamiliar softness that makes Satoru’s heart lurch. Panic takes root, and he scrambles back, trying to distance himself from the fantasy in front of him. His back slams against the headboard as he fights to resist⸺not just you, but the part of himself that aches to abandon all notions of honor. That part of him that craves to do things to you that are anything but honorable.

Then, he notices your smile. It’s not the polite, practiced smile you show at balls or to suitors vying for your attention. This one is sincere, warm⸺a smile that speaks of affection, the kind you’ve never shown him before.

Like you are in love. 

And you are not helping Satoru in his restraint because you position yourself, crawling like a predator, straddling his lap. Satoru is suddenly breathing too fast, his chest tightening with the weight of desire and disbelief.

Your lips are at his ear. Your lips are so soft. “Touch me,” you say, trailing your lips down feather light across his jaw. 

Right now, you are in love. With him. You are his, and Satoru desperately does not want to fight it. 

He does not want to. 

Your hands start trailing down his torso, and now he registers that he is simply wearing a linen shirt and underwear because you are tracing the edge of his underwear, touching his inner thighs, getting so, so impossibly close to⸺

“No,” he rasps, squeezing his eyes shut. “I am a man of honor.”

But that’s a lie. One that Satoru clings to, because admitting the truth would shatter everything he’s built. His identity, his values⸺they all rest on the lie he’s desperately trying to hold onto.

What he really wants is nothing between you and him.

He wants that flimsy nightgown gone, the one that barely covers your thighs and what lies between them. He wants to keep the candlelight burning so he can see every inch of you, learn every detail of your body. He wants to slip off your chemise and explore the softness of your skin, trace the swell of your breasts, the dip of your hips, and taste the sweetness of your lips.

Satoru can’t focus on anything except the fact you are utterly, scandalously close to him, sitting on his lap and staring at him as if you love him. 

And his treacherous heart wants to abandon duty, honor, the dukedom, the royal family⸺everything⸺and simply take you. To feel the weight of you pressed against him, wrapped around him.

But just as his hands move to cup your face, you start giggling. “No, you are not.”

Satoru blinks, confused.

You laugh again, light and teasing. “You are no man of honor.”

And suddenly, your laughter echoes in his mind, filling the room with its taunting melody. It etches itself into his thoughts, leaving an indelible mark.

“You are a coward.”

You entered the drawing room to break your fast, Choso by your side, and immediately locked eyes with Gojo, who was already seated at the table with his mother. He quickly looked away, focusing on the toast he was slathering with an ungodly amount of jam.

As you moved to sit at the table with Choso, you couldn't help but study him. Gojo appeared more disheveled than usual, perhaps a bit fatigued, though any sign of vulnerability quickly vanished when your mother spoke.

“Lord Gojo, it is a fine morning, is it not?” she inquired with her usual warmth.

Gojo smiled, leaning back in his chair with his characteristic nonchalance. “Indeed, Lady Itadori, especially as I am blessed with such lovely company as yourself and your daughter.” His eyes flickered toward you, an arrogant glint in them before they shifted back to your mother.

You and Choso exchanged exasperated glances. 

Your mother chuckled, clearly charmed. “Oh, my lord, you flatter me. Tell me, what do you favor for breakfast? I am always curious to hear of others' preferences.”

“Clearly, it is toast drowned in enough jam to satisfy an army,” you muttered under your breath, delicately spreading butter onto your own toast.

Gojo’s eyes flashed, and he couldn’t resist a retort. “At least I do not indulge in something as dull as butter.”

You stiffened. “Butter is far superior to such overwhelming sweetness. Jam annihilates the taste of the toast itself, rendering it pointless.”

“And butter,” he shot back, “adds nothing but blandness. It is unremarkable, simple, and tasteless.”

A surge of heat rose to your face, ready to deliver another sharp remark, but before you could respond, Duchess Gojo’s lilting laughter filled the room. “Oh, my dears, what a lively couple you make!” Her tone was teasing, her eyes alight with amusement. “Such spirited conversation at breakfast⸺how delightful!”

Both you and Gojo stiffened, your faces flushing, though whether it was from irritation or something else entirely, you couldn’t say. You hastily turned your attention back to your toast, while Gojo busied himself with his tea.

Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together lightly, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Since we are all in such a lively mood this morning, I do believe a game of pall-mall is in order once breakfast is through. The garden is in full bloom, and the weather is perfect for it.”

Your mother smiled graciously. “A wonderful idea, Duchess. It has been some time since we last enjoyed a game.”

“Indeed,” the Duchess agreed. “And I daresay a little friendly competition will do us all good. What do you say, Lord Gojo?” She turned to her son with a knowing look. “I trust you are up for the challenge?”

Gojo leaned back in his chair, a smirk playing on his lips. “I never shy away from a challenge, Mother. But do be warned, I have no intention of losing.”

“Confidence is a virtue,” you remarked dryly, reaching for your teacup, “but do not let it cloud your judgment. Pall-mall requires more than mere bravado.”

Gojo raised an eyebrow, his smile widening. “Ah, a challenge from you as well. This shall be an interesting morning indeed.”

“Let us hope your skills in the garden match your flair for words, my lord,” you retorted, your tone light (for the sake of preventing your mother a heart attack) but your gaze to Gojo sharp. 

Duchess Gojo’s laughter rang out once more, her eyes gleaming with delight. “Oh, this will be most entertaining! Come now, let us finish our breakfast, and then we shall see who emerges victorious on the field.”

You took a sip of your tea, pointedly ignoring the way Gojo’s gaze lingered on you as you did so. The day had barely begun, and already, you felt the familiar tension of being in his presence. But if there was one thing you knew, it was that you wouldn’t back down from a challenge⸺whether at the breakfast table or in the garden.

Duchess Gojo clapped her hands together, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “Now, we must let our diamond choose first. After all, she is the only lady participating today.”

You smiled warmly at her, a polite nod of appreciation. Gojo, however, frowned, his eyes narrowing slightly as he glanced between you and the bag of mallets. “Are we not simply setting her up for victory?”

Turning to him with an innocent smile, you crossed your arms. “What’s that, my lord? Are you unable, as a man, to deal with the loss of your chosen mallet? I know some men depend heavily on certain familiars to win.”

Gojo held your gaze for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then, with a dismissive shrug, he looked away. “Choose whatever you want. I will be sure to defeat you regardless.”

Duchess Gojo placed a warm hand on your back, encouraging you forward. “That’s the spirit, my son. Now, Miss Itadori, do choose which one you fancy.”

You approached the bag of mallets, your eyes scanning over the selection. They varied in subtle shapes and sizes, each one seemingly tailored for a different style of play. Your gaze settled on a mallet slightly larger than the others, painted a light blue shade. Its weight and shape seemed particularly advantageous for aim and control—perfect for directing the ball with precision.

As you picked it up, Gojo’s expression darkened, a hint of irritation flickering in his eyes. “Of course, she chooses the best one,” he muttered under his breath.

“Well,” Duchess Gojo crossed her arms. “I suppose it’s only fair that you all let the lady go first.” She turned to you, nodding. “I will go join your mother for tea inside, my dear.” Winking, she adds, “Show these boys how real ladies do it.”

As the duchess took her leave, Choso, always the supportive brother, leaned over to you with a small smile. “Excellent choice, sister. Show them how it’s done.”

You gave him a grateful nod and positioned yourself for your turn. With a graceful swing, you sent the ball rolling smoothly across the lawn. Choso clapped in approval, but when you looked up, Gojo and Yuji were both glowering at you from the sidelines.

Gojo’s lips curled into a smirk, clearly not amused by your success. “Beginner’s luck,” he commented dryly. Yuji could only nod in mindless agreement to Gojo, and you graced him with a glower. Traitor.

Now it was Gojo’s turn. He stepped forward with confident ease, positioning himself with the mallet as though he had been doing this his entire life. With a swift, practiced swing, his ball shot forward and struck a target dead center. Yuji’s eyes sparkled with admiration, practically beaming at Gojo’s skill.

Choso and you exchanged petulant glances, unimpressed by Gojo’s display. But Yuji’s excitement only grew, and he couldn’t resist praising his mentor. “Incredible, my lord! You never miss!”

Choso’s turn came next. With a focused look, he lined up his shot and knocked Gojo’s ball right out of position, sending it tumbling off course into a forested area. Gojo let out a forced laugh, masking his irritation as best as he could, and you clapped and let out a small, petty giggle. “Good shot, brother! I fear Lord Gojo will have to travel much distance to retrieve and get it on course.”

You would come to bite your words.

When it was Yuji’s turn, he aimed with all his might and sent your ball flying out of position. You gasped in outrage, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Oh, you will pay for this.”. 

Gojo, on the other hand, gave Yuji a hearty pat on the back, beaming with pride. “Well done, Yuji. Well done.”

It was now your turn, and you stomped your way towards the forested area where you and Gojo’s balls had traveled towards. Soon enough, Gojo was following after you.

The path was shaded by trees, and the coolness of the forest was a welcome relief from the heat of the sun. You could help but give each other glares until you finally broke the silence.

 “How dare you bewitch my brother into turning against me?” you accused him, stepping over a stray root.

Gojo rolled his eyes, a playful smirk on his lips. “It appears that Yuji’s blood is indeed not thicker than water,” 

 “Or maybe⸺just maybe⸺your charm isn’t as infallible as you think.”

Keeping pace beside you, Gojo scoffed. “And yet, here you are, still engaged in conversation with me. I must be doing something right.”

You shoot him an angry sideways glance. “I’m only here because my ball is, unfortunately, in the same direction as yours. Nothing more.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Ah, so it’s mere coincidence that fate keeps pulling us together.”

“More like unfortunate circumstance.”

The two of you continued bickering as you searched for your wayward balls. The back-and-forth banter echoed through the forest, neither of you willing to back down.

Finally, you spotted them⸺your ball and Gojo’s⸺resting precariously on top of a narrow stream of water. You both halted, glancing at each other, and then, without a word, you raced forward.

Gojo reached the water’s edge first, but you weren’t far behind. Neither of you hesitated as you waded into the shallow stream, your focus entirely on retrieving your respective balls. The bottoms of your clothes became soaked in the cool water, but neither of you paid it any mind, too busy grappling to reach your goals first.

Just as you managed to scoop up your ball, your dress snagged on something in the water. You stumbled forward, colliding directly into Gojo, who had just retrieved his own. The sudden impact sent both of you toppling into the water.

You landed squarely on top of him, the shock of the fall leaving you momentarily dazed. Gojo blinked up at you, his breath catching as his gaze dropped to your now-dampened bodice, honing in on your bosom. For a moment, his usually sharp and calculating eyes softened, confusion flickering across his face as if he didn’t quite understand the effect you were having on him.

You scrambled to find your words, unsure of what to say. “I didn’t mean to⸺”

Before you could finish, Gojo gently grasped your shoulders and helped you off of him. He stood up first, his expression uncharacteristically serious as he brushed off his wet clothing and offered you a hand. You took it, steadying yourself as you rose to your feet.

Gojo swallowed hard, clearly at a loss for words. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but then quickly closed it, shaking his head. “I must go,” he muttered,.

Without another word, he turned and left, leaving you standing there in the stream, confused and flustered as you watched him disappear into the trees.

“I am not impressed.” Nobara impassively stares you down with a glower.

You fluttered your fan, maintaining a delicate air of mock innocence. “Whatever do you mean, my dear friend?”

The two of you sat at a small table on the terrace, its stone surface warm from the midday sun. Before you, the expansive field served as Gojo’s personal training ground, scattered with targets and archery equipment. Gojo and his protégé, Yuji, had clearly been at it for hours, their bare skin glistening with sweat under the relentless sun. They moved with a practiced ease, their focus entirely on the task at hand.

Gojo was currently demonstrating a particular stance to Yuji, his voice carrying faintly over the terrace as he corrected the younger man’s posture and grip. Yuji, ever the diligent student, watched him with an intensity that bordered on awe. You couldn’t help but reflect that his expression now⸺determined and assured⸺contrasted much with his encounter with you at the game. 

Nobara’s eyes narrowed as she regarded the scene. “Why are we here?” she asked flatly, her gaze lingering on the two men.

You turned to her with a smile, fluttering your fan with exaggerated elegance. “Why, to record in my journal, of course. One must capture the beauty of Mother Nature when it presents itself so generously from this terrace.”

Her expression remained unimpressed. “Is it truly Mother Nature that has captivated you, or Lord Gojo’s bare skin?” She glanced down at your unopened journal, its quill resting untouched beside it. “And how much progress have you made in this recording of yours?”

You couldn’t suppress a laugh, caught in your own half-hearted excuse. “Well, even you cannot deny that he presents a rather fine figure, can you? And I will get to my writing in due time. Inspiration must first strike, after all.”

Nobara sighed, folding her arms across her chest. “I cannot fathom how you find pleasure in looking upon a man who has caused you so much distress. Many times, in fact.”

You glanced back toward the field, watching as Gojo effortlessly pulled back his bowstring, the muscles in his back rippling with the movement. His form was impeccable, each action a demonstration of his skill and strength. Yuji, in contrast, struggled to replicate the motion with as much ease and accuracy, though his determination was evident.

"He’s clearly enjoying himself," you commented dryly, turning your attention back to Nobara. "Torturing me, that is. I might as well make due of my harrowing and demeaning stay here and enjoy some aspects of Gojo. I swear, he delights in the fact that I’m stuck here."

Nobara’s eyes narrowed, and she snorted. "Oh, absolutely. Men like him don’t get much amusement in life unless it involves making someone else miserable."

You shook your head, remembering the library encounter all too vividly. Gojo had seemed genuinely surprised to find you there, and yet he had taken to taunting you with his usual smugness. That infernal smirk of his had been etched into your memory.

"I almost wonder," you mused, "if he was actually shocked to find me in the library. Perhaps I caught him off guard for once."

Nobara raised an eyebrow. "What were you doing? Looking for a book on how to survive insufferable dukes?"

You chuckled softly. "No, I was reading about Venus, actually. But Gojo⸺he assumed I was indulging in some silly romance. Imagine his surprise when he realized I was working on calculations instead."

Nobara’s lips twitched upward in amusement, but before she could respond, a loud thud! echoed across the terrace. Both of you looked down just in time to see Gojo's arrow hit the target dead center.

You rolled your eyes. Of course, he would show off. That insufferable man never missed an opportunity to flaunt his skills. Yuji, predictably, looked like he was about to faint from admiration.

Gojo notched another arrow, his back muscles rippling as he drew it back with practiced ease. His abs tightened with the effort, and though you told yourself you were merely observing his technique, your gaze lingered a moment longer than necessary. The tautness of his form was, undeniably, impressive.

“It is a shame,” Nobara remarked, her voice breaking through your thoughts. “He does present a rather fine figure. If only his character matched his appearance.”

You blinked, realizing that your gaze had lingered on him for far too long. “What?”

Nobara glanced at you, her expression half-amused, half-pitying. “I merely observe that if his manners were as well-formed as his physique, he might be a most agreeable companion.”

You opened your fan again, waving it lightly in front of your face. “Perhaps. But we both know that appearances can be deceiving.”

Nobara’s expression turned serious as she looked at you. “You must find yourself a husband who is both well-formed and well-mannered, my dear. Else I shall be forced to gouge out my eyes every time I am called to attend on you.”

You sighed dramatically, closing your fan with a soft snap. “Whatever you say, Nobara.”

Yet, even as you dismissed her words, your gaze drifted back to the field. Gojo was a puzzle, indeed. And whether you liked it or not, he had captured more of your attention than you were willing to admit.

Satoru is sweaty and hot, and therefore he must rush back to take a cold bath. 

The weather is quite warm, he must admit to himself. Teaching Yuji had been nothing sort of pleasurable; the boy’s physical prowess was quite impressive, and he learned things very, very fast. If Yuji were to keep learning and working on his skill, he would easily be up to Gojo’s level or even surpass him. 

As he climbs up the stairs to the terrace, he wipes his brow, which has budded with sweat. When he crosses a table that overlooks the field, he notices a book. His mother and him wouldn’t expose any books like this⸺a fine and intricate design covering the top⸺to the harsh, humid weather, so he picks up the book, frowning.

Frowning, he picked it up, curiosity getting the better of him. The book felt unfamiliar in his hands, and as he opened it, the words within seemed to swim before his eyes. Annoyed, he rubbed the sweat from his forehead and squinted, finally making out the fine, neat handwriting on the page.

I confess, there is something intoxicating about the notion that women might be more than what society has so neatly confined us to be. Is it truly so outlandish to consider that we, too, possess minds capable of great thought and spirits yearning for freedom?

Satoru's eyes widened, and a flicker of intrigue sparked within him. He flipped to the next page, where the writing grew messier, more hurried.

Indeed, God truly blesses the wrong soldiers with features such as his. However, I take pride in being one of His strongest for I possess the fortitude to resist the temptation of ending Gojo’s miserable existence myself.

His eyes widened. If he had been intrigued before, now he was thoroughly captivated. This had to be you. His heart began to beat faster as he quickly turned to another page, where the ink was still fresh, and a pressed leaf lay nestled between the pages.

If I were to base my choice of husband solely on physical appearance, I must confess that Lord Gojo would be a most compelling candidate. However, to consider him without regard to his character would be a grave disservice to myself and to dear Nobara, who would bear the consequences of such a choice daily.

I hold out hope for a suitor with a similar strength of physique, one whose form displays power and grace, much like Gojo. His muscles, so clearly defined, speak of formidable strength and control—his back rippling with every pull of the bowstring, his breath labored as he steadies himself.

Alas, such attributes, though appealing, are not enough…

His fingers hovered over the delicate page, the words sinking in. A part of him wanted to laugh at your sharpness, your refusal to fall prey to his charms, but another part⸺one that kept resurfacing and resurfacing against his will, showing up even in his slumber⸺felt something else entirely.

…What a pity, indeed.

prev. the manor | next. the fall

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n i feel like the only important plot point in this chapter is that gojo is a boobs guy

sorry if this chapter was a little icky :( i prefered publishing this than having to subject my dear beta reader to having to edit this mess or even me having to think about it further. i will rest so that the next chapter is better <3 (lots of fluffy moments to come in the next one)

gojo when you spawned in his bedroom

will finally treat myself to answering asks after I wake up since i'm done with this dreadfull chapter <333 jesus it's 3am

comment, reblog, and send in an ask to let me know ur thots :3 memes are also appreciated <3

TAGLIST

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@byhuenii @geniejunn @a-girl-with-thoughts @dazedin2d @chuuqxs

@megumiivs @anthastudios @arranacosmist @arishaxml @jingyuun

@undercooked-chaos-noodle @jaegersity @camzzn @bluelai @1sweetheart1

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@soobssedwithyourex @manyno @samkysnks @stefnarda @bbqsauceonmytitties2

[ofstarsandvibranium]

Precious Truths: Part 3

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: After your father finds out you've been writing under a male pseudonym, he threatens to marry you off to an atrocious man unless you find yourself a husband within a month's time.

Series Masterlist

Once at their door, you're insistently knocking on their door until someone opens it. Mrs. Wilson looks at you with confusion. Your chest is heaving, your eyes are wide, your hair in disarray, "Miss Y/N? Are you alright?"

"I need to see the Viscount and Viscountess immediately," you say urgently as you enter the Bridgerton home, gripping the older woman's arms to stabilize you.

"They're still freshening up for di-"

"Please! I need to see them! It's urgent!"

"Alright," the older woman nods at you, removing your hands from her, and rushes up the stairs to retrieve Anthony and Kate.

You're pacing in the foyer, fingers twiddling together as you're trying your best not to break down right then and there. You begin to mentally scold yourself for being so careless. You had done so well in the beginning, hiding your writings under your floorboards. You became careless. Your aunt was never one to snoop and your father was always in a drunken state. You figured neither of them would begin to look around your room, so you left your writings there.

Oh how wrong you were.

You look up to hear footsteps and see that Kate is the first one rushing down the stairs, "Y/N? What's wrong? Are you alright?"

You grab her arms to keep you steady as you shake your head, "My father found out and he's going to marry me off to my awful cousin. I need to find a husband quickly!"

"Found out? Found out what?" she asks you in confusion.

You don't answer her question as you continue on with your hysteric ramble, "Please, Kate, do you or Anthony know anyone who's looking for a wife?"

"Y/N, slow down. Wha-"

"What is wrong, Y/N?" Anthony asks as he finally approaches you in concern.

You look at him with wide eyes, "You need to help me find a husband."

You jolts in surprise, "What?"

"Darling, is everything alright?" Violet looks at the three of you with worry. She notes your distress, "I'll have Mrs. Wilson get ready some tea," she immediately goes to find her housekeeper.

Kate takes hold of your hand and guides you to the sitting room where you immediately plop yourself into the couch, throwing your head into your hands.

The Viscountess sits beside and puts a reassuring hand on your back, rubbing it soothingly. She looks up at her husband and mouths, 'Get Benedict.'

The Viscount immediately scurries off to find his brother.

"Deep breaths, Y/N. When you are ready, you must start from the beginning."

You sit up and wipe your now teary eyes. You take a deep breath and ready to speak, but your words get caught in your throat when Benedict enters the room.

Kate stands from your side and Benedict immediately takes her place, "Are you alright? Anthony said you were in distress."

You let out a shaky breath and give him a sad smile, "It's all gone wrong, Ben."

"What happened?"

You gulp and look up at Anthony and Kate who watch you with patient eyes, "What I'm about to tell you must not leave this room. It's imperative that no one, especially Whistledown, doesn't know."

"Know what?" Benedict asks.

You take another deep breath, "I'm Arthur Talbot."

Anthony looks at you in surprise. Kate looks at you like she's realized something. Benedict...you're not sure what the expression he's giving, but at least he doesn't look angry.

Kate can't help but chuckle, "It makes so much sense now. When you'd recite his words, it felt like they were your own. They were."

You nod and turn to Benedict, "You know how my papa forbade me from reading and writing poetry. I couldn't let it go, not when it was the one thing I had left of my mama. So I decided to write under a man's name, so my papa wouldn't know.

"But when I arrived home after our promenade, he was in my room. He found everything. He was so angry. He-" you look away in shame, "He struck me-"

"He struck you?" he asked you in disbelief. He feels a burning anger start to bubble within him. He never understood how one can be such a kind man and loving father, to a cold hearted man like your papa.

You sadly nod, "He said if I didn't find a husband within a month's time, he'll marry me off to my cousin Albert."

Benedict immediately winces, "He's atrocious," recalling back to the one summer that part of your family visited and your cousin was exuberant in trying to prove that he was much better at everything than Anthony. To put it plainly, the man was a twat.

"I know! So need your help," you place your gloved hands over Benedict's, and look to Kate and Anthony, "I need you three to help me find a husband. One with good social standing and is, at the very least, a decent man."

Kate and Anthony glance at each other and then Benedict, waiting for him to confess his feelings and propose to you, to save you from your horrid cousin.

Benedict watches his brother and sister-in-law, but then looks away. With a gulp, he says with a small, reassuring smile, "I'm sure my brother will be able to look into the available men of the ton and find you a good match."

Kate casts her head down in disappointment as Anthony steps forward, "You're practically family. I will do my best to help you."

"And you'll help too, right, Ben?" You look at him with hopeful eyes and Ben could feel him on the verge of breaking, so close to finally letting you know how he feels, that he doesn't want to help because no man deserves to see you the way he sees you.

He gives you a soft smile, "Yes. Of course, I'll help you."

__________________________

You've calmed down since abruptly showing up on the Bridgertons' door step. Kate and Anthony sit with you in the sitting room while Anthony starts gathering a list of eligible men for you. You're sitting tea staring blankly at the floor when your aunt is rushing into the room.

"Oh thank Heavens, you're alright!"

You place the tea cup down and stand, meeting your aunt, "I apologize for my abrupt leave, Aunt Eliza. I was...distraught."

"Yes, well, your father told me of your-" she eyes Kate and Benedict, "-situation."

You gesture to them, "They know. I told them, but they promise to not speak of my situation to anyone else."

"And does the Viscount know?"

You nod, "He does. Anthony, Kate, and Benedict are going to help me find a husband, so I don't have to marry Cousin Albert."

Aunt Eliza grimaces, "Absolutely not. The words to describe him are...they're not appropriate to express aloud." Benedict snorts in agreement.

"Lady L/N, I can assure you that the Viscount and I will do our very best to find a man deserving of L/N."

Your aunt nods to her, "Thank you, my lady," she sighs and gestures for you, "Come, Y/N. Your father is now asleep. You may come home, but tomorrow we will go to the modiste and request some new dresses."

"Yes, Aunt Eliza," you turn and hug Kate and give Benedict a nod, "Thank you for your help."

Benedict reaches out and grabs your wrist, "Let me know if you need anything or even just someone to talk to."

"Of course," you curtsey, "Good night."

You follow your aunt out of the Bridgerton estate and back to your home.

Kate pinches the bridge of her nose, "Why didn't you propose to her?"

"Why would I? She deserves someone of a better social standing."

"You are a Bridgerton."

"I am a second son and an artist. Not even a good since Anthony bought my way into the academy." Benedict leans back in the couch in despondence, "She deserves someone better."

"But you love her, do you not?"

"It is why I love her that I am helping her, because I cannot give her what she deserves." the second Bridgerton stands from his spot and excuses himself from the room, presumably to drink his heartache away.

[whenlilyfallsinlove]

not anymore.

luke castellan x reader - college au, only one bed, enemies to lovers.

im back!! sorry for being afk, ive had lots of exams!

"oh, you have got to be fucking kidding me." you hear luke say as you drag your suitcase into the room.

you rolled your eyes at the sound of his voice, already mad as it was. this was supposed to be a fun weekend: your college has organised a trip for students to go to new york, which you had been excited for.

the trip was off to a great start - you and your friend clarisse had explored the city where you had eaten the best bagel in your entire life.

your happiness, however, was short-lived.

"I'M SHARING WITH WHO?!" your voice echoed through the hotel lobby, causing clarisse to nudge you.

"luke. apparently." clarisse says, almost amused.

"that can't be right. how is this even allowed?" you frown.

"well you're adults, so you're probably trusted-" she starts but you cut her off.

"i can not share a room with him clarisse, i fucking despise him." you groan. you had hated luke since kindergaten and he hated you. that was the way it had always been.

"it's only two nights." she tries to comfort you.

"ONLY TWO NIGHTS, THAT'S TWO NIGHTS TOO MANY." you despised him. he was the bane of your existence.

"you think I want to be sharing a room with someone as stupid as you?" a new voice came from behind you, you turned round to see luke stood, glaring at you. next to him was chris, who waved at clarisse.

"i'm way smarter than you. i have every right to complain." you glare back.

"oh, do you even hear yourself right now? you sound ridiculous." he replies.

"literally shut up, your opinion is irrelevant to me." you say.

"you're so fucking annoying oh my god." luke groans.

"i'm annoying?! you're the one who-"

you continued to bicker, completely forgetting your surroundings. chris and clarisse shared knowing looks with each other, the two of you claimed that you hated each other, sure. but the tension between the two of you was unmatched.

"hey.." clarisse says, dragging your attention from luke "at least there'll be two beds, you can just ignore each other."

this put a smile back on your face.

"thank fuck.." you say and the two of you begin to walk up to your respective rooms.

"what is it-" you were about to come out with some form of insult until you realised what his reaction was for.

there, in front of you, was your hotel room. with only one bed.

"are you taking the piss?" you let out an exasperated sigh.

"i think i'm going to die." luke groans.

"oh shut up, go see if we can change rooms." you remark.

"why can't you?" he responds.

"because i can't be bothered to come up all those stairs again" you respond, rolling your eyes like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"you're so lazy." he replies.

"are you gonna do it then or what?" you put your hands on your hips.

"fuck yes." luke replies, and leaves the room.

when he is gone, you let yourself fall onto the bed and groan. this could only ever happen to you. having to stay in a room with the boy you've hated since the age of 6 was one thing, but sharing a bed with him? even worse. you wish you had never come on this stupid trip. then you'd be at home, no luke, curled up in bed, watching the new season of bridgerton. was it too late to-

your thoughts were interrupted by the return of luke, who looked as if he was going to kill you for even breathing near him.

"well?!" you stand.

"there's no other rooms. this is the only one, we have to wait till tomorrow." he frowns.

"oh for the love of god." you say, putting your head in your hands.

"yeah. that's how i feel right now. stuck in a room with a freak." luke says.

"i hate you." you glare at him.

"the feeling is mutual." he glares back.

"you're such a dick."

"only because you are the most annoying person on earth."

"fuck this, i'm having a shower." you grab your pjamas and make your way too the bathroom.

"be quick. i want one." luke calls out.

"i want, doesn't get." you stick your tongue out at him.

"what are you.. eight?" he glares.

you flip him off and shut the door, locking it, and get in the shower.

the hot water calmed your anger, as you tried to take as long as possible. maybe you should try and drown yourself? i mean it would get you out of this situation. that was what you needed.

you continued to ponder the logistics with this until you realised your skin had gone a bit wrinkly from being in there for too long. you got out, dried yourself, and put your pjamas on. you regret how little you brought. the heat was stifling, so you had only brought some shorts and a small crop top. in your defence, you thought you'd be sharing with clarisse.

you opened the door, and walked out the bathroom, luke was layed on the bed, on his phone.

"fucking finally, are you done in the bathroom yet, you took-" he blinks, stopping once he sees what you are wearing.

"oh shut up. i'm done." you glare.

luke nods awkwardly - what the fuck was up with him? - his gaze lingering on your figure. he clears his throat.

"uh yeah. um good." he finally responds standing up.

"the fuck is up with you?" you give him a funny look.

"nothing weirdo." he snaps out of it, and makes his way to have a shower over his own.

you frown at his reaction - why was he being so weird. you shake your head, and get into bed, laying on the edge, and go on your phone.

after about fifteen minutes, luke responds and gets into the other side of the bed.

you lay in silence for about fifteen minutes, both not knowing what to say.

"you still awake?" luke asks you, turning over to look at you,

"why wouldn't i be?" you retort.

"it was just a question.. why are you always so hostile?!"

"because you annoy the living daylight out of me."

"you can't even look at me when you say that." he smirks.

he was right, your back was still turned. you roll your eyes but turn so you are facing him.

"yes i can. you annoy the living daylight out of me." you say looking into his eyes.

his eyes.. were they always this pretty? what was up with you? it was luke. LUKE.

"i know i do." he smirks, looking into your eyes.

you feel flustered. the two of you go quiet for a minute until luke breaks the silence.

"why do you even hate me anyway?" he asks.

"because you anger me." you respond.

"but why?"

"do you not remember when you pushed me off my bike when we were 6?"

"oh yeah. that was so funny." he smiles at the memory.

"no it wasn't." you retort.

"it was." he looks at you again.

the two of you go silent again. what was happening to you? was luke moving closer or was it just you? no he definitely was. was he leaning in-

"turn the light off. i'm tired." luke suddenly demands, catching you off guars. you immediately move away from him.

"um no? i'm not tired." you respond back. you weren't crazy.. you swear you had just had a moment with him.

"do i care?" he asks, avoiding eye contact with him

"i'm not doing it." you retort, rolling you eyes.

"fine. i'll do it." he gets up and turn the light off, leaving just the lamp on the corner on.

"oh you are so irritating." you glare, looking up at him.

"whatever, just go to sleep, we have to meet early tomorrow." he responds and gets into bed, turning his back away from you.

you mock him whilst his back is turned, and turn away yourself.

how were you supposed to get to sleep? you swear you were about to.. i don't know.. kiss luke. your mortal enemy.. except not really. you knew for sure he was right back to being the same old luke as before.

you frown and lay there for about ten minutes, trying to fall asleep.

"(y/n).. i'm.. sorry." you hear luke mutter, next to you. luke had NEVER apologised to you before. EVER. but you were still mad.

"go to sleep." you repeat what luke said to you. you were petty, what can you say?"

"i can't." he responds, making you roll your eyes.

"you can't?! you literally said you were tired." you say.

"how in the hell do you expect me to sleep when you're right there and i can't stop thinking about you?" he raises his voice, catching you off guard.

what. the. fuck. what did he mean. what.

you turn over, to see luke already staring at you.

"what.." you feel your breath hitching in your throat as you see luke already looking at you.

"you're the bane of my existence. i hate you. you get under my skin. but fuck.. why do you have to be so beautiful?" he says, looking into your eyes.

"luke.." you mutter.

"i can't hold back any longer, (y/n), i can't keep pretending i don't l-"

you interrupt him by crashing your lips onto him, kissing him hungrily. luke happily returns the kiss, wrapping his arm round your waist.

after about ten seconds, you pull away.

"i'm sorry, i shouldn't have-" you aplogise.

"don't be sorry. i liked it." he replies, making you smile.

well one thing was now certain for sure. you definitely didn't hate each other anymore.

[dreamingkitsunewrites]

🖤Needy! CHOSO at the Cinema 🎥

A/N: hey there I'm back! It's finally here... Here's the winner of the survey to all of my Choso's girlies!😏 Sorry it took sooo long:( The other Nanami's works (❤️‍🔥Colleague! Nanami series and 🎧 When I was your Man oneshot will be published soon- please bear with me 😅). As usual, comments and opinions are appreciated. Hope you'll like it.-KAT🦊

TAGLIST: @lemonlimecrystal-blog @lordbelkamort @viviennevianna (Shout out to my dearest readers ❤️) (Bridgerton me enters the chat 😅)

⚠️Smut/Nsfw content ahead (MDNI); roughly proofread

Summary : fluffy/needy boyfriend Choso at the cinema.

You and Choso have been dating for a while now and you could have never imagined such a sweet person as Choso could exist… he makes you feel special every single day and he enjoys spending time with you above anything else in the world.

One thing about Choso is that he enjoys watching movies… you can say this has become his favourite hobby since he started figuring human habits out…

Since the beginning of your relationship, your typical perfect Saturday dates consisted in staying in, curled up on the couch or in his bed, watching movies and cuddling for the whole afternoon.

Choso always starts holding you in his arms right at the beginning of the film,with your head laying on his chest and your feet entwined…but nine times out of ten, you two somehow manage to toss and shift until you end up in the same starting position…except that as the (titoli di coda) appear on the screen, it was always Choso the one looking up to you with puppy eyes while laying on your chest! He likes to cuddle you while the scenes develop in front of you: his hands instinctively roam along your skin, mindlessly caressing every inch with reverence… his hands always find their way under your shirt, tracing your spine softly, caressing your stomach so gently…and typically, it doesn't take long for him to give in to the temptation of your perky tits, usually freed from the constriction of your bra in those moments of intimacy … he simply can't take his hands to himself when it comes to your boobies, his favourite part of your body: the first time it happened, you two were alone in his room, watching one of his favourite classics, Back to the Future, and his cold hands slowly made their upwards to your chest under your shirt, making you whimper at the sudden cold feeling. You looked at him with a soft smile, but ended up chuckling amused by his feigned nonchalance, betrayed by the subtle bobbing of his Adam’s apple. He was afraid you wouldn't appreciate his touch, he feared it was too early, after all you two had been dating for barely weeks back then…but still he couldn't help it, the sight of your perked nipples showing under the soft fabric of the oversized shirt you borrowed from him made his hands twitch in anticipation…as you caught him he suddenly stopped, blushing and murmuring an excuse while avoiding your eyes, but you took his face in your hands and encouraged him to carry on with his caresses, assuring him that it completely ok for you, he was your boyfriend now and that's what boyfriends do sometimes…his eyes lit up with the familiar spark of cuteness and devotion you have learned to recognize and from that moment on, that cute intimate gesture of him has become an unmissable part of your cosy Saturday afternoons.

At times, Yuji joins you both, adding tons of snacks and cheerful comments to your comfy dates…even on those occasions, Choso struggles to keep his hands in place, resulting in him blushing noticeably behind you on the couch, while shyly giving a soft squeeze to your boobs, hidden under the shield of the blankets. You always giggled at his reaction, fluttered by the way your boyfriend’s love language always included his innocent obsession for your chest.

...

This afternoon though, Yuji came up with a slightly different idea: he suggested the three of you, along with Megumi, Nobara, Todo and Ino should go to the cinema, way too excited for the brand new comedy everyone talked about…

You and Choso accepted the invitation and now, after a long stop at the snacks bar outside the movie hall, you sit next to each other, holding hands while sharing a bucket of popcorn.

The lights go down and the movie begins: the movie is very entertaining and you end up laughing at the comic scenes in front of you, along with Yuji and the others. Choso keeps on holding your hand and observes the way your eyes light up with a spark of amusement he still notices in the darkness of the hall. His gaze lingers on the curve of your stretched neck, as you tilt your head back slightly in amusement… he finds this sight of you irresistible and he can't resist pulling you closer to him anymore: his hand let go of yours for a second and find its way to your waist, encouraging you to shift closer to him and to sit on his lap, with a warm smile, reverend smile. You silently peck his lips in return and feel his arms circling your waist in a tender gesture, before you could shift your attention back to the movie.

There is something about this situation that makes him feel tingly: you two have already been to the cinema before, but this time it feels different…now that he has you all for himself sitting on his lap, he can't contain his need for Pda anymore. Choso feels so cuddly and needy of your attention that he definitely can't stop looking at you, his beautiful girlfriend, with a lost-puppy-eyed expression.

Choso notices how attentive you look while following the movie’s sequences in front of you and he tries his best not to disturb you, leaning back in his chair and attempting to emulate your attention towards the movie but in vain. He tries forcing his eyes on the big screen, he really does, but his resolve crumbles everytime the soft lights of the projection cast shadows on your beautiful profile, enhancing your delicate features: at this point, Choso’s gaze starts flickering in your direction every now and then, stealing sweet glances at your smiley face and landing on the side silhouette of your breasts, faintly lit by the fair light in the midst of the intimate darkness.

He swallows hard, his mouth suddenly feeling dry as his eyes linger on your chest. He can feel the heat rising in his face from both embarrassment and desire.

He swallows hard while his grip on the armrest tightens…he knows he should behave but the sight of your perky boobs and the memory of the soft flesh under his touch is too much for him to bear…

So, as the movie plays on, Choso's hands begin to move, almost unconsciously, slipping under your tank top. You are taken aback by the sudden intrusion of his hands under your shirt and you whimper slightly. His touch is gentle as usual, but you can feel a hint trembling trepidation in the way his fingers glid slowly over your skin, tracing light circles and exploring the smoothness of your stomach and back.

You turn to him and smile softly at his red-cheeked expression: He tries his best to keep a stoic expression, his eyes still fixed on the movie screen, but his breath hitches slightly, and his heart rate quickens as he continues to caress your skin beneath your shirt.

He leans in closer as if seeking more contact, his breath hot and ragged against the side of your neck, the movie long forgotten, as his touch grows more and more daring: his fingers start grazing along the edge of your bra. His heart is racing, the desire growing undeniable, and he leans in closer, his lips brushing against the side of your neck.

“Baby… you feel so good under my hands, your skin is so soft…” he murmurs shyly against your neck.

“Oh Cho…you are so sweet” you giggle “but we’re at the cinema right now…someone might see you” you scold him playfully, placing a hand on his wandering one.

“I know baby and I'm so sorry ....but you look so beautiful now…how can I be so lucky to have you all for myself?” He says softly and leaves an open-mouthed kiss at the base of your neck. “Please let me touch you…I need that” he looks at you with those puppy eyes and your heart melts… “ok…seems like someone's cuddly today…”

He blushes as you kiss his forehead and lean closer to him, giving him better access to your body. His hands continued to explore, one sliding up along your spine, sending another shiver down your back as he traced the edge of your bra again. You whimper as you feel his hands cupping your breasts through the fabric of your bra, his touch almost desperate as his hands trace its lace …you try to concentrate on the film but it gets so damn difficult with him fidgeting with the edge of your underwear.

“Cho…what are you doing?” You distractedly whisper to him, completely engrossed in the movie as you are. He leans in even closer, his body now fully pressed against yours, his breath coming in ragged gasps against your ear as his hands grow bolder, more insistent in their touch. He stops for a second, fighting his urges to feel your bare breasts in his hands, but his hands quickly move again, carefully slipping beneath the lace of your bra,his fingertips grazing your soft skin as he palmed the swell of your mounds. Feeling the warmth radiating from them, Choso have to bite his lip to stifle a moan.

He whimpers softly as he fondles your bare breasts, rolling the sensitive peaks between his fingers over and over again. You feel heat in between your thighs as he pinches and tugs desperately, sending shivers down your spine. But Choso continues to knead and tease your nipples, his own arousal growing more insistent with each touch. You shift in your seat and you stiffen when you feel his hips grinding subtly against your thigh, his erection straining against the fabric of your clothes. You turn to face him and let out a moaned whisper: “Cho?”

"Mmm, I’m sorry,yn..but your boobies are perfect…I can't stop thinking about your nipples, how hard they get under my touch…and now…” he stops and blushes deeply “I need you so badly…I’ve been hard for half of the movie but I didn't want to disturb you…you seemed so caught up by the plot" he breathes against your ear, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine. “But I can't take it anymore now…it's so hard it hurts” he admits shyly, grinding his hips insistently against you to make you feel his aching needy cock. “Please…can we leave for a sec…I swear it won't take long…I feel like I am already about to explode but I need your help…now…please…” he lets out a strangled groan when his cock brushes against the fabric of your skirt. You feel powerful right now, amazed by the power you have on your pretty boyfriend, all needy and wrapped around your fingers. You decide to tease him a little more.

“Poor Cho…you’ve been this hard for all of this time?” You place a hand on his crotch and he whimpers like a boy at the touch, nodding his head while biting his lower lip. “Please…can we go to the bathroom?”

You smile softly at him and nod. Without hesitation, he stands up abruptly, nearly knocking over the popcorn bucket in his haste to enjoy of your consent. Choso grabs your wrist, yanking you up and leading you towards the exit, almost stumbling over the dimly-lit treads of the hall.

Once inside, you enter a lavatory and lock the door behind you. His breath is ragged and he just stands in front of you whispering embarrassed words of apology. He looks so cute, all flushed and needy, with his big bulge straining in his pants.

You place your index on his lips, shushing him: “ No need to apologize baby, that movie is not even half as entertaining as seeing you like this…now shut up and let me take care of you…tell me what you need and I’ll give it to you” you encourage him, looking straight into his eyes. Your hands find their way under his shirt now, caressing his toned abdomen and heading downwards, tracing his V-line with feathers like touches. He tilts his head back under his touch, lleaning against the bathroom door, and lets out a shaky sigh: “I’ll accept…ngh…Whatever you’re willing to give me… your hands, your mouth…just please… let me cum…I can’t hold back anymore…I need to feel you” he sounds desperate right now, as you free his throbbing shaft from the constraint of his pants. It springs out, long and thick, already leaking a copious amount of pre-cum from the swollen pink tip.

You look up to him through your eyelashes, giving him a Bambi-like innocent look: “Want me to get on my knees for you and suck you off, baby? Would you like that?” Choso's eyes widen at the suggestion, melting in front of your sweet eyes as he lets out another deep, shaky exhale. "Oh god, yes... Please, Yn. I need your pretty mouth wrapped around me so badly… Please” His pupils are now dilated with lust, while he lets out desperate pleas.

You drop on your knees in front of him, taking his big cock deep inside your mouth without warning. “Fuck yes, YN!" Choso moaned loudly, practically panting with need. You burst out in a spontaneous laugh against his tip, tickling it and sending waves of pleasure throughout his whole being. He has to hold on to the doorknob at the sensation not to cum all over your face right here and there.

“We have to be quiet,Cho…people are just outside this door, anyone could walk in on us at any moment…will you be quiet for me,baby?”

He blushes even more deeply, and you wonder if this is the most flustered state you have ever seen your boyfriend in: "I promise I'll be quiet. For you, I'll do anything. Please don't tease…or I won't hold back…I’m about to explode on your face…ahh baby…Imma cum all over your beautiful face...I wish I could see you all covered in my cum…but I don't wanna ruin your makeup" he whispers, his voice husky with need, "I’m about to make a mess… please continue” his hips jerks forward, burning his cock inside your mouth and deepthroating you, pushing his long shaft deep down your throat. You gag slightly at the sensation, and tears form at the corner of your eyes, but you endure it and soon adjust to the constricting feeling.

“Sorry, baby…” he lets out a strangled apology while desperately buckling his hips back and forth, the thrill of finally feeling his realise approaching blinding his senses, he rocks his hips uncontrollably fast into your mouth, letting the door behind him creek at every thrust “ I know it's a lot to take…but your mouth is so warm…so welcoming…ohhh…I’m going to cum… ohhh..your lips…fuck…you take me so well…I can't hold back…I need to fuck your mouth so bad…” even in the midst of his chase for lust, he is still the sweet boyfriend he is: his hands cups your cheeks gently as he starts to thrust more forcefully, hitting the back of your throat with each stroke. Pre-cum leaks from his tip, dripping down your chin and adding to the slickness already coating your lips and tongue.

"Sorry I’m making such a mess…ohhhh I can't help it... You turn me sooo on… promise I’ll clean you up after…” he murmurs breathlessly, his balls drawing up tight against his body. "I'm getting close... don't stop, please." You clench your lips around his tip, sucking hard and swirling your tongue around him, obtaining a series of muffled little moans.

Choso's thrusts become erratic as he nears the edge, his cock pulsing in your mouth. With a final, guttural moan, he comes undone, spilling a wave of his hot seed down your throat in thick, creamy ropes. "Fuck, YN! Yes! Swallow it all please!" he cries out, his body shuddering with the intensity of his orgasm.

As he comes down from his high, he looks down at you with a satisfied, loving gaze. “Thank you so much…you were amazing…sorry if my control slipped…” he says softly, blushing and caressing your cheeks while you still caress his finally softening cock…he helps you stand up and kisses you sweetly, tasting the the salty lingers of his cum on your tongue. “ You swallowed it all…” he exclaimed, staring at your lips in awe. “Couldn't waste a drop of it…you looked so hot” you smirk at him and he feels his cock twitch in his pants once again

“As soon as the movie’s over I’ll take you home and take care of you too…I’ll eat you out for good and I’ll make sure you cum as hard as I did now” he rushes a trail of promises to you and you can read it in his eyes: in this moment, he would you the whole world. You peck his lips smiling. “Let’s get out of here first…before the others notice we’ve disappeared” you take his hand in yours and make your way out of the bathroom.

Indeed,the movie has already ended and Yuji and the others are already chatting at the gates: “Oh, here you are where have you been?” You are greeted by Yuji’s clueless smile and Choso feels a midst of embarrassment and arousal at his innocent remark. “the guys and I were thinking before: what about grabbing dinner together?” You are about to answer but you are cut off by an unusually excited Choso: “Sorry little bro, YN and I already have an…appointment…to attend…we are already in a rush by the way… see you tomorrow and enjoying your evening, guys!” He rushes an excuse before dragging you out the building. You laugh into the cool evening air …you were up for a long night!

My 🔥 JJK MATERIALIST 🔥 here

[basset-babe]

five times: the third.

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: cursing, drinking, anger, disgust, hurtful words, self-doubt / sabotage

word count: 5.1k+

a/n: honestly felt like i bit more off than i can chew but i do relish a challenge! also, my apologies for the prolonged delay of my postings, dearests. life has been life-ing recently lol anywho, here is the ever-challenging third! opening with a whistledown aND y'all know what we do when gossip arrives, we gossip! ciao amo! (dates included do not mean anything nor is accurate to any timeline)

five times series: the first. the one point five. the second. the third. the three point five. the fourth . at last.

trees and skies banner from @cottage-writings, pattern banner from @cafekitsune thank you!

Lady Whistledown's Society Papers

March 25, 18XX

Dearest readers,

The season is in full swing, and the social whirl is abuzz with the latest happenings. None have captured our collective curiosity quite like the endless stream of callers at the Y/L/N residence, all vying for the favor of the season's paragon, Miss Y/N Y/L/N. With suitors from the finest families presenting gifts and performances, it is no surprise that Miss Y/L/N has been the object of much admiration.

However, keen observers might have noted a particular favorite among the throng. Yes, dear readers, the second Bridgerton son, Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, has made a notable impression on the lovely Miss Y/N. Their promenades and conversations have not gone unnoticed, with many speculating that he holds a special place in her affections. However, as ever in the delicate dance of courtship, it is not without its complications.

Whispers have reached this author's ears that Mr. Bridgerton has been seen in the company of Lady Tilley Arnold—a widow of the late Lord Arnold and esteemed patroness of the sciences. Their encounters, whispered about in the most fashionable circles, suggest more than mere friendship.

Do hold your gasps, for the intrigue does not end there. No, for as Lady Arnold bid adieu to the shadows and prepared to depart, a most shocking revelation transpired. Witnesses, whose lips dare not speak aloud but whose eyes betray their secrets, observed a clandestine exchange between the widow and Mr. Bridgerton— a kiss, dear readers, of the most scandalous variety! The timing, dear readers, is most curious as Lady Arnold was on the verge of departing London, which only adds to the enigma of this nocturnal visit.

What, pray tell, does this clandestine encounter signify, one might wonder? Is there more to the attention of Mr. Bridgerton, that his affections may be wavering, or has Lady Arnold, with her enigmatic charm, ensnared him in her web of intrigue? Such a late-night rendezvous, particularly with a lady of Lady Arnold's standing, is certain to raise eyebrows and incite much speculation.

The ton will surely surmise whether this encounter was a fleeting indiscretion or the beginning of a more complicated entanglement. What could this mean for Mr. Bridgerton and Miss Y/N? Will their courtship withstand the weight of this scandal, or will it crumble under the pressure of whispered gossip and innuendo? Can Miss Y/N overlook this transgression and hold fast to her affection for Mr. Bridgerton, or will she be swayed by the lure of a less tarnished suitor?

One thing is certain, dear reader: the social season has become infinitely more intriguing with this latest development. Rest assured, I will be watching with keen interest as the drama unfolds.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

third time.

"Good afternoon, sister," Benedict greeted Eloise, who was standing in the middle of the house's foyer with her hands conspicuously behind her back.

"Ah! Brother, afternoon," Eloise replied cautiously, attempting to hide the gossip sheet behind her gown skirts. "Where were you?" she asked, her tone tinged with curiosity.

"Nowhere of particular interest. What are you reading?" Benedict inquired, his eyes narrowing as he pointed to her hidden arm.

"Nothing," Eloise replied hastily, but Benedict knew better. He raised an eyebrow and extended his hand, motioning for her to hand over whatever she was concealing.

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly produced the crumpled gossip sheet from behind her back, placing it in Benedict's outstretched hand. "Whistledown," she muttered, avoiding his gaze. "You are mentioned."

Benedict unfolded the paper and began to read. His typically affable expression turning stoic as he saw his own name linked with both Miss Y/N and Lady Tilley Arnold. His jaw tightened, and he placed the scandal sheet on the table. Eloise cleared her throat and asked. "How are you?"

"Quite the scandal, it seems," he remarked, his tone betraying a hint of indifference. "And here I thought I could keep my affairs private. What truly vexes me is not the content concerning myself, it's how she drags in the names of Miss Y/N and Lady Arnold, implying something as if curious but ruinous as she almost did you last season. Heavens be damned, if I ever discover her true identity, I will ensure it is her life that is ruined."

"The lady has declined visits... for today, Sir. I ask... kindly, that you leave the premises," the lady's maid informed as Benedict sat astride his horse, a sketchpad clutched tightly in his hand.

His heart sank at the lady's maid's words, a heavy weight settling in the pit of his stomach. He had ridden with fervent determination, his thoughts consumed by the desire to see Y/N, to seek solace in her presence after the scandalous sheet had been released. But now, faced with the reality of her refusal, he felt an overwhelming sense of restlessness wash over him.

He had hoped to find refuge in her company this late afternoon, to find comfort in the warmth of her smile and the gentleness of her touch. Yet, it seemed that even she was now beyond his reach, her doors closed to him in the wake of the damning gossip that had tainted his name.

"Could you try again, please?" Benedict implored, desperation lacing his words. "I just need to speak to her, to explain myself."

But the maid remained resolute, her expression unyielding, her features softened by a touch of sympathy for Benedict's plight. "I'm sorry, Sir," she repeated, her voice a gentle murmur, "but the lady's wishes are clear. I cannot go against her instructions."

Feeling the weight of disappointment settle upon him like a heavy cloak, Benedict offered a resigned nod to the maid, acknowledging her adherence to propriety even as his heart ached with longing. With a heavy sigh, he turned away from the imposing facade of Y/N's residence, his footsteps heavy with the burden of unspoken words and unresolved emotions.

As he urged the horse forward, the rhythmic beat of hoofbeats echoed through the quiet streets of London, a steady cadence that mirrored the tumultuous thoughts racing through Benedict's mind. With each passing moment, he felt the weight of the recent scandal pressing down upon him, its suffocating grip tightening with each breath he took. People who walked the pathways murmuring as he passed them. Almost as if they'd point and had been meaning to ask of the truth in the latest Whistledown.

But Benedict was not one to be deterred by adversity, nor to allow his spirits to be dampened by the trials of the heart. With a determined set to his jaw and a fire burning in his eyes, he urged his horse onward, his destination clear in his mind.

Arriving at the gentlemen's club, Benedict dismounted his horse with practiced grace, the cool night air stirring the tendrils of his hair as he strode purposefully towards the grand entrance. The club stood as a bastion of camaraderie and respite amidst the chaos of London society, its hallowed halls a sanctuary for men of wit and refinement.

He'd rode to the club where his brothers were spending the early evening. The ambiance was one of refined indulgence, with the soft glow of candlelight casting a warm hue over the rich mahogany furnishings and plush velvet upholstery. He found Anthony and Colin lounging in a corner, their laughter echoing through the room like the lively notes of a well-played sonata.

"Well, if it isn't our solemn Benedict," Anthony teased, clapping him on the back as he approached. His voice carried the joviality of a man accustomed to commanding attention, resonating amidst the club's genteel chatter.

Benedict managed a half-hearted chuckle, sinking into a nearby chair. His usually composed demeanor was tinged with a hint of melancholy, though he tried to play off his turmoil with a forced smile that did little to mask the weight of his troubles.

Colin, with his mischievous blue eyes and rakish grin, raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Drama? Pray, do tell. Have you found yourself embroiled in a scandalous Whistledown-written affair, dear brother?" His tone was light, yet there lingered a genuine curiosity, as if he relished the prospect of a juicy tale.

Benedict rolled his eyes, though a flicker of amusement danced in their depths. "Nothing so melodramatic, I assure you," he quipped, his voice a melodious baritone that resonated with the refined elegance befitting a man of his stature. "Just a bit of trouble with a certain someone who shall remain nameless."

Anthony leaned forward, his interest piqued like a hound on the scent of a tantalizing mystery. "Ah, a mystery woman! Do tell us more. Is she a diamond of the first water? A rose amongst thorns? A season's paragon?" His knowing words were infused with a playful charm, his aristocratic features softened by the warmth of his smile.

Benedict couldn't help but laugh at his brother's theatrics, the sound echoing through the room like the pealing of church bells on a crisp autumn morning. "More like a thorn stuck on my rose, if you ask me," he replied wryly, his lips quirking into a rueful smile. "But alas, the sheet seems to have taken interest in me. Thus, I've offended the lady at my latest misstep."

Colin exchanged a knowing glance with Anthony, their eyes sparkling with mischief like stars in the night sky. "Ah, love can be a treacherous game, my dear brother," he remarked with a wistful sigh, his voice tinged with the bittersweet nostalgia of past dalliances.

With a resigned sigh, Benedict brough out the paper, his fingers trembling ever so slightly as he unfolded it to reveal the damning headlines. His eyes scanned the page again, each word striking like a blow to his already wounded pride.

"Well, well, what do we have here?" Anthony quipped, leaning in to peer over Benedict's shoulder with a devilish grin. "It seems our dear Benedict has captured the attention of Lady Whistledown herself. Tell me, is there any truth to this gossip?"

Benedict felt a flush of embarrassment creep up his neck as he struggled to find the words to explain himself, "There is a sliver of truth. Lady Arnold did visit, and yes, there was a kiss. But it was far from the scandalous affair Whistledown implies. We aren't anything but naught, I tell you." He answered at almost a whisper. Benedict knew that the contents of the scandal sheet would be the subject of much speculation and gossip, his reputation hanging precariously in the balance.

"And what of Miss Y/L/N, whom you are so ardently courting? How does she figure into this little drama?" Anthony asked, concerned of his brother's standing.

Benedict sighed, his concern evident as he expressed his worries to his brothers. "That is precisely my concern. I have been nothing but sincerity in my courtship of Miss Y/L/N. She deserves better than to be dragged into this mess."

Colin leaned forward, sensing the gravity of the situation. "So, what will you do? Surely you cannot let Whistledown's prattle jeopardize your relationship with Miss Y/N."

Benedict's expression phased into determination. "I intend to speak with Miss Y/N directly. She deserves to hear the truth from me, not the twisted version Whistledown has concocted. That if she allows an audience with me. And as for Lady Arnold, I shall ensure our interactions are far more circumspect if not, naught in all aspects she may bring up on me, when she does return and does whatever near."

Anthony nodded in agreement, his gaze softening with genuine affection as he clapped Benedict on the back. "Let us not dwell on the past now, brother, but instead focus on the future—on what you can do. Whatever Lady Whistledown may have to say, we shall weather the storm together, as we always have."

Colin, then, raised his glass, a gleam of mischief in his eyes as he played along with his brother's jest. "To no longer saving face, my dear Colin! For love, for honor, and for the sake of our brother's bruised ego!" His words were punctuated by a hearty laugh that resonated through the room like the rumble of thunder on a stormy night. This is going to be quite the arduous courtship.

The grand lobby of the Londinium Opera House was a scene of opulence and refinement, an exquisite embodiment of sophistication. As the setting sun cast a warm, golden glow through the tall, arched windows, the room seemed to shimmer with the promise of an enchanting evening ahead. The marble floors gleamed underfoot, polished to such perfection that they reflected the twinkling crystal chandeliers overhead. These chandeliers, with their countless prisms, scattered light like a thousand tiny stars, illuminating the elegant assembly below.

The air was a heady blend of perfumes and colognes, mingling with the faint, tantalizing scent of fresh flowers arranged in lavish bouquets atop mahogany tables. The flowers, a riot of colors and species, were chosen to reflect the season, adding a touch of nature’s beauty to the man-made splendor of the opera house.

"This is definitely too stuffy for my nose." Eloise brushed her finger by her nose as she and Benedict passed through a sea of dressed up ton amidst tonight's opera.

As the two navigated through the ton at the opera's lobby, their steps softened by the plush carpeting beneath them, Eloise couldn't help but wrinkle her nose discreetly once more. "I agree," Benedict murmured to Eloise, his voice barely audible over the gentle murmur of conversations and the distant strains of prelude music.

"It's like drowning in a sea of perfume and pomposity. How long will the show take?" Eloise asks.

Benedict chuckled softly, his eyes scanning the crowd with a bemused expression. "Indeed, it seems we've stumbled into a gathering of the city's most refined noses and airs. But I fear, it'd be almost four more hours but there must be a few souls yearning for a breath of fresh air."

Eloise grinned, her spirits lifting at Benedict's playful remark. "That'd probably be us, brother," she replied, her gaze sweeping the room in search of kindred spirits amidst the sea of finery. "But until then, I'd die of ennui from this whole bonanza of a show."

"Not if I escape it," Benedict remarked in jest as he wiggled his eyebrows at Eloise. "But, of course, I'm taking you with me."

"You are absolutely my favorite brother." And the two, laughing at their antics, sneaked out of the opera house where their carriage is waiting to flee the night.

The carriage ride through the moonlit streets of London was a serene affair, with only the rhythmic clip-clop of the horses' hooves and the soft creaking of the carriage wheels breaking the stillness of the night. Benedict sat in quiet contemplation, his gaze occasionally drifting to the window where the city's twinkling lights danced like distant stars against the dark canvas of the night sky. He had set upon to spend the night on the invite of a fellow painter, Lord Granville. The address card nestled in his pockets.

He knocked on the carriage roof and said, "We are to drop off Eloise at home first." Eloise shot her brother with a knowing look, "So, you do have plans for the night, Ben. Interesting." She nodded teasingly.

"What? Can't I spend my night on my own concurs?" He said, feigning defense on whatever his sister may be implying. The carriage stops and the footman opens the door. Eloise turns to her brother as she went down the carriage steps and says, "Amidst your Whistledown scrape, you seem to be taking this very light. Oh, to be a man this easy!"

Benedict shakes his head as he laughs at his sister's comment. He has been taking this all seriously, has he? It's not like he hasn't been doing amends. The gossip sheet only had been spread this morning. Surely, damages are still reversible? As the carriage turned out their street, Benedict's thoughts turned to the ramble of his mind. All his thoughts are loud of Y/N, her voice ringing in his head. He'd imagined their time in her garden. How she simply tells stories and facts of botany; or the time she'd nestled by the tree, her cheeks flushed with the lingering laughs they'd shared moments ago, and he couldn't help but smile at the thought of her. And as quickly as the smile drew on, it dissipated recalling that she had not allowed him audience this morning.

The carriage came to a gentle halt in front of a townhouse's doorstep, and Benedict stepped out onto the cobblestone path of 5th avenue, the cool night air washing over him like a soothing balm. He turned to the carriage driver, a silent acknowledgment passing between them before the driver urged the horses forward once more, disappearing into the darkness beyond.

Benedict delicately clutched the card bearing Lord Granville's prestigious name, ensuring he stood before the correct abode. With an air of refined assurance, he gently rapped the door knocker twice, whereupon Lord Granville himself promptly emerged to greet him.

Lord Granville, sporting a relaxed ensemble, greeted Benedict with a gracious nod, his demeanor exuding an aura of aristocratic charm. "Ah, Mr. Bridgerton, how delightful of you to join us," he intoned, his voice carrying a hint of cultured refinement. "Please, do come in. The evening promises to be most engaging."

With a gracious gesture, Lord Granville ushered Benedict into the dimly lit foyer, where the scent of beeswax candles mingled with the earthy aroma of oil paints. The sound of lively conversation and the occasional strumming of a lute drifted through the air, creating an atmosphere of artistic fervor.

As Benedict crossed the threshold, he felt a sense of excitement building within him, eager to immerse himself in the vibrant energy of the bohemian salon and the company of fellow artists and free spirits. Tonight promised to be a celebration of creativity and expression, a refuge from the stifling conventions of society, and Benedict couldn't wait to grasp his wash in of it.

The house was a riot of color and creativity, with tapestries adorned with vibrant hues lining the walls and eclectic artwork displayed on every available surface. Easels dotted the room, each showcasing works in progress, while clusters of artists and poets engaged in spirited discussions about philosophy, politics, and the latest artistic movements.

Benedict found himself swept up in the lively atmosphere, drawn to a group of painters huddled on their own canvases, their brushes dancing across the surface with frenetic energy. Where in the middle, nude women posed as muses and artist drew of their perspectives. Nearby, a poet recited verses of love and longing, his words weaving a tapestry of emotion that hung heavy in the air. Lord Granville now swept in his own circle.

In a secluded corner of the salon, hidden away from the prying eyes of the crowd, Benedict stumbled upon a private room adorned with tapestries of rich, jewel-toned hues and plush velvet cushions strewn about in haphazard arrangements. The flickering glow of candlelight cast dancing shadows across the walls, creating an atmosphere of intimacy and secrecy.

There, amidst the opulent surroundings, Benedict spotted Y/N, her laughter ringing out like a melody amidst the soft hum of conversation. She sat perched on a velvet chaise, a paintbrush in hand, her eyes alight with passion as she leaned over a canvas, her movements fluid and graceful.

Surrounded by fellow artists, including Lady Granville and Genevieve Delacroix, the ton's most favored seamstress, Y/N appeared completely at ease, her quick wit and sharp intellect evident as she engaged in spirited conversation, her laughter mingling with the clink of glasses and the rustle of paintbrushes.

As Benedict watched from the doorway, a pang of longing pierced his heart, the sight of Y/N's radiant smile and infectious energy stirring emotions he had long tried to suppress. He yearned to join her, to bask in her warmth and revel in the shared joy of creation, but the weight of their unresolved conflict hung heavy between them like a barrier, casting a shadow over their once vibrant connection.

Summoning his courage, Benedict stepped forward, his footsteps echoing softly against the polished floorboards. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, but before he could say another word, Lady Granville intercepted him, her gaze cold and calculating.

"Mr. Bridgerton," Madame Delacroix greeted with a disdainful tilt of her chin, her French slurred tone laced with thinly veiled contempt. "What brings you to our little gathering? Surely you don't expect to find yourself welcome here after what Whistledown's latest sheet has revealed."

Benedict's heart sank at the mention of Lady Whistledown's scandalous gossip, the weight of the accusations pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. "Y/N, please," he implored, his voice tinged with desperation, but Lady Granville merely raised an imperious eyebrow, her disdain palpable.

"Ladies, could you please give us the room," Y/N interjected firmly, her voice carrying a steely edge that brooked no argument. Madame Delacroix shot her a questioning look, to which the lady nodded reluctantly. With a series of subtle glances directed at Benedict, the women filed out of the room, their gazes lingering on him with thinly veiled curiosity.

As the door closed behind them, a heavy silence settled over the room, the air thick with tension and unspoken words. Y/N turned to face Benedict, her features hardened with a mixture of anger and hurt.

As Benedict and Y/N unexpectedly found themselves face to face amidst the opulent surroundings of the Granville party, the atmosphere seemed to crackle with tension, the air heavy with the weight of unspoken words and unresolved emotions. Y/N's eyes, usually warm and inviting, now bore a glint of guarded skepticism as she regarded Benedict, her gaze piercing through the facade of polite decorum.

The room seemed to shrink around them, the murmurs of conversation fading into a distant hum as they stood locked in a silent standoff, each grappling with their own tumultuous thoughts and feelings. The flickering glow of candlelight cast eerie shadows across their features, adding to the sense of unease that hung between them like a tangible force.

"Benedict," Y/N's voice broke through the suffocating silence, her tone edged with a hint of surprise and resentment, "What brings you here? I didn't expect to see you at this gathering."

Benedict's features tightened with unease, his eyes darting nervously as he struggled to find the right words. The grandeur of the room seemed to mock his discomfort, its lavish decor serving as a stark reminder of the gaping divide that had grown between them.

"I...I could ask you the same," Benedict replied tentatively, his voice betraying his inner turmoil. The weight of Y/N's gaze bore down on him like a heavy burden, and he shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny.

Y/N's lips formed a thin line, a flicker of frustration flashing in her eyes as she absorbed Benedict's response. The tension between them crackled in the air, suffusing the room with an almost palpable energy as they stood locked in a silent standoff.

"I am here with friends," Y/N explained tersely, her tone tinged with defensiveness. "I didn't anticipate running into...you."

Benedict felt a pang of remorse at the coldness in her tone, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. The warmth of the room seemed to dissipate, leaving behind a chilling emptiness that mirrored the growing distance between them.

"Y/N," he implored, his tone tinged with worry. "There's something I need to ask you. Why did you deny me an audience earlier this morning? I sought you out, but I was turned away without explanation. Please, Y/N, I need to understand."

Y/N paused in her tracks, her hand hovering over the couch arm as she hesitated. The weight of Benedict's words hung heavy in the air between them, the tension palpable as they stood on the precipice of an unspoken truth.

Slowly, Y/N turned to face him, her expression guarded as she met his gaze with a mixture of sorrow and resignation. "I couldn't face anyone— even you, Benedict," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Not after... Whistledown that's happened. I needed time to gather my thoughts, to come to terms with the depth of my pain and my reputation."

Benedict's heart sank at her words, the realization of the pain he had caused her weighing heavily on his conscience. "Y/N, I had no idea," he murmured, his voice laced with regret. "If I had known, I would have respected your wishes. I never meant to add to your suffering."

"I know, Benedict," she firmly said, but her voice betraying her, tinged with sadness. "But some wounds run deeper than others, and time alone cannot heal them. I need space, time to find my own path forward."

"Y/N, please," Benedict pleaded, his voice tinged with desperation, "Let me explain. I never meant to—"

Y/N's eyes flashed with anger, her frustration boiling over as she confronted him with the pain he had caused. "Explain what, Benedict?" she demanded, her voice rising with each word. "Your absence? Your silence? Or perhaps the fact that I'm possibly nothing more than mere amusement to you, a prim and proper distraction from your rakish pursuits?"

Benedict recoiled at her words, the sting of her accusations piercing through his defenses like a dagger to his heart. "No, Y/N, you know that's not true," he protested, but she cut him off with a bitter laugh.

"Do I?" she spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "How can I be sure of anything when you've left me to face the whispers and the gossip alone? When you've abandoned me to doubt and humiliation?" Tears welled in Y/N's eyes as she spoke, the pain of betrayal etched deeply into her features.

Benedict felt the weight of her accusations like a sword to his heart, his chest tightening with the agony of her words. "Y/N, please, you must understand," he implored, his voice trembling with emotion. "I never intended for any of this to happen. My absence, my silence—it was never a reflection of how I feel about you. I've been grappling with my own inner turmoil, responsibilities and fears that have nothing to do with you."

Benedict's admission hung heavy in the air between them, his confession like a dagger to Y/N's heart. Her anger, fueled by betrayal and hurt, threatened to consume her as she struggled to process his words.

Y/N's eyes blazed with fury, her anger fueling her resolve as she confronted him head-on. "And what of the whispers about you and Lady Arnold?" she challenged, her voice dripping with scorn. "Are you telling me you had no part in fueling those rumors? That you never kissed her?"

Benedict recoiled at the accusation, the shame of his actions burning like a branding iron against his conscience. "No, Y/N, I swear it wasn't like that," he admitted, his voice laced with desperation. "There was a moment…" He paused, contemplating confession and it's consequences. He closed his eyes wincing at what he's about to say, "We did kiss, but it meant nothing. It was a mistake, a lapse in judgment that I deeply regret."

"A mistake?" she repeated incredulously, her voice tinged with disbelief. "A lapse in judgment? Do you expect me to believe that, Benedict? Do you expect me to simply forgive and forget?"

Benedict's eyes pleaded with her, his desperation palpable as he reached out to grasp her hand. "Y/N, please, I know I've made a terrible mistake," he implored, his voice trembling with remorse. "But I swear to you, it meant nothing. I assure you, it was inconsequential. You are the one I am committed to, the one I wish to be with. Lady Arnold made advances, and I rejected them. It was a momentary lapse in which I failed to uphold my commitment to you."

Y/N's shoulders slumped with the weight of Benedict's words, her resolve crumbling beneath the weight of his confession. She sank down onto a nearby chair, her breath hitching as tears welled in her eyes, cascading down her cheeks in silent rivulets. With trembling hands, she buried her face in her palms, the anguish of betrayal and heartache washing over her in relentless waves.

The room seemed to blur around her, the vibrant colors of the decor fading into a haze as she struggled to come to terms with the devastation of Benedict's admission. His words echoed in her mind, each syllable a painful reminder of the trust that had been shattered beyond repair.

How could she believe him? How could she trust that his words held any semblance of truth when his actions had spoken so loudly against him? The image of Benedict with Lady Arnold haunted her, a specter of doubt and uncertainty that threatened to consume her from within.

But amidst the turmoil of her emotions, a glimmer of resolve flickered deep within Y/N's heart. She may have been broken, battered by the storm of betrayal, but she refused to let Benedict's actions define her worth. With a steadying breath, she lifted her head, her tear-stained cheeks glistening in the soft glow of candlelight.

"I thought you were different, Benedict," she whispered, her voice barely above a whisper, "But I... I don't know if I can forgive you. The pain you've caused runs deep, and I fear that trust may never be fully restored."

Benedict's heart shattered at the sight of Y/N's tears, his own anguish mirrored in her sorrowful expression. Without hesitation, he sank to his knees beside her, his hand reaching out tentatively to brush against her trembling shoulder.

"Y/N, please," he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand if you can't forgive me, if you can't find it in your heart to trust me again. But I swear to you, with every fiber of my being, I love you. I would give anything to make things right between us, to earn back your trust and your love."

His words hung in the air, a fragile plea borne of remorse and desperation. He longed to take her in his arms, to hold her close and shield her from the pain he had caused. But he knew that he had to respect her boundaries, to give her the space she needed to process her emotions and come to her own decision.

Y/N's shoulders trembled beneath his touch, her tears flowing unabated as she struggled to find the strength to meet his gaze. The weight of his words pressed down upon her, a bittersweet reminder of the love they had shared and the trust that had been so brutally betrayed.

For a moment, it seemed as though Y/N might succumb to Benedict's heartfelt plea. Her eyes softened, her resolve wavering in the face of his earnest confession. But then, with a trembling breath, she pulled away from his touch, her tears still glistening in the dim light of the room.

"I... I need some air," she choked out, her voice thick with emotion. Without another word, she stood abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor in a jarring echo of their fractured connection.

With a determined tilt of her chin, Y/N lifted the glass to her lips, downing the remaining contents in one swift motion. The bitter taste of the alcohol burned her throat, a sharp contrast to the ache in her heart as she turned away from Benedict, her steps heavy with the weight of her decision.

Benedict watched helplessly as she made her way to the door, his heart breaking with each retreating footfall. He longed to call out to her, to beg her to stay, but he knew that it was futile. The damage had been done, the rift between them too deep to bridge in a single moment of remorse.

As Y/N disappeared through the doorway, leaving him alone amidst the wreckage of their shattered relationship, Benedict felt a hollow emptiness settle in the pit of his stomach. He knew that he had lost her, perhaps forever, condemned to a lifetime of regret for the pain he had inflicted upon the woman he loved. And as he sank to the chair, his heart heavy with sorrow, he prayed for a chance at redemption, a glimmer of hope amidst the ruins of their once bright future.

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[shelbgrey]

✨Pookie Bear✨

I’m watching more Bridgerton episodes😏🫣 could you perchance conjure me up a absolutely down bad foaming at the mouth steamy Anthony fic 🤤☺️

The feeling of nature (Anthony Bridgerton)

Paring: Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Warrings: SMUT, choking kink, rough sex, slight public sex(no one sees or hears), fucking against a tree, possession kink? Unprotected sex.

MasterList ML2

Anthony and I were in the midst of silent treatment after an argument. This was when our pettiness really showed, we'd stay silent and at the same time tease each other till the other one cracks.

Tonight was no different even when our usual family dinner rolls around the corner. The family could sense something happened, but didn't bat an eye. They were used to us being childish towards each other and they stopped asking what happened because we'd just call it another ‘incident’.

It was still eerily silent at the table. It was until Benedict made a comment “Anthony what did you do to y/n?”

Anthony coughs on his wine and then looks at me from across the table, waiting for a smart-ass comment. I didn't say anything though which made Anthony roll his eyes.

Anthony’s mother, Violet, frowns. We have always been so fond of each other, her being such an amazing mother figure and also taking my side in most situations involving my husband. It was no surprise her facial expression is disapproving of Anthony's coldness. “I don't understand why you taunt y/n so much”

An amused smirk appears on Anthony’s lips. “I promise nothing serious happened, mother. Just a small inconvenience”

“If you want to call it that,” I reached under the table and placed my hand on the inside of his thigh and squeezed it teasingly to get a rise out of him. I felt Anthony tenses. He’s trying to be calm and put together. His hand moved under the table, gently wrapping his fingers around my wrist to stop me from going up any further.

“Seriously, what happened?” Benedict asked.

“Ask your dimwitted brother,” I told him. I was comfortable enough with the Bridgerton family that I could say things like that.

Benedict nearly snorts, trying to hold back a laughter behind his hand. Penelope lets out a small laugh, and Colin laughs loudly.

Anthony looks at me with a glare. “Watch yourself love. I’m still your husband.”

“Oh! He speaks” I said in a sarcastic, surprised tone which earned me another glare from Anthony while his entire family laughed.

He leaned in, his breath hot against my neck. “Keep it up and you’ll pay for it later, love.” He mutters in my ear.

“Oh, will I?” I slid my hand up his thigh higher, rubbing him through his pants. His hand quickly grabbed mine, tightening around my wrist.

“Damnit, not now.” Anthony grunts. Everyone is in a cheerful mood laughing and chatting, meanwhile Anthony is struggling hard. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from groaning when my hand went higher.

my hand inched up high to where the button of his pants were, I was about to test my luck when Elois spoke up. “how about a game of pall mall after dinner?”

“That's a good idea” I said, subtly brushing my fingers over his groin through his pants from under the table.

“Yes, that sounds wonderful” Anthony grunts, trying to sound normal. He catches my hand, before I can do it again with a glint in his eyes.

“Ready to lose again, darling?” I asked, not really being specific on what he was gonna lose too.

Anthony’s face turns a shade darker. He knew exactly what I was implying, he always knew and he wasn't happy about it. He clears his throat, trying to regain his composure.

Not phased by the warning in his eyes, I put pressure on his clothed cock, rubbing him harder when I felt him growing harder under my palm while he tried to maintain his dignity. He can barely breathe as I felt his arousal growing by the second under my palm. He squeezes my hand warningly, but it only seems to make him grow harder.

“Perhaps we should go out and start the game before it gets dark,” Colin suggested. I gave Anthony a gentle squeeze then released my hand from his lap when everyone started to get up from the table.

I watched Anthony reluctantly stand up, adjusting himself discreetly as he followed everyone out to the lawn. He can barely think straight with the ache in his groin. He glances back at me, his eyes burning with a mix of frustration and desire. He mouths a silent warning, but he knows it’s useless.

I smiled at him, faking my innocents in the situation as we followed the rest of the family outside. I found arousing the way he clenches his jaw, trying to calm himself down while giving me a look that said he didn't know if he wanted to strangle me or kiss me. I wouldn't be disappointed either way.

~~~~~~~~(.......)~~~~~~~~

We went out to the lawn and the siblings were arguing over the mallets like usual. Anthony watches the argument unfold, I feel his gaze flicking back to me every so often. He’s finding it increasingly difficult to focus on the game as he tries to ignore the throbbing in his cock. He sighs in annoyance.

I got tired of the arguing and playfully shoved my way in between Colin and Benedict. “as the future viscountess I shall pick the mallet first.” Before any of my in-laws could protest I snatched the black mallet aka the 'mallet of death'. It was also Anthony's lucky mallet and the one he often threatened to break fingers for. I gave Anthony a smirk and rested it on my shoulder.

Anthony’s eye twitches, watching me claim his lucky mallet. He crosses his arms over his chest, his stance widening as he leans back on his heels. “You’re playing with fire, love” He growls under his breath, loud enough for only me to hear.

I sighed softly and nodded, faking sympathy. “this is your favorite one after all” I held it out for him.

Anthony hesitates for a moment, his eyes locked on the mallet. I could tell it was taking every ounce of his self-control not to snatch it back. He reaches out…

I quickly snatched it back before he could touch it “oop, too slow... I'm using the mallet of death” I turned my back and walked to the first mark, leaving the pink mallet for Anthony.

Anthony’s face turns a shade darker as he watches me walk away with his precious mallet. He looks at the pink mallet in his hand, his jaw clenched in frustration.

I made a point to stand in front of him when it was my turn. Moving my hips more, intentionally teasing him as I took my shot. I could feel Anthony's eyes locked on my body, his control slipping, the heat in his chest and groin growing more intense by the second. He grits his teeth, his hand tightening around the pink mallet.

I hit my ball and it rolled, going through the first mark, gaining me a point. I smirked at Anthony and walked past him, making a point to brush my hand over his hip, making his breath hitch. “Your turn darling” I teased as I walked over and stood next to Benedict.

He takes a deep breath, trying to calm his racing heart as he steps up to take his shot. His form is slightly off, his frustration making him careless.

“Oh, you missed” Colin chuckled.

Anthony glares at Colin, then at me. “This is your fault,” he growls under his breath. He watches as Benedict takes his turn, his eyes narrowed, his expression stormy. When it's finally my turn again, he stalks over.

I kept In mind one of the rules that allowed us to play dirty. Before Anthony made it over to me, I used my ball and hit Anthony's deep into the garden and far away from the next mark. Anthony's eyes widen in outrage as he watches his ball fly across the garden, completely useless now. He whipped his head towards me, his face red. “You little-” He starts, but is cut off.

“Play it where it lies, brother” Benedict snickered.

Anthony's jaw clenches, his hand gripped his mallet. He knows he can't protest, not when Benedict is reminding him of the rules. With a snarl, he turns and marches across the garden, his long legs carrying him quickly towards his stray ball.

Me and Benedict laughed. Then it was Colin's turn. My smirk dropped when the sneaky bastard launched my ball in the same direction as Anthony's “Damnit, colin!” I groaned, marching in the same direction Anthony was, looking for my ball.

As I entered the back of the garden me and him spotted my ball at the same time. He smirked and deliberately stepped on it, hiding it beneath his boot. He looks up, seeing the annoyance in my eyes.

“Give me the ball” I sighed.

Anthony raises an eyebrow, his eyes gleaming with mischief. He leans down and picks up my ball, holding it just out of reach. “I think not,” he says smoothly. “You'll have to pay the price for your earlier transgressions.”

“What? Can't handle a little teasing?” I asked in a challenging tone.

Anthony's face darkens, his expression dark and daring. “You know that's not the issue,” he growls. “Now, come and get the ball if you dare”

Not backing down, I march over to him leaving very little space between us. I gave him a daring glare, ignoring the fact he easily towered over me.

Anthony's eyes flash dangerously, a fire igniting within him. He holds his gaze with mine, his grip tightening around my ball. “Last chance to back down”

“Never”

Anthony's eyes had a hint of admiration in his before they go dark with desire. “Very well,” he murmurs. Throws the ball to who knows where and wraps his arms around my waist, lifting me off the ground as My legs wrapped around his waist. my hands weaved through the dark locks of his hair as our lips locked against each other roughly and hungrily.

Anthony groans as His strong arms wrap around my thighs, holding me up with ease as he deepens the kiss, sweeping his tongue across my bottom lip.

I teased him, denying his tongue entry. Anthony groaned, carrying me towards a nearby tree, his kisses growing more demanding and possessive as. He reaches the tree and presses my body against the trunk, his body pinning mine in place. “Open your mouth, y/n,” he commands, his voice husky with desire. “Now.”

I moaned, my lips parting as my back pressed against the tree. Anthony doesn't waste his opportunity, his tongue wrestling with mine in a heated battle. I moaned against his lips as he pressed me harder against the tree, his free hand reaching up to wrap around my throat, applying just enough pressure to remind me who was in charge. He breaks the kiss, his breath hot against my lips. “Mine,”

I gripped his hair and grinded against him, making Anthony's hand tightens slightly around my throat. He held me in place against the tree with his free hand. He grinds his hips against mine, the hardness of his erection pressing against me. “Look at me,” he demands, his voice low and commanding.

My eyes shot up, my breath hitched and my heart pounded against my chest. Anthony's eyes bore into mine, his face inches away as he grinds against our hips together once more. “Say it,” he growls. “Tell me you're mine.” His hand around my throat flexes gently, forcing a moan from my lips.

“Make me” I dared.

The word barely left my lips before Anthony's grip on my throat tightens. He leans in closer, his lips brushing against my ear, making me shiver as he spoke in a dangerous whisper. “As you wish, my love”

I let out a squeal at the unexpected moment, he turned me around, making me face the tree. I placed my hands on the wood, bracing myself as I felt his hard cock press against my ass. Anthony's hands run down my arms. “Keep your hands here,” he orders, his voice low and authoritative. He trails his fingers down my back and up my thighs, his hand removing the lower half of my clothes. “And no more talking back”

“No promises” I said breathlessly.

Anthony growls softly against my neck, his teeth sinking into my shoulder as he quickly unbuttoned his pants. He pushes them down enough for his cock to slip out. His hands then glided down over my backside. He grips my hips tightly, pulling my body back against his. “No more words”

I moaned softly, my head falling back against his shoulder, pleasure shooting through my body. Anthony's hips begin to move, his thick cock thrusting into me as he grinded against my ass. He groans as he fucks me against the tree, forcing moans and other sounds to leave my mouth. His hand leaves my hip to reach around and wrap around my throat, applying just enough pressure to keep me silent. He picks up the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and faster.

“A-Anthony” I moaned desperately, my breath quickened and my brain went blank as I felt every inch of him push in and out at a ruthless, intoxicating pace.

His grip on my throat tightens, muffling my desperate moans as he continues to pound into me against the tree. His breath is hot against my neck, his voice a low growl as he speaks. “Who do you belong to?” His voice is low, commanding, demanding an answer.

“Y-you” I moaned softly.

“That's right, love.” He punctuates each word with a deep thrust. As the pleasure builds within him, Anthony loosens his grip on my throat, letting me breathe again as he continues to push into me with an almost ruthless momentum.

I moaned louder, reaching behind me and tugging at his hair when he buried his face into my neck and bucked his hips forward with increased urgency. “You like that, love?” He hisses, his voice tight with restraint. “You like when I bury myself inside you?”

“Fuck!” I moaned desperately, the bark of the tree digging into my skin as he thrusted harder against me, caging me in between the piece of nature and his body. “yes!”

Anthony grunts, his hips grinding against mine as he fills my entrance up completely. The bark of the tree digging deeper into my skin. I didn't care, what Anthony was doing felt way too good to stop. I arch my back into Anthony's hard body.

“A-Anthony!” I moaned desperately. I couldn't think of anything but him, the knot in my stomach tightened. “I'm c-close” my breath hitched and arched my hips back against him.

Anthony's arms wrap around me tightly, his hands gripping my hips possessively as he pistons in and out, the sound of flesh against flesh filling the air. “Come for me, y/n,” he growls, his voice laced with dominance. “Show me who you belong to”

“Anthony!” the control I had snapped, my eyes fluttered closed and my head fell back in pleasure against his shoulder as my climax hit me like a train.

“Fuck, Darling” Anthony groans loudly, his hips snapping forward as he chases after his own release. My body clenched around him,making him shudder and groan with pleasure as he emptied himself inside me.

His arms tighten around me as I relax against his body. Anthony continues to thrust into me a few more times, milking the last bits of pleasure from both of us. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin. “Mine” he murmurs possessively.

“Y-yours” I moaned softly.

Anthony presses a soft kiss against my neck. I let out a small moan as he slowly pulled out. His hands gently turned my body around and steadied me when I felt my legs threaten to give out. He cups my face, kissing me deeply before pressing his forehead against mine. “You okay, love?” His voice is soft now, gentle. He brushes my hair from my face, his touch tender. “Not too rough?” He asks, a hint of concern in his eyes.

“No, it was perfect” I smiled lazily.

Anthony's lips tugged into a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Good.” He leans in, gently kissing me, before resting his forehead against mine once more. His hand tightened around my waist. “Shall we head back now?”

“Probably should... Before they come looking for us” I said softly.

Anthony chuckles darkly. “True. Wouldn't want them to find out what we've been up to.” He takes my hand, helping me straighten out my clothes before leading me back towards the back yard where the family was finishing the game, his arm wrapped protectively around my shoulders.

[anastasiareadsnwrites]

Hi can you write an Anthony x wife reader wedding night

Every Breath You Take (Anthony Bridgerton x Fem! Reader)

Author's note: Hello, hun. Of course I can. So I wasn't to sure how to write this one but I have figured it out. Now I have so many things in my drafts from my inbox for recent requests and I wanted to act on it immediately so everything is jumbled in my drafts.

Summary: It's really happening believe it or not. You are finally married to Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount. But no one had prepared you for the martial act. So Anthony guides you through it.

Warning(s):NSFW, 18+, oral, straight sex, first times, experienced husband, praise, pet names, more to be added

The MAIN Masterlist

The Bridgerton Masterlist

The room was silent, save for the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the faint rustling of fabric as you stood at the edge of the bed, your hands trembling slightly. You were his now, Anthony Bridgerton’s wife. The reality of it was settling in, weighty yet thrilling, but no one had prepared you for this moment—the wedding night.

Anthony stood across from you, already loosening his cravat, his dark eyes never leaving yours. Despite the growing tension in the air, his expression was calm, warm. You felt a sense of security just from his gaze.

"Are you nervous, my love?" His voice was soft, deeper than usual, filled with tenderness as he stepped closer, his large hands cradling your face.

You nodded, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering wildly. “A little…” you confessed, feeling your cheeks heat up at the admission.

His thumb brushed your bottom lip, his touch gentle, reassuring. “I would never rush you into something you’re not ready for,” he said, his voice steady, though there was a hunger in his eyes that made your breath hitch. "We will take this at your pace."

His words were like a balm to your frayed nerves. You trusted him with everything, and now, as your husband, you knew he would guide you through this with the same care he had shown in everything else.

Slowly, Anthony stepped back, allowing you a moment to breathe, to gather your courage. The intimacy of the situation was overwhelming, yet the anticipation of what was to come kept your pulse racing. His gaze remained on you as he began to undress with practiced ease, each movement deliberate, his confidence in contrast to the shy eagerness you felt bubbling up within.

When his shirt fell away, revealing the hard planes of his chest, you swallowed hard, your eyes drawn to every inch of his toned form. He smiled then, as if sensing your growing desire.

"Come here," he whispered, his voice deeper now, a hint of command threading through it.

You stepped toward him, your breath shaky. Anthony's hands gently guided yours to the buttons of your gown. He watched your reaction carefully as your fingers fumbled with the fabric, heat flooding your face as you grew more aware of how vulnerable you were becoming under his gaze.

"Take your time," he murmured, leaning down to brush his lips against your forehead. "There is no rush tonight."

His hands joined yours, skillfully helping you out of the layers of your wedding dress, the intimacy growing with each passing second. The material pooled at your feet, leaving you in nothing but your underclothes. Your heart pounded against your ribs, the closeness of him igniting a warmth in you that you'd never experienced before.

Anthony’s hands slid down to your waist, his lips grazing your temple. "You're perfect," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. The way he spoke to you, the soft praise, made your body tingle.

His lips found yours in a slow, sensual kiss that deepened with every passing moment. You felt his fingers trace the outline of your jaw, down your neck, and along the delicate curve of your shoulder. You gasped softly into the kiss, overwhelmed by the sensation of his touch. Every part of you was being carefully, reverently explored, his experienced hands guiding your inexperienced body with tender precision.

"Relax, my love," he whispered, pressing a kiss to the sensitive spot just below your ear, sending shivers down your spine. "Let me take care of you."

You melted into him, your anxieties slowly ebbing away as his hands roamed, caressing and praising you in ways that made your heart race. He continued to reassure you with every touch, every whispered word, until you felt comfortable in his arms, trusting him fully to lead you through the night’s intimate act.

Anthony’s lips traveled slowly along your collarbone, his touch igniting a fire beneath your skin. You couldn’t help but let out a soft sigh, your hands gripping the fabric of his trousers as you steadied yourself against the mounting desire swirling in your belly. He paused, drawing back slightly to look into your eyes, his gaze filled with a quiet intensity that made your breath catch.

“Is this alright?” His voice was barely above a whisper, rough with desire yet tinged with concern. You nodded, biting your lip nervously, but there was no mistaking the excitement brewing inside you.

“Good,” he murmured, and then his lips were on yours again, firmer this time, with a kind of passion that sent shivers down your spine. His hands found the laces of your undergarments, and he worked with such practiced ease that it made your pulse quicken.

He pulled back for a moment, his eyes scanning over you, now bare before him. His gaze was heavy, filled with admiration. “You are… breathtaking,” he said, the praise rolling off his tongue in a way that made you feel warm all over. His fingertips traced down your arms, gentle and loving, as if he were memorizing every curve of your body.

Before you could say anything, he cupped your face again, kissing you deeply, slowly. His tongue brushed against yours, coaxing soft whimpers from your lips. You felt heat pooling low in your belly, unfamiliar but intoxicating. His body was pressed against yours now, the heat from his skin setting your senses alight.

“Let me know if anything feels uncomfortable,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. You could feel the strong, steady beat of his heart, grounding you in the moment.

With every move, Anthony took his time, ensuring you felt safe, adored. He guided you to the bed, his hands never leaving your body, as if afraid to lose contact with you for even a second. You lay back, your heart racing as he hovered over you, his lips finding yours again before trailing down to your throat, his breath warm against your skin.

“I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice thick with desire, but you could hear the restraint in it, the control he maintained despite the longing in his eyes.

His hands slid down, caressing your thighs with featherlight touches that left you trembling beneath him. The anticipation built slowly, the tension between you both growing with every moment. He kissed along your stomach, down your hips, his touch making you gasp softly.

You had never felt anything like this before—the mix of vulnerability, excitement, and overwhelming pleasure that was starting to bloom within you.

Anthony’s gaze flickered back to your face, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip as he positioned himself between your legs. “If at any point you need me to stop…” he started, but you cut him off with a shaky breath, your body aching for him in ways you could barely describe.

“I trust you,” you whispered, your voice unsteady but certain.

His smile was tender, and without another word, he kissed you again, the intensity of it sparking a fresh wave of heat through your veins. His hands moved lower, exploring every inch of you with care, his touch experienced but never rushing.

As he finally began to guide you through the unfamiliar act, his movements were slow, deliberate, and you felt nothing but the warmth of his body, the safety of his embrace. The initial sensation was foreign, but Anthony's soothing words calmed the nerves that threatened to bubble up.

“Just breathe, love,” he whispered against your ear, his lips brushing over the shell of it. His hands were everywhere, steadying you, comforting you, his praises a soft murmur against your skin. “You’re doing so well…”

The slow burn of pleasure began to unfurl within you, growing with every motion, every whisper of praise from his lips. He never rushed, never pushed, allowing you to adjust, to enjoy the sensation of being with him, of becoming one in the most intimate way.

His own breath hitched as he moved, clearly affected by the closeness, by you. His hands gripped your hips firmly but gently, his forehead resting against yours, and for a moment, it was as if the world had narrowed down to just the two of you—your shared breath, your racing hearts, and the feeling of him inside you, guiding you through every step.

When your body finally surrendered to the waves of pleasure, Anthony followed close behind, his body tensing as he whispered your name like a prayer. You felt him shudder against you, his own release following yours, the weight of his body pressing down on you in the most comforting way.

For a few moments, the room was silent, the only sound your heavy breathing and the crackle of the fire. Anthony shifted, rolling onto his side and pulling you into his arms, his lips pressing lazy kisses against your temple as you curled into him, your body still trembling from the intensity of it all.

“You were perfect,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His fingers traced slow patterns along your back, soothing you as your breathing began to steady.

You smiled sleepily against his chest, your heart still racing from everything that had just transpired. “Thank you,” you murmured softly, your voice barely audible in the quiet of the room.

Anthony kissed the top of your head, his arms tightening around you protectively. “I’ll take care of you, always,” he promised, his voice filled with nothing but love and devotion.

And in that moment, as you drifted off to sleep in his embrace, you knew it to be true.

The morning light peeked through the curtains, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You stirred slightly, still cocooned in Anthony’s arms, your body wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. For a moment, you weren’t sure if last night had been a dream, a blissful haze of whispered words and tender touches, but the steady rhythm of his breathing, the solid feel of him beside you, reassured you it was all real.

Your eyes fluttered open, and the first thing you noticed was how peaceful he looked, his usually sharp features softened in sleep. It was rare to see Anthony this relaxed, and the sight of him like this made your heart swell. For a brief moment, you simply watched him, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead. He was beautiful, and the realization hit you like a soft wave—he was yours now.

Suddenly, as if sensing you were awake, Anthony stirred. His arms tightened around you protectively, pulling you closer into his warmth. His eyes opened slowly, meeting yours with a soft smile that sent a warm flutter through your chest.

“Good morning,” he murmured, his voice still husky from sleep. He leaned down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there as if savoring the quiet intimacy of the moment.

“Good morning,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, your heart still racing from the memories of last night. The blush crept up your cheeks as you shifted slightly under the sheets, feeling the soreness in your body—a reminder of the passion you had shared.

Anthony must have noticed your slight discomfort because his expression softened further, his hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “How are you feeling?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing your skin in gentle circles.

You smiled, your heart warming at the concern in his eyes. “A little sore,” you admitted with a shy laugh, “but…I’m okay.”

He chuckled softly, his hand moving to stroke your hair, the tenderness in his touch making you feel completely safe. “I’ll draw you a bath,” he said, already beginning to shift, his fingers tracing down your arm as he prepared to get up. “You should rest.”

Before he could move away, you caught his hand, holding him there for a moment longer. “Stay,” you whispered, your voice filled with more confidence than before. “Please?”

Anthony paused, his dark eyes locking onto yours with a mix of surprise and adoration. He settled back into bed, pulling you close again, his lips brushing against your forehead. “As you wish,” he murmured, holding you tighter.

The quiet comfort of the morning wrapped around you both like a warm blanket. For a while, you simply lay there, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Every now and then, Anthony’s hand would drift lazily over your back, his touch soothing, grounding. There was no rush, no urgency—just the two of you, wrapped in the aftermath of your shared intimacy.

Eventually, though, Anthony shifted slightly, his lips pressing against the crown of your head. “I want you to know,” he began, his voice low and sincere, “that last night wasn’t just about the wedding. It was about us. You mean more to me than just a duty or obligation.”

You looked up at him, your heart swelling at the honesty in his voice. His expression was earnest, his gaze steady as he continued, “I’m in this, fully. For us. For you.” His hand found yours, intertwining your fingers together. “I need you to know that.”

The vulnerability in his words made your chest tighten with emotion. You squeezed his hand gently, your own heart swelling with gratitude and love. “I know, Anthony,” you whispered, leaning up to press a soft kiss to his lips. “I feel the same.”

He smiled against your lips, the tension in his body easing as if your words had relieved some burden he’d been carrying. “Good,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours in a playful, tender gesture. “Because I plan to spoil you endlessly, my Viscountess.”

You laughed softly at his words, feeling the lightness of the moment wrap around you both. “Is that so?” you teased, leaning back slightly to meet his gaze.

“Oh, absolutely,” he replied with a grin, his fingers tracing down your arm in lazy patterns. “Starting with breakfast in bed, baths drawn just for you, and all the attention you could ever want. I’ll make sure you never lift a finger again.”

You smiled at his playful tone, though deep down, you knew there was truth in his words. Anthony would take care of you, not just as a husband fulfilling his vows, but as someone who truly adored you. The way he looked at you, the way he spoke to you, made it clear—his love for you was genuine, and he would do anything to make you happy.

As the morning sun continued to filter through the curtains, you lay there with him, wrapped in the warmth of his embrace. And though the world outside was waiting, you knew that here, in this moment, nothing else mattered but the two of you.

Later, Anthony reluctantly left the bed to draw your bath as promised. The water was warm and soothing as you sank into it, your body easing into the relaxation you hadn’t realized you needed. Anthony, ever the attentive husband, stayed close by, occasionally checking on you, his touch lingering on your shoulders as he massaged away the soreness from the night before.

As you soaked in the tub, you couldn’t help but smile to yourself, thinking about how far you had come. Last night had been a milestone in your relationship with Anthony, but it was just the beginning. You knew there would be challenges ahead, but with him by your side, you were ready to face anything.

When you finally stepped out of the bath, wrapped in a soft towel, Anthony was waiting for you, his eyes lighting up the moment he saw you. He crossed the room in a few long strides, his hands reaching for you once again, his touch gentle yet possessive.

“You are a vision,” he murmured, his lips brushing against your temple as he pulled you close. “I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of you.”

You laughed softly, feeling a familiar warmth spread through your chest. “I could say the same.”

Anthony smiled, his hands resting on your waist as he leaned in to kiss you. “Then let’s never stop.”

Anthony’s lips ghosted over your forehead once again, his presence grounding you as he held you close. “We don’t have to rush into anything today,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s take this time for us.”

The idea of staying in bed all day with Anthony was tempting. You had never felt so at ease, cocooned in the safety of his arms, but you both knew the responsibilities waiting outside those bedroom walls. Being married to the Viscount meant facing the social expectations, the family duties, the world that never stopped turning.

You sighed softly, your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. “As much as I’d love to stay here forever, we both know that’s impossible,” you said, your voice filled with the bittersweet reality of your new life together.

Anthony chuckled, his fingers running lazily through your hair. “True. But I can indulge in my selfishness a little longer, can’t I?” His tone was playful, but the way he looked at you was filled with longing, as though he was memorizing every detail of this moment.

You smiled, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I suppose you can,” you teased softly, your fingers tracing light patterns along his arm. “But we really should get up soon. Your family will be expecting us.”

The mention of his family stirred something in Anthony, his eyes flickering with a brief shadow before he masked it with a soft smile. “Yes,” he said quietly, his tone shifting to something more serious. “My family.”

You could feel the weight of his thoughts, the unspoken burdens that came with being the head of the Bridgerton household. Anthony carried so much on his shoulders, more than anyone realized. And now, as his wife, those responsibilities were something you would share with him.

“Anthony,” you began softly, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the slight stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to bear everything alone anymore. I’m here now. We’ll face it together.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze searching yours as though trying to find reassurance in your words. And then, with a deep breath, he nodded, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I’ve spent so long thinking I had to do everything myself. It’s hard to let go of that.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you understood. Anthony had always been the protector, the one who made sure everyone was taken care of. But who took care of him?

“I won’t let you do it alone,” you promised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “We’re in this together. Always.”

Anthony’s grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing over yours in a tender, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of his gratitude. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the morning.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion.

“You deserve more than you realize,” you replied firmly, your fingers threading through his hair. “And I’m going to prove it to you every single day.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to strike something deep within him, and for the first time, you saw the walls around Anthony’s heart begin to crumble. The guarded, stoic man who had always put others first was slowly allowing himself to let you in, to trust you with the pieces of himself he kept hidden from the world.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, his lips finding yours again, this time with more urgency, as though he needed to express everything he couldn’t put into words.

The kiss deepened, filled with the kind of passion that left you breathless, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he pulled you closer. There was no rush, no desperation—just the two of you, tangled together in a moment of pure connection.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you smiled at each other. Anthony’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he whispered, “You’re everything to me.”

You were about to reply when a knock on the door interrupted the intimate moment. Both of you froze, your hearts racing as you exchanged a quick glance. The outside world had come knocking, quite literally, reminding you that you couldn’t hide away forever.

Anthony sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before sitting up, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I suppose that’s our cue,” he muttered, his tone tinged with reluctant resignation.

You smiled softly, watching as he moved to the edge of the bed. “It was nice while it lasted.”

Anthony turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached out to take your hand. “It doesn’t have to end,” he said quietly, pulling you closer. “We’ll have more moments like this. I promise.”

With that, he kissed your hand and stood up, reaching for his robe before heading to the door. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever awaited outside, knowing that your life with Anthony would be a balance of intimate moments and societal obligations.

As Anthony opened the door, you could hear the familiar voice of one of the household staff, informing him that breakfast was ready and that his mother was asking for the both of you. Anthony thanked them and closed the door, turning back to you with an apologetic smile.

“Well, it seems we’re expected,” he said with a sigh, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

You chuckled, slipping out of bed and reaching for your own robe. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

Anthony crossed the room in two strides, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pulling you against his chest. “We’ll have our time,” he murmured in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck.

Your heart fluttered at the feel of him, your smile widening as you leaned into his embrace. “I know,” you whispered, your fingers resting over his.

Together, you left the sanctuary of your room, ready to face the world as Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew that with Anthony by your side, you could face anything. The love you shared was a foundation stronger than any title or duty, and you would carry that with you as you stepped into your new life together.

Anthony’s lips ghosted over your forehead once again, his presence grounding you as he held you close. “We don’t have to rush into anything today,” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin. “Let’s take this time for us.”

The idea of staying in bed all day with Anthony was tempting. You had never felt so at ease, cocooned in the safety of his arms, but you both knew the responsibilities waiting outside those bedroom walls. Being married to the Viscount meant facing the social expectations, the family duties, the world that never stopped turning.

You sighed softly, your head resting on his bare chest, listening to the rhythmic beat of his heart. “As much as I’d love to stay here forever, we both know that’s impossible,” you said, your voice filled with the bittersweet reality of your new life together.

Anthony chuckled, his fingers running lazily through your hair. “True. But I can indulge in my selfishness a little longer, can’t I?” His tone was playful, but the way he looked at you was filled with longing, as though he was memorizing every detail of this moment.

You smiled, tilting your head up to meet his gaze. “I suppose you can,” you teased softly, your fingers tracing light patterns along his arm. “But we really should get up soon. Your family will be expecting us.”

The mention of his family stirred something in Anthony, his eyes flickering with a brief shadow before he masked it with a soft smile. “Yes,” he said quietly, his tone shifting to something more serious. “My family.”

You could feel the weight of his thoughts, the unspoken burdens that came with being the head of the Bridgerton household. Anthony carried so much on his shoulders, more than anyone realized. And now, as his wife, those responsibilities were something you would share with him.

“Anthony,” you began softly, lifting a hand to cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the slight stubble on his jaw. “You don’t have to bear everything alone anymore. I’m here now. We’ll face it together.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze searching yours as though trying to find reassurance in your words. And then, with a deep breath, he nodded, his hand reaching up to cover yours. “I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I just…I’ve spent so long thinking I had to do everything myself. It’s hard to let go of that.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words, but you understood. Anthony had always been the protector, the one who made sure everyone was taken care of. But who took care of him?

“I won’t let you do it alone,” you promised, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “We’re in this together. Always.”

Anthony’s grip on you tightened slightly, his lips brushing over yours in a tender, lingering kiss that spoke volumes of his gratitude. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet of the morning.

“I don’t deserve you,” he whispered, his voice filled with raw emotion.

“You deserve more than you realize,” you replied firmly, your fingers threading through his hair. “And I’m going to prove it to you every single day.”

The sincerity in your voice seemed to strike something deep within him, and for the first time, you saw the walls around Anthony’s heart begin to crumble. The guarded, stoic man who had always put others first was slowly allowing himself to let you in, to trust you with the pieces of himself he kept hidden from the world.

“God, I love you,” he whispered, his lips finding yours again, this time with more urgency, as though he needed to express everything he couldn’t put into words.

The kiss deepened, filled with the kind of passion that left you breathless, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he pulled you closer. There was no rush, no desperation—just the two of you, tangled together in a moment of pure connection.

When you finally broke apart, both of you were breathless, your foreheads pressed together as you smiled at each other. Anthony’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he whispered, “You’re everything to me.”

You were about to reply when a knock on the door interrupted the intimate moment. Both of you froze, your hearts racing as you exchanged a quick glance. The outside world had come knocking, quite literally, reminding you that you couldn’t hide away forever.

Anthony sighed, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead before sitting up, running a hand through his tousled hair. “I suppose that’s our cue,” he muttered, his tone tinged with reluctant resignation.

You smiled softly, watching as he moved to the edge of the bed. “It was nice while it lasted.”

Anthony turned back to you, his expression softening as he reached out to take your hand. “It doesn’t have to end,” he said quietly, pulling you closer. “We’ll have more moments like this. I promise.”

With that, he kissed your hand and stood up, reaching for his robe before heading to the door. You took a deep breath, preparing yourself for whatever awaited outside, knowing that your life with Anthony would be a balance of intimate moments and societal obligations.

As Anthony opened the door, you could hear the familiar voice of one of the household staff, informing him that breakfast was ready and that his mother was asking for the both of you. Anthony thanked them and closed the door, turning back to you with an apologetic smile.

“Well, it seems we’re expected,” he said with a sigh, but there was a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.

You chuckled, slipping out of bed and reaching for your own robe. “Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

Anthony crossed the room in two strides, wrapping his arms around you from behind and pulling you against his chest. “We’ll have our time,” he murmured in your ear, his lips brushing against your neck.

Your heart fluttered at the feel of him, your smile widening as you leaned into his embrace. “I know,” you whispered, your fingers resting over his.

Together, you left the sanctuary of your room, ready to face the world as Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton. Whatever challenges lay ahead, you knew that with Anthony by your side, you could face anything. The love you shared was a foundation stronger than any title or duty, and you would carry that with you as you stepped into your new life together.

The grand hallways of Bridgerton House stretched out before you as you and Anthony descended the stairs, arm in arm. Despite the intimacy of the morning, there was an undeniable shift now that you were entering the public eye. The world outside of your shared space awaited—one filled with expectations, family obligations, and societal pressures.

You cast a sideways glance at Anthony, noting the subtle tension in his jawline, the way his grip on your hand tightened slightly as you neared the main dining room. It was a reminder that, despite the intimacy you shared, he was still the Viscount, and his duty to his family and society weighed heavily on him.

As you both entered the dining room, you were greeted by the familiar sight of Lady Violet Bridgerton seated at the head of the table, her ever-poised demeanor firmly in place. Next to her sat Benedict, his usual mischievous smirk greeting you both as he raised an eyebrow at your arrival. Colin, already mid-conversation with Eloise, paused long enough to give Anthony a teasing look, while Daphne’s warm smile greeted you.

“Good morning, Viscountess,” Benedict quipped as he took a long sip of his tea, eyes dancing with amusement. “I trust the wedding night was… eventful?”

Anthony shot his brother a sharp look, but it was hard to miss the affectionate undertone behind his frustration. “Not that it’s any of your business, Benedict,” he replied dryly, pulling out a chair for you before taking his seat beside you. “But I’ll remind you to mind your tongue.”

“Come now, Anthony,” Colin interjected, his grin widening. “We’re all family here, aren’t we?”

Lady Violet cleared her throat, sending a pointed look at her sons. “Enough, boys. Let’s not turn this breakfast into a competition of teasing your brother.”

Her firm but gentle tone had its intended effect, and the Bridgerton brothers backed off with only a few chuckles between them. You couldn’t help but smile at the light-hearted banter, appreciating how deeply this family cared for one another despite their differences.

“I must say,” Daphne began, her gaze shifting toward you. “It’s wonderful to have you officially in the family. You’ve always been a part of it in our hearts, but now it’s official.”

Your heart warmed at her words, and you smiled gratefully. “Thank you, Daphne. I couldn’t ask for a better family to marry into.”

Violet’s eyes softened as she regarded the two of you, her hand reaching across the table to gently touch yours. “I couldn’t be prouder of you both. You’ve come so far, and I know you’ll be an excellent Viscountess.”

You felt Anthony’s gaze on you, and when you turned to him, you found his eyes filled with affection, though there was something else there—a quiet reverence. His thumb brushed over your hand in a subtle gesture of support, a silent acknowledgment of how much you both had grown together.

“Thank you, Lady Violet,” you replied softly, your voice carrying the weight of your gratitude.

Violet smiled kindly at you, but before anyone could say more, a maid entered the room and quietly informed Anthony that he was needed in his study for an urgent matter.

Anthony sighed, glancing at you with a look that conveyed his reluctance. “Duty calls,” he said, his voice tinged with resignation.

You nodded in understanding, squeezing his hand briefly. “Go ahead. I’ll be here when you’re done.”

He pressed a quick kiss to your forehead before rising from his seat and excusing himself from the table. The warmth of his lips lingered on your skin even after he had gone.

As Anthony disappeared into the hallway, the lively conversation resumed around the table. You tried to engage in small talk with Daphne and Eloise, but your thoughts kept drifting to Anthony and whatever business was pulling him away from you. The weight of being the Viscountess was already starting to settle on your shoulders, and you realized that there would be many moments like this—moments where Anthony’s responsibilities would take precedence over your personal time together.

Still, you knew that this was part of the life you had chosen, and you were determined to be the support Anthony needed, just as he had promised to be yours. Even if it meant occasionally sacrificing your own desires.

A soft sigh escaped your lips as you turned your attention back to the table, pushing aside the thoughts of Anthony’s absence. You had a family here now, and with them came love, support, and endless conversations to distract you from the more pressing concerns.

But deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only going to become more complicated from here.

Later that evening, as the sun began to set and the house quieted down, you found yourself wandering through the estate, your footsteps echoing softly against the polished floors. You had been hoping to spend more time with Anthony throughout the day, but he had been locked in meetings, dealing with matters concerning the Bridgerton estate and his responsibilities as Viscount.

It wasn’t until you reached the study, the soft glow of candlelight spilling out from beneath the door, that you paused. You hesitated for a moment before gently knocking, hoping you weren’t interrupting.

“Come in,” came Anthony’s familiar voice from within.

You slowly opened the door and stepped inside, finding Anthony seated at his desk, a pile of papers spread out before him. He looked up when you entered, a tired smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Am I disturbing you?” you asked softly, closing the door behind you.

Anthony shook his head, leaning back in his chair. “Never. I was just finishing up.”

You made your way toward him, taking a seat on the edge of the desk. “You’ve been in here all day.”

“I know,” he sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “There’s just… so much to manage.”

Reaching out, you placed your hand on his, your fingers curling around his in a gesture of comfort. “You don’t have to do it all at once, you know.”

Anthony looked up at you, his expression softening. “I know. But I don’t want to burden you with all of this.”

“You’re not burdening me,” you replied firmly, squeezing his hand. “We’re a team, Anthony. You don’t have to face any of this alone.”

For a moment, he was silent, his gaze locked with yours. And then, with a soft sigh, he stood from his chair, pulling you into his arms. “What did I do to deserve you?” he murmured against your hair.

You smiled, resting your head against his chest. “You’re a good man, Anthony Bridgerton. And I love you.”

Anthony’s arms tightened around you, his lips pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. “I love you too.”

As you stood there in his embrace, the weight of the day slowly melted away. In this quiet moment, it was just the two of you, and that was all that mattered.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Love Takes Time - Anthony Bridgerton

Word Count: 1636

Summary: To love for years and not having the chance to show, is a difficult thing to do, do you not think so?

It was the height of the new season and the Bridgerton ball was the talk of the ton. The finest lords and ladies of society had gathered to see and be seen, and for one young woman, it was a night she would never forget.

All eyes were on you, better known as, Miss Y/n Y/l/n as you danced with one of the most sought-after bachelors of the season, the dashing Lord Russell. Your beauty and grace were unmatched, and every gentleman in the room was vying for your attention.

But there was one man who couldn't take his eyes off you, and that was Anthony Bridgerton. He stood at the side of the ballroom, watching as his sister Daphne danced with Lord Russell's brother.

 Anthony couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy every time he saw you in the arms of another man.

He had known you for years, ever since your families had been neighbors. But it wasn't until this season that he had truly seen you in a different light. 

You had blossomed into a stunning young woman, and Anthony couldn't deny the feelings that had started to grow for you.

But as much as Anthony tried to hide his feelings, his sister Daphne had caught on. 

She knew her brother too well and could see the way he would stare at you whenever the both of you were in the same room. She would often tease him about it, much to his embarrassment.

"Anthony, do you plan on dancing with anyone tonight?" Daphne asked, raising an eyebrow at her brother's brooding expression.

Anthony rolled his eyes, "I have no desire to dance with any of the ladies here tonight."

"Oh, I see," Daphne smirked. 'Is that why you've been staring at y/n all evening?"

Anthony's face turned a bright shade of red, and he glared at his sister. "I have no idea what you are talking about."

Daphne just laughed, knowing full well that her brother was smitten with you. She couldn't wait to see what would happen between the both of you, but she also knew that it was up to Anthony to make the first move.

As the night went on, you danced with several different lords, each one more charming than the last.

 Anthony couldn't help but feel a pang of jealousy every time he saw you in another man's arms. He knew that you were the diamond of the season, and he couldn't bear the thought of you falling for someone else.

Meanwhile, you were having the time of your life. You had never been the center of attention like this before, and you were relishing in every moment. 

But deep down, you couldn't help but wish that Anthony would ask you to dance. 

You had always admired him from a distance, but now that you were here in London, you couldn't deny the feelings that had started to develop for him.

As the night wore on, Anthony found himself growing more and more restless. He couldn't stand the thought of another man holding you in his arms. 

He knew he had to do something, or he would regret it forever.

Finally, when you were in the middle of a dance with Lord Ubberton, Anthony couldn't take it anymore. 

He stood up abruptly, startling his mother and sister who were standing next to him.

"Anthony, what on earth are you doing?" his mother, Lady Violet, asked with concern.

"I have to speak to y/n," he blurted out before rushing out of the ballroom.

Daphne couldn't contain her excitement as she watched her brother leave the ballroom. 

She knew he was finally going to make a move on you, and she couldn't wait to see how it would all play out.

Outside, Anthony waited anxiously for you to finish your dance. He could barely contain his nerves, unsure of how you would react to his sudden appearance.

As soon as the music stopped, you excused yourself from Lord Ubberton and you made your way outside, wondering what had caused Anthony to leave the ball in such a rush.

"Miss y/n," Anthony said breathlessly as you approached him.

"Lord Bridgerton, is everything alright?" You asked with a worried expression.

"Yes, everything is fine indeed" Anthony reassured you. "I just couldn't stand the thought of you dancing with another man while I sit idly by."

Your cheeks turned pink as you realized just how much Anthony cared for you. "I-I had no idea you felt that way."

"I can't act like I don't love you," Anthony admitted, taking your hand in his. 'But I was too foolish to see it until now.'

You couldn't believe what you were hearing. You had always admired Anthony from afar, never thinking that he could possibly have feelings for You.

 But as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you were wrong.

"I have always admired you, Lord Bridgerton," You said softly.

"Please, call me Anthony," he replied, his heart racing with excitement.

The two of you stood outside, talking for what felt like hours. Both of you were finally able to express your feelings for each other, and it was a magical moment. 

But as the night wore on, you both realized you couldn't stay outside forever.

As you made your way back to the ball, hand in hand, you were met with an unexpected sight. 

Anthony's other sister, Eloise, was causing a scene, much to their mother's dismay.

"Anthony, there you are!" Eloise exclaimed, causing a few heads to turn. "I was wondering where you had disappeared to."

Anthony rolled his eyes, used to his sister's dramatics. "Eloise, please. This is hardly the time or place."

"Oh, but it is!" Eloise insisted. "You have been mooning over Miss Y/n for years, and now you are finally taking her for a walk outside."

Your face turned beet red as you looked at Anthony, unsure of how to respond to Eloise's teasing.

"Would you please keep your voice down, Eloise?" Daphne scolded her sister, who had now attracted the attention of almost everyone in the ballroom.

But Eloise wasn't finished yet. "And to think, I always thought it would be Daphne sneaking away at nighttime."

Anthony could feel his face turning red with embarrassment as he tried to hush his sister. "Eloise, that's enough!"

But before he could do anything else, Eloise had already caused quite a spectacle. 

You could see the anger building on Anthony's face, and you knew both had to get out of there before things got out of hand.

"Anthony, perhaps we should take a walk outside." You suggested, trying to diffuse the situation.

Anthony glared at his sister before turning to you and nodding in agreement. 

You both quickly made your way out of the ballroom, leaving behind a shocked and confused group of onlookers.

Outside, Anthony let out a sigh of relief, glad to be away from the chaos of the ball. You couldn't help but giggle at the situation, finding it all too amusing.

"I am so sorry about Eloise," Anthony apologized, still red-faced with embarrassment.

"It's quite alright," You reassured him. "I have to say, I didn't know what to expect when I came to London, but this certainly wasn't it."

Anthony chuckled, feeling more at ease now that you were alone. "I must apologize for my family's behavior. They can be quite unconventional at times."

"I think I quite like it," You said with a smile. "It's refreshing to see a family that is so close and comfortable with each other."

Anthony couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at your words. He knew his family could be a handful, but he loved them all dearly.

As you both walked around the gardens, talking and laughing, you couldn't help but feel like you were walking on air.

 You had never felt this way before, and you knew that Anthony was the reason for it.

Before you knew it, it was well past midnight, and you both knew you should be heading back to the ball. 

But neither of you wanted the night to end.

"Would you like to take a turn around the gardens with me?" Anthony asked, hoping to prolong your time together.

"I would love to," You replied, feeling a flutter in her stomach at the thought of being alone with Anthony.

As you walked hand in hand through the moonlit gardens, Anthony couldn't hold back any longer. 

He stopped in the middle of a rose garden and turned to face you, taking your hands in his.

"Miss y/n, I know this may seem sudden, but I cannot hold back any longer,' he declared, looking into your eyes with all the sincerity in his heart. "I have been in love with you for years, but I was too foolish to realize it until now. I cannot imagine my life without you, and I want you to be my wife."

Your breath caught in your throat, completely taken aback by Anthony's sudden declaration of love. 

But as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you couldn't deny your own feelings any longer.

"Anthony, I-"

But before you could finish your sentence, Anthony had closed the distance between you both and pressed his lips to yours in a tender and passionate kiss. 

You stood there, lost in each other's embrace, finally giving in to the feelings that had been growing between them for so long.

As you both pulled away, both of you knew that your lives would never be the same. 

You had found your way to each other, and you knew that your love would only continue to grow stronger.

The rest of the night was a blur for both of you as a newly declared couple as you made your way back to the ball, hand in hand.

[bosbas]

Chapter 2: I didn't have it in myself to go with grace

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: colin bridgerton x enemy!fem!reader WC: 2.0k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, negative self-talk (Colin bby🥺🤏), a small part of the dialogue is in French

Summary: It took precisely two days in England for you to utterly despise Colin Bridgerton. It took him approximately twelve hours after that to hate you right back. But he doesn't care that you're the only person in the ton who doesn't like him. You're set to marry someone else anyway, right?

April 16, 1816 – And of course, one cannot forget to mention Lady Y/N Montclair, who looked like a vision in her emerald dress at the Danbury Ball last night. Her presence seemed to cast a spell over the gentlemen in attendance, and they were practically lining up to engage her in conversation. It was a sight to behold, watching them swoon over her. However, one can hardly blame them, given how effortlessly graceful she was. It appears Lady Montclair will have more than enough gentlemen to choose from this season…

Eloise scoffed and rolled her eyes, the newest Whistledown in hand as she sat on a couch in the tearoom. “My word, if she hadn’t been in Tuscany last season I would think Lady Montclair herself was Lady Whistledown! She’s only been here two days and she’s already been mentioned more than most of the ton.”

Benedict chuckled from his seat across the room, shooting a look at a disgruntled-looking Colin who was trying very hard to make it seem like he wasn’t listening to Eloise reading Whistledown’s account of the ball. 

“I’d wager that Colin is Whistledown, actually. I’m convinced after today’s column,” Benedict said teasingly, taking a bite out of an apple as he analyzed the sketch in front of him. 

“First of all, I don’t even write like Whistledown, which you would know if you read the letters I sent while I was in Greece,” Colin shot back, irritated. “And second, even if I were, I certainly would not have spent two full pages talking about Lady Montclair. I’m sure I have no idea why Whistledown thought she warranted such a large portion of the column today.” 

The words felt bitter and unpleasant in his mouth, and he regretted them instantly. He knew he sounded petulant, but he couldn’t help his defensive tone after last night. Eloise, catching onto Colin’s tone, cocked her head toward Benedict and raised an eyebrow in confusion.  

“She didn’t want to dance with him,” explained Benedict, sounding highly amused about what was one of the more embarrassing things to happen to Colin. 

Eloise burst out laughing. “No! A woman who didn’t want to dance with Colin? Something must be incredibly wrong in the world! How could she have said no to London’s golden boy? And on his first day back! Shall we call for a medic?”

Colin felt the blood rushing to his face and his cheeks warming, not particularly pleased to have to deal with his sister's teasing today. He knew he was being ridiculous, that much was clear. You were only one person who hadn’t wanted to dance with him. But you had just looked so beautiful, and the way your eyes had lit up when you laughed with your brother was so enchanting, that he fashioned himself half in love with you already. 

It was slightly gut-wrenching to know you didn't feel the same way. He must have done something, Colin reasoned. No one had ever not liked Colin simply because of who he was, and he was more than a little concerned that you seemed to be the first. 

Eloise had been joking, of course, when she called Colin London’s golden boy. But it wasn’t as much of a joke as he would have liked. Anthony was a viscount, and Benedict was a successful artist with a painting in the national gallery, but what did he have to offer? He was just aimlessly traveling the world, documenting his travels in a journal no one would ever read. His own family didn’t even read his letters, for Christ’s sake. He was a third son with no talents, and the only thing he could do was lean into his charm and good nature and hope that people liked him anyway. And he had been relatively successful thus far. Except for with you, it seemed.

Noting Colin’s uncharacteristic grim mood, Eloise briefly panicked, wondering if she had gone too far. With a far softer tone, she added, “Maybe her dance card was full, Colin. It doesn’t mean she didn’t want to dance.”

But Colin shook his head, placing his chin on his hand. “I highly doubt it.”

He knew better than to assume the best. He was remarkably skilled at reading people, but even without that, it had not been difficult to tell that you were full of contempt. For him or someone else, he couldn’t be completely sure, but the way you had been laughing and smiling with everyone except for him was a particularly useful hint. 

Before he could dwell further, Violet entered the tearoom. “We’ll be going to Hyde Park to promenade today, darlings.” It was far easier to coerce her children into doing her bidding when she didn’t give them a choice. 

Ignoring their grumbling, she left the room, calling out over her shoulder, “Be ready in one hour!” 

---

Colin had barely been at the park five minutes before he spotted you, and he drew in a sharp breath. God, it was infuriating. You were wearing a cream-colored dress, chatting pleasantly with your mother, and he wanted to scream. Of course, you looked completely breathtaking. It was exactly what he needed when he was already nervous about approaching you. 

During the carriage ride, he had decided to try to speak to you again. To be your friend, at the very least. Perhaps you did not want him as a suitor, but the thought of someone in the ton actively disliking him was nauseating. 

So, he steeled himself, staring longingly at you. Now was as good a time as any because, for some miraculous reason, there seemed to be no men hounding you at the moment. You had separated yourself from your family slightly, silently observing who he could only assume was one of your older sisters and her husband. 

He made his way over to you, hands fidgeting behind his back nervously. Swallowing down his fear, he cleared his throat as he approached you, a soft smile on his face. 

“Lady Montclair, it’s lovely to see you here today. I believe we may have gotten off on the wrong foot at the ball last night, and I wanted to offer an apology.” Your face was completely blank, not giving anything away, and Colin found himself a tad more nervous than he was when he first walked up to you. “Perhaps we could promenade?” he finished weakly. 

An apology? What on earth was Colin Bridgerton on about? There was no way he’d seen you in the hallway, right? 

“An apology, Mr. Bridgerton? Whatever for?” you asked carefully, not giving anything away. 

Colin cleared his throat awkwardly. He wasn’t quite sure himself, to be honest. “Well, I’m afraid I might have offended you by asking to dance so suddenly. It might have been a bit brash to ask for a dance without a proper introduction first.”

You almost sagged in relief. Your reputation was safe. Though now you seemed irrationally angry, despising Colin for no apparent reason. However, it wasn’t in your nature to make nice with someone who viewed women simply as breeding stock.  

Curtly, you responded, “I can assure you, Mr. Bridgerton, that that did not offend me. Had we been properly introduced, my answer would have been the same.”

“Oh,” he said softly. 

You stared at him blankly, with no hint of warmth in your gaze. Sensing your hostility, he promptly turned away from you, returning to his family. Anger burned in his chest. What the hell was your problem with him? He’d barely spoken two words to you, and you had acted like he had offended your entire bloodline. 

When his anger subsided, Colin had a sobering thought. For the first time in his charmed life, someone simply did not care for him. And the worst part? He hadn’t even caused it. Colin, who prided himself on his charm and wit, found himself in the position of being disliked without cause. 

He suddenly felt very inadequate. It was a foreign feeling, and it settled quite uncomfortably in his chest. If you were determined to hate him, so be it. But to hate him without reason? That, Colin could not agree to.

If you insisted on casting him as the villain in your narrative, then he would play the role with ease. If you wanted a reason to dislike him, then a reason you would have.

You stared after Colin, eyes narrowed. His ability to act like a complete gentleman would have been impressive if it wasn’t so disturbing. 

“Ma grande,” your mother called, coming to your side (My dear). “Did I just see you being rude to Colin Bridgerton? He left fairly quickly,” she scolded gently. 

“Non, maman. Ne t'inquiète pas,�� you assured (No, Mom. Don’t worry). Upon seeing her unimpressed look, you switched to English. “It was just a misunderstanding.”

“Well, you don’t seem to like him very much,” she observed.

You let out a nervous laugh, waving her comment away. “I don’t know him well enough to dislike him, maman!” 

You needed something to distract her from this line of questioning. Your mother knew you well enough to tell when you were lying, and she would be positively furious if she uncovered the real reason why you despised Mr. Bridgerton. 

Fortunately, a distraction arrived by the name of Lord Arthur Barlow. 

“Lord Barlow,” your mother called out excitedly. “Allow me the pleasure of introducing my daughter, Y/N Montclair.”

“Lady Montclair,” he smiled warmly, stretching his hand out to you. “A name as lovely as its bearer, I daresay.”

 “Lord Barlow,” you answered shyly, placing your hand in his. You felt your cheeks heating up as he kissed the back of your hand, and you were taken aback. This entirely charming man had disarmed you completely in a matter of seconds. 

"Lord Barlow, the Duke of Monmouth," your mother announced with a flourish, her eyes bright with approval at the budding acquaintance. "Shall we take a turn about the park? I would be delighted to chaperone."

Subtlety was not her specialty. Or perhaps not her priority. Though you couldn’t really be upset with her, given how good-looking the Duke was. He nodded graciously at your mother and placed your hand at the crook of his elbow, smiling down at you as you began to stroll. 

You were so enthralled you barely registered him speaking. “I hear you’ve got a knack for languages, Lady Montclair,” he remarked, prompting your attention.

“Yes, your Grace. I speak five languages, and read Sanskrit,” you answered dutifully. Such accomplishments were no small feat in the circles of the ton, and you knew it put you at an advantage in the marriage mart.

“Most impressive, indeed,” he answered, his gaze thoughtful. “My brother’s wife is from Prussia, and I’m sure she would love a chance to speak in her native tongue.”

The Duke's boldness caught you off guard, the suggestion of speaking with his sister-in-law a surprising turn. "Oh," you murmured, slightly taken aback by his directness.

 “And what else do you like to do?” asked Lord Barlow, smoothly transitioning the conversation. 

A well-prepared response rolled off your tongue, a practiced smile gracing your lips. “I am well-versed in needlepoint, and enjoy playing the pianoforte,” you smiled. It was what was expected of a young woman of your stature, after all.

Lord Barlow nodded appreciatively, seemingly satisfied with your answer. “And how do you find England? I’m certain you’re missing the Tuscan sun,” he said, pushing the conversation to lighter topics. 

The Duke's engaging manner, paired with the approval of your mother, had utterly charmed you. Engaged by his charisma and easy conversation, you found yourself giggling during your conversation, utterly captivated.

Unbeknownst to you, Colin Bridgerton observed

from afar, his gaze sharp with a mixture of irritation and something deeper brewing beneath the surface. Each laugh, each shared glance between you and the Duke, stoked the flames of his simmering displeasure.

—

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