#anthony bridgerton reader insert

[peterpparkrr]

Pinned (pt. 7)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: Reader is in her feelings. Anthony runs (unfortunately not through the rain) to confess his feelings and asks the reader a very important question.

Word count: 1k

A/N: Oh boy! This series will have one more chapter (and then maybe a little epilogue)! I’ve loved this little story so much (I’m already playing with the idea of reworking it a bit - and maybe turning it into a piece of original fiction?), but it’s coming to its end! So I just want to say thank you for all the love!

prev. part // next part

You shouldn’t be surprised by the ache in your chest. 

You know how you feel about Anthony. And sure, you know how he felt about you, but even your mutual feelings weren’t enough to change your situation.  

Anthony made himself perfectly clear, and so did you. But that does nothing to dull the sharp sting you feel each time you catch yourself thinking about him and have to remember what you said to him. 

If you were a stronger woman you’d say that you believed every word that you spoke to Anthony Bridgerton the last time you saw him. And what you said was the truth. But that doesn’t mean that you meant those words.  Or that you wouldn’t do anything in your power to change those truths if you could.

But his surprising callousness, even as he tried to reason with you, to keep you, is enough to allow you to go on with your life. 

It never would have worked. 

He can never marry you. And you can never be his mistress. 

An unstoppable force and an immovable object.

And maybe, in a different world, a fairer world, it wouldn’t matter that you come from different parts of society. Maybe if you’d met a hundred, or two hundred years from now it wouldn’t even be an issue.

But you live in this world, with these rules. Rules that are not going to change any time soon.

So you’ll need to move on.

And you’d been trying to.

You’d been making breakfast the morning after you’d ended things when John’d gotten back from his overnight shift.

“John-” You tried to start as you came over to where he’d plopped down unceremoniously at the table.

“You spoke to your little lord?” He asks without looking up at you. 

“He’s not-” You start to argue before you realize it’s not worth your effort. John’s already won. And why would you waste your time defending a man you will never interact with again. “Yes,” You finally settle on. 

“And?” John prompts you. 

“I ended it,” You reply. “John-”

“Good,” He cuts you off before he digs into his food. “Thank you for breakfast,” he manages to add through bites.

You hear Anthony shouting your name before you see him. 

You turn around with wide eyes to see Lord Bridgerton jogging down the busy pavement towards you, shouting your name at the top of his lungs.

“You shouldn’t be here,” You say as you reach him, having turned and picked up your own pace to meet him before he can embarrass either of you any further.

“I must. I must,” He repeats as he stares down at you intensely. Struggling to catch his breath as he finds the words he’d been formulating on his way here. “I love you.”

“I’m going to have to ask you to be on your way, Sir,” A sharp voice calls from behind you as a hand rests protectively on your shoulder. “You’re causing a scene.”

“John-” You start to protest.

“Who are you?” Anthony asks. His eyes flash with something as they travel up from the hand on your shoulder to the face of the man standing behind you.

“Her brother,” John tells him. “And you are causing a scene, Lord Bridgerton. You need to go,” He repeats quickly.

“Anthony, maybe this isn’t the best place to do this,” You tell him. “Please.”

“I just need a moment of your time,” Anthony pleads.

As you glance back at him, John mutters your name lowly.

“A moment,” You allow. “In private. And then I will return,” You tell John.

“If you think I’m going to let you go somewhere alone with my sister you have lost your mind, Bridgerton,” John continued.

“John,” You snap. Not appreciating him speaking over you like you’re not even present.

“No. Whatever he wants to say he can say in front of me as well,” John tells you.

“No. This is between me and Anthony, and has absolutely nothing to do with you at all, John. So please, let me take care of this,” You tell him as you take hold of Anthony’s hand and begin to drag him to a quieter part of the street, away from the crowd that had been gawking curiously at the scene you’d been a part of.

“This conversation isn’t over!” John shouts as you alway away.

You stop in your tracks before whipping around.

“Yes, it actually is,” You snap before continuing on your way.

Once you’ve ducked into 

“We need to stop meeting like this,” You tell Anthony with a shake of your head. “You seem to have a pattern of accosting women on the street.”

“Just you,” Anthony replies. “And you seem to have a pattern of dragging me into secluded alleys,” He adds.

“Anthony, I’m not sure why you’ve tracked me down to shout at me, but you’re tempting scandal, doing this in public. I think we both know that nothing has truly changed,” You tell him.

“But it has,” Anthony says. “I love you, and I can’t stomach the thought of living a life without you.” 

“We don’t need to have this conversation again, I haven’t changed my mind,” You tell Anthony with a shake of your head. Disappointed by the thought that he came all this way in hopes of changing your mind about this, especially after you made your stance so clear the last time you talked.

“I’m not asking you to be my mistress. I’m asking you to marry me,” Anthony tells you.

You stare at Anthony for a long moment.

“You haven’t thought this through,” You reply as you shake your head.

“I have. I’ve spoken to my mother. You deserve to be happy. And so do I,” He tells you as he brings a hand up to cup your cheek. “Let us be happy together.”

“Marry me,” Anthony repeats.

#pinned #pinned series #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton reader insert #Bridgerton #Bridgerton Series #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton fannfiction #bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton series #bridgerton reader insert

[murdockparker]

Roses and Regrets - Part 1

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Freshly out of mourning, Lady Barlow, née (Y/L/N), makes her re-debut in society. If only she could simply ignore a certain viscount...

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: none. enemies to lovers!!

A/N: I didn't expect this lil requested fic to turn into such an event, let alone a multi-part story! so, you're welcome or I'm sorry?

next part

__

She was perfectly happy. 

Well, supposedly right now she wasn’t. 

Her husband, Lord Barlow, had passed away ten months ago, leaving her with an empty estate, a shiny title and more money than she knew what to do with. Lord Barlow was an old viscount, desperate for an heir and willing to do anything to get one. 

In came Miss (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

Young, beautiful and well-bred, she was the perfect choice for any man of the ton. If only her father hadn’t a penchant for gambling. Perhaps she’d be married to a man more suited for her rather than the oaf of a dustbin she was forced to be with. She was no fool in believing in a love match for herself, rare and far between as they were, no, but she did have half a mind to imagine a kinder man as her husband. A man who perhaps cared even a little bit for her wellbeing. 

No matter. 

A dead man cannot care for her wellbeing either. 

“Lady Barlow,” a maid knocked, entering the ornate drawing room.

“Yes?” (Y/N) did not look up from her reading—the newest edition of Whistledown had just been delivered. While she herself was never one to gossip terribly, it was quite fun to keep up with the circus of the season. 

“Do you plan on attending the Danbury ball this eve?”

“I do not see the point,” she scoffed playfully, “after all, Meg, I am but a widow in mourning.”

“Perhaps her ladyship should reconsider?” Meg asked gently, placing a new pot of tea next to her lady. “I rather think it has been a socially acceptable amount of time since your husband’s passing.”

“If I am not to enjoy the perks of being a widow,” (Y/N) sighed, finally looking up at her favorite lady’s maid, “whatever is the point?”

“Perks that Viscount Barlow has graciously allowed you to use during your time of mourning—”

“The current viscount is all but twelve,” (Y/N) reminded. “He has no use for this estate in Mayfair until he himself becomes an adult, in which, I am sure he and his mother will come to make use of it. I believe if my maths are correct, that leaves me all of six years or so to use this home.”

“Forgive me my lady, but should you not be looking for a new husband, then?”

(Y/N) smiled at Meg. She enjoyed their friendship, her maid being only a handful of years older than herself, it made for a likely pair. “No one wishes to marry a widow,” she said simply, “widows are damaged goods. Every sensible man of the ton will be wanting a pretty little virgin instead.”

“My lady!”

“What?” She barked a laugh. “You know it to be true.”

“Regardless,” Meg said, clearing her throat. “Lord Barlow passed nearly a year ago, the period of mourning is rightfully over. You are expected to rejoin society.”

“Dreadful.”

“It is expected,” Meg repeated.

“It does not make it any less dreadful,” (Y/N) said. “Very well. Pull a dress and prepare a bath, it seems the ton gets to see my dreary face once again.”

—

Anthony Bridgerton was a man scorned. 

Particularly by his own mother in this very instance. How foolish he had been to share his intentions of marriage this season with her—for now she spread the news like a wildfire. Every desperate mama and her equally desperate daughter came flocking to him like bees to honey. 

It was only now, in the dark corner of the ballroom, that he found a respite.

“Looking a bit green, Lord Bridgerton,” a voice beside him called out. 

“I am not—” Anthony had huffed a reply before even knowing whom he was speaking to. “Lady Barlow.”

“I am shocked you can recall my name,” (Y/N) laughed over her champagne flute. “Considering how many new ones you’ve had thrown at you this eve.”

“You are out of mourning.”

“Is that a question?”

“It was an observation,” Anthony corrected.

“What gave it away? My bright dress? No tear stains left on my cheeks?”

“You are here, out and about,” Anthony said. “And, forgive me for not playing along with your delusions, but I do not think you cried much at all for Lord Barlow’s passing.”

“How dare you assume such a thing,” (Y/N) faux gasped. She had intended on pressing a hand to her chest. Intended, anyway. Somehow she forgot all about the champagne currently residing it her grasp. “Damn… this was a new dress too.”

“Good God,” he laughed. “First you are spilling all over yourself like a child and now you are cursing—tell me, do all married ladies act like you?”

“I am a widow,” (Y/N) had found a cloth and begun dabbing up the spill. It had only dribbled at most, but still, it was a new dress. “I rather think I can act the way I please.”

“Like a drunkard?”

“Like a free woman,” she said, fighting every childish urge to stick her tongue out at the viscount. “I am only here to show my face, prove I am still alive and I shall go about my merry way.”

“Lady Danbury is a widow,” Anthony noted. “Yet she still mingles with society.”

“I am not Lady Danbury.”

“You are not.”

“Do you not have young misses to go and woo?” (Y/N)’s eyes hardened. “Take your pick from the litter, Lord Bridgerton, any of them would be pleased to spend such valuable time with you.”

“Are you insinuating you are not?”

“I rather thought it was a statement, yes,” (Y/N) said.

Anthony’s eyes went only a fraction wider, nostrils flaring. “Well, if that is what you wish—”

“It is not a mean of wishing,” she laughed, “but really a necessity.”

“Good evening, Lady Barlow,” Anthony sneered, smoke practically coming out of his ears. If (Y/N) had half a mind she’d call for the authorities to put that fire out, instead, she simply finished her drink and smiled wistfully at the dancing ballroom, feeling fulfilled. 

—

Dearest Gentle Reader,

The season is in full swing thanks to the mark of Lady Agatha Danbury’s ball, a notable and traditional first event of the London scene. Eligible young ladies now on the Marriage Mart were enjoying their first taste at what fine society has to offer, however taxing or daunting it may be. 

Our resident Capital ‘R’ Rake, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton is finally deciding on a wife, surely making him the finest catch of the season. Matchmaking mamas and their young ladies alike were seen flocking to him like petulant children asking their parents for pin money, thanks to his own mother, Lady Bridgerton’s declaration of such an idea last night. The viscount seemingly had enough of the attention, taking like a wallflower and hiding away in the back of the ballroom near the end of the evening. 

His company? None other than Lady Barlow, evidently out of mourning as of last night. While the this Author is under good authority that the match between Lady Barlow and the late Lord Barlow was not a love match, given their fourty or fifty year age difference, it has taken the new dowager viscountess longer than most anticipated for her to get back into the season. A woman as young as Lady Barlow would be eager to find another husband to support her, but something tells me that she is quite enjoying her time as a widow and will not easily give that up. 

While this Author has very little idea of the actual nature of the relationship between Lord Bridgerton and Lady Barlow, it is only to be assumed that it is simply not a favorable one. The two were seen making a scene by the refreshment table, a scene that went unnoticed by many prying eyes of the ton, leaving Lord Bridgerton storming away and Lady Barlow with the winning hand. 

Good show, Lady Barlow. 

Lady Whistledown Society Papers

—

“Brother! You are in Whistledown!” Eloise sang to no one in particular. 

“I have no care that I am in that gossip rag,” Anthony ground out, rustling his newspaper. “I can only imagine it is just another advertisement of my search for a wife this season.”

“Er, yes, however—”

“However?” Anthony’s attention immediately shot up to his sister, newspaper be damned. 

“Who is Lady Barlow?” Eloise asked. 

“No one of importance,” Anthony could feel his temperature rising. 

“Lady Barlow?” Benedict laughed. “Is that who you were talking to last night dear Brother? Is she not still in mourning?”

“No.”

“No it is not who you were talking to, or no she is not still in mourning?” Benedict gave his brother an amusing glance.

“Oh, according to Whistledown—”

“Sister—”

“Eloise, you may not recall Lady Barlow, given you only just came out this season,” Benedict began, deciding that this conversation was very much worth his time this morning. “But she used to go by Miss (Y/L/N) before her marriage to the late viscount.”

“(Y/L/N)…” Eloise looked to the ceiling, finding nothing in particular. “Oh! Is she not the woman who—”

“I am taking my leave,” Anthony said abruptly, newspaper all but forgotten. 

“Escaping, Brother?” Benedict asked. 

“I have calls to make,” Anthony sneered, ignoring the pleased face his brother was making. “Excuse me.”

“It seems Lady Barlow is a touchy subject,” Eloise noted as her eldest brother left the drawing room. Benedict snorted. “What?”

“You do not even know the half of it, dear Sister.”

Anthony Bridgerton, did not in fact, have any calls to make. He had no impressionable interactions last night to warrant such a visit to anyone—the Queen was still in need of naming her diamond, after all—but he had no desire to stay and be berated by his family this morning. He truly had no plan, no thought in his head on where he was going, he just simply was. 

Apparently he was going to the park.

It was still early in the day, few people graced the park at such an hour. The few who did, however, were too busy reading the latest Whistledown to even notice him. Anthony saw a handful of post boys running opposite of his direction on his way here, it was only natural they scoped out this location. He knew it was going to be a problem the minute they finished reading—if Lady Whistledown truly wrote about him, which he had no reason to believe his sister was lying about, all eyes would be on him.

“Might as well enjoy the peace and quiet for now,” Anthony exhaled. He took a quick glance at his watch—half past eight. Hardly could he recall a time he took a turn about the park on his own, usually he was in the company of his family or holed away in his study worrying about expenses and the like, never did he take a moment to actually enjoy the grand weather such as the kind today. Determined to enjoy it, he sat down on a favorable bench and watched the birds swim across the pond.

“Unbelievable.”

He turned his head, only to find Lady Barlow dressed in a rather pleasantly pink dress and matching hat, a look of distaste on her face.

“I didn’t take you as the park-going type, Lord Bridgerton,” she nodded, folding her hands. She had been carrying a small red book in one of them. “Especially at such an early hour, too.”

“Lady Barlow,” he nearly sneered. “Can a man not enjoy the park?”

“Oh surely a man can,” (Y/N) agreed. “But you? You are no man.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It seems to me that you’re sitting in my spot,” she ignored his quip, readjusting her stance in annoyance. “This is where I come to read.”

“Can you not read elsewhere?” Anthony asked. “There is an entire park at your disposal.”

“No,” she hummed. “Afraid not.”

“No?” He laughed. “Surely out of the entire park you can find a suitable spot to read your—let me guess—romantically inclined fodder?”

“Poetry,” she corrected, “and no, I cannot simply read elsewhere. The shade is just right under this tree and I rather like overlooking the pond between my chapters.”

“Shame I got here first, then,” Anthony clicked.

“You…!” (Y/N) scoffed, fighting every urge in her body to stomp her foot. “You are an impossible man, surely you know that?”

“I thought you said I was no man?” Anthony’s brow quirked. “Or perhaps I misheard?”

She scowled. “You are not amusing.”

“On the contrary,” Anthony leaned back on the bench, stretching his arms and taking his claim. “I find myself very amusing.”

A duck quacked from the pond, either laughing at the viscount or agreeing with him—it was hard to tell. 

“You leave me no choice,” (Y/N) said sternly, taking a seat on the other end of the bench—feeling worlds apart from the man on the far side. In actuality, it couldn’t have been more than two feet, three at most.

“Truly?” Anthony laughed humorlessly. “You cannot be serious.”

“Hush,” (Y/N) said, opening her book in earnest. “I am trying to read.”

While there had been no guns drawn, this was a duel, in every sense of the word. Both parties sitting still as statues, Anthony’s gaze trained on the pond, (Y/N)’s on her book. Occasionally, she’d flip her page to the next, huffing every time Anthony still did not get up and move on. 

Stubborn. Both of them.

“Will you be quiet?” Anthony said, growing exasperated. “I cannot think when you are breathing so loud—” 

“You wish for me not to breathe?” She shut her book. “I never anticipated you’d wish me dead—”

“Please,” Anthony said. “You know that is not what I mean at all.”

“I never know with you. You, Anthony Bridgerton, are an enigma and I hope I never have the pleasure of truly understanding you,” (Y/N) said, fingers whiting from her grip on her book.

“So you admit it would be pleasurable?”

She wanted to wipe that grin off of his face, how, she was unsure. Idly, she thought about how a good smack to his cheek would feel. Painful in the moment but oh-so wonderful after, cathartic, probably. “I am not getting up.”

“Neither am I.”

“I am willing to die on this bench,” (Y/N) spat.

“Funnily enough,” Anthony’s voice dropped, “so am I.”

“How are you to find your viscountess on this bench?” She asked, angling her body towards the torturous man. “Surely you do not expect her to just walk past?”

“I am sure I can manage,” Anthony said calmly. “Many young ladies will walk this way when they see me sitting here."

“Even with another woman sitting beside you?”

“I rather think they’ll find you easy to ignore, I know I do.”

“Ha! You are truly something else, Lord Bridgerton,” (Y/N) sat straighter. “Insulting a polite woman in public?”

“You are the furthest thing from polite,” Anthony leaned in. “Rude, ostentatious, quite full of herself—”

“Might I offer you a mirror?” The grip on her book tightened, cover bending from the force. “Or are you afraid you’ll see horns?”

“Oh, do they match yours?” He nearly sang. 

“Funny,” she clicked, finally setting her book down, lacing her fingers together in her lap. “You should run a comedy act at the circus, seeing as you are a right clown.”

Anthony stood up, whether by the force of his breath or sheer spite he will never know. “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever met.”

(Y/N) met his height, now standing as well. “And you are the most irritating man I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing.”

“I am going to walk this way,” Anthony said, forcefully pointing to his right, eyes not leaving hers. She did have the most remarkable eyes.

“And I will walk this way,” she pointed to her left, less force in her action but seething all the same. “Have the day you deserve, Lord Bridgerton.”

“Why you little…!”

She had already turned and stomped away, a fuming smudge of pink against the greenery of the park, growing further away with every step.

“What a wretched woman,” he mumbled, looking down at his watch again—nine on-the-dot. In the corner of his eye, something bright red caught his attention. Her book. She had left it behind.

Perhaps he would burn it.

Perhaps he would just put it in his pocket and carry about his day.

In the pocket it went. For now.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #enemies to lovers #multi-part fic #reader insert #whoops i didn't expect this request to turn into a multiple part thing but here we are #unsure of how many parts but probably no more than 4-5? #idk

[lydiimae]

The stars, the moon

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

18+ MDI!

Warnings: Talk of drinking, sexist old ideas about women, talk of sex, Anthony being a cutie shhh, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, body worship (f receiving), heavy praise, lovemaking more than hardcore sex oopsies

A.N: YOU GUYS ARE SO SWEET TO ME ISTG T-T the love on my first two fics is so heartwarming. i'm so very glad you liked them both so much ^-^ Benny and Bridgerton as a whole are both so very important to me so i'm glad i did them both well. anyways my loves, this is an Anthony fic that i hope i can do as well as i did Ben. i was listening to Cosmic Love by Florence and The Machine and it gave me this idea! soooo here is an incredibly fluffy, (and smutty hehe) love filled Ant fic hehe<3 enjoy and thank you again <3 p.s that scene the gif is from sends my mind into a spiral CONSTANTLY my roman empire fr p.p.s I FINALLY GOT DIVIDERS, so now my fics will look a little cleaner i hope hehe >_<

Growing up next to the Bridgertons had been fun and eventful, to say the very least. You were there through every trial and tribulation their family had gone through, and them with yours.

You and your three sisters had always gotten along with the seven siblings. Being the youngest and most... rambunctious of them you had gotten along with Eloise and Benedict the most. They had views of marriage and duty that were similar to yours, and when you were younger you and Benedict would spend hours making doodles on the walls of the gardens at your estate.

Your sisters, who were much more of the traditional women you would often find in the ton, tended to be more akin to the eldest Bridgerton brother and sister. Daphne and Anthony, however kind and loving they both were, were always too strict or, in Daphne's case, too proper for your liking.

You had always thought of Anthony as the moon. He thrived in darkness and was often gone before you even noticed he was there. You never knew why he left balls early, or why you spotted him with that opera singer in the deepest corners of gardens or tucked away in libraries.

Until you grew up, that is. The first time you snuck out of the confines of your room was when you were ten and eight, right after the first ball of your first social season. Benedict had insisted on you sneaking out the window of your bedroom so you could tag along with him to a party a fellow artist was throwing, and you, out of pure curiosity, obliged.

You got there and had your first everything while Benedict was painting, or so he claimed, in another room. You kissed the lord, whose name you cannot remember to this day, and then you went beyond that. Sex. It was wonderful, you decided, and from then on you had much more of it.

Anthony was perceptive, he noticed the change in your behavior and one night even decided to ask Benedict about it. Benedict being Benedict told him everything in his usual carefree manner, not thinking twice about it. Anthony reacted quite strangely however, he just... turned on his heel and walked into his study, locking himself in for hours.

He avoided you at all costs from then on. It was strange, but then again, he was the moon. The moon cannot be out forever.

Anthony had always thought of you as the stars, a happy, mischievous young woman who thrived in the dark. You provided a light to every room you walked into that was too great for anyone to look away from. You were intricate, difficult to read and figure out, and yet you were also so intriguing that every man wanted to do just that.

You were also incredibly mischievous, he knew that from the moment you were born. Being eight years older, and a close family friend, Anthony was one of the first who got to meet you. You had always had that sparkle in your eye, like you were in on this grand plan that no one else was.

When you got older, it only got worse. You were constantly getting in trouble, whether that be drawing on your garden's brick walls with his brother or reading books about math or, fittingly, astronomy. Your father always described you as boyish, to which he would have to agree. You got into fencing when you were ten and two and immediately had a knack for it. When you were six and ten, you snuck off with Benedict and got taught how to hunt.

He was never attracted to your sisters as they were too... boring for his taste. They had interests in things like the latest fashion trends, or hairstyles, and he was sure that none of them had ever glanced at a book. It was quite comforting to know, that because of your foolish ways and thinking, he would never be attracted to you either. Or so he thought.

You were wearing a light blue dress when you entered your first ball, your arm tucked snugly with your father's. Your hair was pinned up more elegantly than he had ever seen it, a few of the still unruly, wavy strands fluttering in the breeze that your white fan made. Stunningly gorgeous in every way, and so ladylike. It was strange.

He had almost assured himself that he would never feel this way towards any woman like you, after all, his list of requirements for the next Viscountess was long and specific, to say the least. Yet there you were, walking towards his family, and he was very much sure he was attracted to you.

So when he noticed the jewelry you started using to hide the dark marks on your neck and the silly excuses you would use to leave balls early, it was worrying. He asked Benedict and his worst fears were made a reality, your innocence was gone. You were loose, in his mind. He could not, no would not, be attracted to a woman without her maidenhead. He refused.

The only way he could avoid that attraction was to avoid you at all costs, which is exactly what he did. He excused himself from every room you walked into, and every conversation. On the rare occasion that you somehow managed to worm yourself into a conversation with him, however, he gave short answers and cold glares.

His heart ached when he noticed your light dim after he left, but then again you were the stars. All stars have to burn out someday.

You found his insistence on completely avoiding you to be quite tiresome, after all, you considered him to be like a brother. An annoying, headstrong, arrogant, prick of a brother but a brother nonetheless.

You look over your shoulder to where he is talking to a young debutante, wishing that he would at least glance over. You would never admit it to yourself, but after his company waned you missed it quite a lot. You could talk to Benedict or Eloise, sure, but there was something about annoying Anthony that made your heart flutter and your cheeks flush.

"Miss L/N, are you listening?" The lord, who you were supposed to be listening to, asks. You quickly turn back to him and part your lips to make an excuse, but quickly think better of it. "No, my lord. I apologize, my mind seems to be running from me tonight." You mutter with a soft smile. He nods in turn before continuing to speak about his latest hunting trip, in which you have absolutely no interest.

You excuse yourself when he is done rambling and make your way toward the Viscount, wanting to finally know the real reason why he has made it his life's mission to avoid you. You wish, so desperately, to see the moon again.

He sees you coming and his heart tightens, you look as beautiful as always. You are wearing dark blue, a gorgeous dress he thinks, and your hair is done up just how he likes it. You have on gold jewelry, which sparkles in the low candlelight with every step you take.

He should talk to you, he really should, and yet he cannot bring himself to. You are not the kind of woman he wishes to make the next Viscountess, not even close to checking off any of the boxes he has on his long list for what a woman should be.

So, instead, he settles for leading the young woman he is speaking with to the dance floor. He passes you without a word but falters momentarily when he catches a whiff of your perfume. Your scent, even.

You had always smelled, however strange it might sound, so comforting. Your family's colors were a light purple, the crest having two bunches of lavender flowers on it. You smelled the part, always having some semblance of lavender to you that wafted through the room whenever you entered. It wasn't strong, no, but it was just enough to get his heart racing. It wasn't just lavender that made it so intoxicating, there was something else there. Something that he could only describe as just... you. He smiles to himself at the many fond memories that come with it.

He catches the young woman looking at him in confusion and quickly puts on a straight face, continuing to walk her to the dance floor, but not before noticing the look of despondency on your face. His heart aches, but it must be done. He could not let himself fall for you, no matter how much he longed to see the brightness of the stars again.

Your heart breaks when he walks past you with nothing but a faint semblance of a smile, and for whatever reason, you feel yourself tear up. You wonder if you had done something wrong, or said something in a passing conversation that had rubbed him the wrong way. Perhaps even entertained a man he had trouble with. Whatever it was, you did not like the unfamiliar feeling his avoidance brought.

Something that you had always hidden from everyone, including yourself, was your feelings. You felt no need to be a woman who expressed love openly, nor a woman who got teary at the slightest inconvenience. It is why you liked the parties you went to, sex and alcohol were wonderful to drown out feelings that you would rather not feel. Something else you had always hidden or shoved down, was your feelings for Anthony.

He was gorgeous, that much was obvious, what with his grey eyes and his thick brown hair. The things that you didn't like, such as his ignorant views of women, or his want to always be the best, were often drowned out by the fact that the man was extremely loving and protective of those he cared about. Not only that, but he was like you in that he was truly sensitive when he did not try and shove it down. He made you want to sing his praises from every balcony in London, to profess your love in front of all of the ton so everyone could see that he was yours.

You realize you have been standing in the same spot for what has to be at least five minutes now, and that a tear that had escaped in your reminiscing has now made it down your cheek. You quickly walk out to a balcony and lean on the railing, and for once, you allow yourself to cry.

He finds you after his dance with the incredibly boring debutante he decided to occupy himself with. He didn't want to find you, but his feet automatically found themselves to you. As if something deep inside him was naturally drawn to you and your stupid free-spirited nature.

He crowds around your back. "Is everything alright?" He whispers and is completely taken aback when he sees your face. You look up at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. It was surprising to say the very least as he cannot remember the last time he saw you cry. "My God, Y/N, what happened?" He asks, placing a hesitant hand on your shoulder.

"Why do you hate me?" You whisper back, and he is even more surprised than before. Hate? God he could never hate you, sure he avoided you, but he could never truly hate anything about you. No matter how much he tried.

He was just standing there like he had not been avoiding you for the past two months. Like he had not ignored your every attempt to speak with him, like he had not completely shattered your soul. It made you so angry that you could not stop the foolish words slipping past your lips.

"It is as if I have committed a cardinal sin, as if I am some heathen you cannot stand to be around and not a woman you grew up with." You say, taking a deep breath as heartbreak shifts to anger. "It is not fair. I have wracked every corner of my memory trying to figure out what I have done wrong and still, I turn up with nothing. I..." You falter and turn to look up at the stars. "You are so distant. I find myself aching without you, Anthony. Like a piece of my soul has broken off with your disappearance and is with you for eternity." You whisper, closing your eyes briefly before turning back to him.

"I ask you again, why do you hate me? What have I done?" You plead, searching his eyes for any semblance of his old self. His eyes widen in response and he takes one of your hands. "I do not hate you. God Y/N, how could I ever hate you?" He breathes and your heart flutters at the look in his eyes. As if you are the only woman on earth. He has returned back to you. The moon has risen again.

"I... I have tried to hate you, yes, but every time you are near something in me longs to touch you in ways that would make any lady blush. I hate that you make me feel this way, so foolishly in love that I can barely form a coherent thought, that the Viscount I am becomes but a memory, but I could never hate you." He confesses, bringing his hands to your waist.

Your eyes water as he continues. "You are a loose woman, or so I so foolishly tried to make myself believe. I ignorantly put that label upon you so I could have a reason to not profess from every rooftop in London how much I adore you and I can never forgive myself for it." He whispers, wiping the tears that have somehow escaped your eyes without your knowledge. "I will never be able to profess how sorry I am, but I can hope that in time you can forgive me for how foolish I have been." He whispers, pressing his forehead to yours.

"How long?" Is all you can manage to croak out in return to his beautiful confession, resting your hands atop his shoulders as your eyes flutter shut. "Since I was a young man, darling. Far too long I have kept it from you." He whispers back as your heart flutters at the title he has given you. "I have loved you since I was a girl." You whisper back. "So I suppose we are both fools." You grin.

He chuckles at that, his hands rubbing small patterns into the small of your back. "Always the witty one, hm? You are truly as bright and as mischievous as the stars, my love." Your heart hammers in the stars, at the way he calls you his love but even more than that, he thinks you to be the stars. "You and I have similar minds, Ant. I always thought you were like the moon, so serious and so attuned to darkness. Yet, so beautiful." You confess, opening your eyes to look into his own. Your cheeks flush at the sight that lies before you.

He is grinning, as if you had just given him the world. He leans in and presses a sweet kiss to your lips, to which you eagerly return as your eyes close and one of your gloved hands cups his cheeks. He pulls away after a moment. "The moon is nothing without the stars." He whispers, and you smile softly. "I shall ask your father for your hand come tomorrow if you let me." He murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your brow.

Your heart flutters and you cup his cheeks. "I would love nothing more than to marry you, Anthony Bridgerton." You whisper and he grins, pressing his lips to yours once more. This kiss is more intense than the first, more confident as he knows that you are now officially his. You wish for nothing more than to melt into him, become his both body and mind for the rest of your days. The thought sends shivers down your spine, making your core heat up at the thought of finally sharing your most intimate self with the man who has plagued your thoughts for years.

As if reading your mind he pulls back, but only just. "Might I invite you back to my bedroom, my star?" He whispers, dipping his head down to press a kiss to your neck. You let out a shaky breath at the feeling and nod eagerly. "Please do." You whisper back and he grins, straightening back up and grabbing your hand before pulling you out to where the carriages are. Not before muttering something to Benedict, who smirks playfully and winks at the two of you in return.

One carriage ride full of open-mouthed kisses and love marks later and you are getting lifted out of the carriage and carried into the Bridgerton estate. You had so many fond memories here, you are elated that you would have the privilege of raising a family in the big estate. The thought of a family with Anthony makes your chest feel tight with emotion and you bury your face in the crook of his neck to calm yourself.

He notices the change of emotion as he carries you through the front door, ignoring the many questioning glances the both of you receive from the servants who still linger in the hallways, and kisses the top of your head. "What is it, darling?" He murmurs in your ear as he walks up the stairs, toward his bedroom.

"I am only being sensitive as I envision our future that I have for so long ached for." You whisper back, pressing a kiss to his neck to assure him that nothing is truly wrong. He groans a bit and smiles down at you as he ducks into his bedroom and places you on the bed. "It shall be a grand one. One filled with happiness and light, I assure you." He hums as he locks the door before climbing over you and peppering your face with kisses, which makes you giggle softly.

He moves his hands to your hair, taking out all of the intricately placed pins so he can see it in the state he loves the most, untamed and unruly, just like you. He runs his hands through your hair once he has it down, pressing kisses down your neck and to your collarbone which he bites. You whine softly at the feeling, but more so at the fact that you know he is going to leave marks. The thought of parading around a ball with his lovebites on your skin makes your cunt dampen and your thighs rub together in an attempt to relieve the ache that settles in your core.

He feels the movements of your body below him and groans as your knee brushes against his clothed cock accidentally, making him harden further than he already has. He continues to suck on the sensitive skin of your neck as his hands move under you. He pulls you up to a sitting position and presses his lips to yours, reveling in the soft noises he draws from you as his hands move to your back to work on the buttons that hold your dress up.

His tongue slides into your mouth and he lets out a groan as he exposes your bare back, the choice you made to forgo any undergarments becoming the smartest one you made all day. He makes quick work of your dress, parting from your lips as he throws it across the room. "Christ." He growls when he sits back and gazes at your naked body.

Your nipples are peaked from both the cold air of the room and the arousal caused by the way he is gazing down at you. The look of pure desire in his eyes makes you flood down your thighs, which he picks up on instantly. He grins, almost a cocky grin, before removing his clothes from the upper half of his body.

He bends down when he is bare-chested and kisses from your collarbone, down to your right breast. He sucks on the soft skin just to the side of your hardened nipple, making your hips cant up and into his, a whine escaping your lips. He chuckles deeply and moves a hand to yours, so you can have something to hang onto, the other moving to hold your hip down.

He pulls up briefly and rests his chin on your chest, gazing up at you adoringly. "You are perfect, Y/N. Every mark, every blemish, every imperfection is so gorgeous. So perfect for me." He murmurs and you flush, squeezing his hand in yours as a silent thank you as you are unsure if you could even form a sentence now. "Mine." He murmurs with a soft smile before returning his attention to your breasts.

He takes your nipple into his mouth and you cry out at the feeling of his tongue swirling around the bud. You squeeze his hand and your back arches up into him, making him groan. He pushes you back down, all while his mouth sucks and swirls at your sensitive nipple, and rubs soothing circles on your hip with his thumb.

After a moment, he moves to your other breast, giving that one just as much attention. You whine as he bites down softly before pulling up and beginning to mark each of your breasts. He lets go of your hip and smears his hand down your thigh, gently parting your legs as he kisses down your stomach.

You gasp as he gives a kiss to your naval and look down just as he flashes a cheeky grin. He continues his trail of kisses right down to your patch of hair, your free hand grasping at the sheets while the other squeezes his. You cry out when he licks a stripe up your slit, his tongue pressing onto your swollen clit.

He takes the sensitive bud into his mouth and swirls his tongue around it slowly, his hand moving back to your hips when you whine and try to grind against him. You roll your head back, pressing it into the pillow. You get a whiff of his scent and it sends a zing of pleasure to your abused clit just as he moves his mouth down to your swollen hole to drink from you like a man starved.

You moan into his pillow, taking the fabric into your mouth and sucking as pleasure ripples through your entire body. He moves his mouth back to your clit as he pushes one of his fingers into your body, groaning at how tight you are. You cry out, the sound still muffled by his pillow, at the feeling of his finger and the vibrations his noises send through your body.

He adds another finger and begins to curl them into your walls, hitting that spongey spot that makes you scream. Your toes curl as he pumps his fingers in and out of your body in tune with the swirling of his tongue against your clit. You finally take your face out of his pillow. "Close... Fuck please please please, Anthony." You babble as you begin to see stars. You come screaming his name, his fingers gripping your hip so hard you're sure you will be marked there too.

He cleans you up with his tongue before returning to your lips and giving you a swift, but sweet, kiss on your lips. He sits up and slowly rids himself of his trousers, his cock standing proud against his stomach. The sight makes you mewl and spread your legs even wider in anticipation of him filling you until his tip meets your womb.

He settles between your legs and takes both of your hands in his, pressing his forehead to yours. "I love you, Y/N." He murmurs. "I love you, Anthony." You return, and his lips are on yours. He slowly pushes his cock into your body, groaning into your mouth as you moan into his. He bottoms out and lets you adjust, kissing down your neck to your shoulder.

You gently push your hips down as a signal that he can move, and he grins against your skin. He begins to slowly rock in and out of your body, groaning at the noises he draws from your cunt. "Faster, Ant. Please." You gust into his hair, squeezing his hands tight in your own.

He does not need to be told twice. He begins to slam into your body, making your toes curl as you scream out. He continues his brutal pace, the sound of body meeting body filling the bedroom. He presses his forehead to yours just as your eyes shut. "Look at me." He whispers, stalling for a moment. "I want to see how good I make you feel. I've waited far too long for you to hide, my love." He breathes, and you open your eyes.

He gives that stupid arrogant smirk before beginning to thrust into you just as hard as before as if he never stopped. Your mouth hangs ajar, your mind too focused on the feeling of his cock to even try and stop the moans that flow freely from your mouth.

He moves a hand down your stomach, his thumb finding your clit and circling to the rhythm of his thrusts. He growls when you clench around his length and moan his name. He tucks his head into the crook of your neck. "Come with me." He whispers, biting down on the skin.

The action sends you over the edge. You come for the second time, screaming his name and he follows soon after, painting your insides with his seed. He works you through your orgasm before pulling out and nuzzling your neck.

After a moment he climbs off of you and saunters to his bathroom, leaving you dazed on the bed. You turn your head and press your face into his pillow once more, letting his scent calm you down. He returns a moment later and laughs warmly at the sight. You blush at the noise and look up at him. "Funny that," He says, gesturing to his pillow as he cleans your thighs with the washcloth he brought out. "I did the same thing today." He grins.

"Mmm. When was that, hm? Did you sneak into my bedroom?" You tease and he grins, shaking his head as he places the washcloth on the bedside and crawls into bed. "No, though I am flattered you would think I would be so bold." He hums, pulling you under the covers with him and taking you into his arms.

You smile softly and bury your face into his neck, closing your eyes. "I did it when I walked past you at the ball. The young woman I was talking to thought I went mad. I had to stop and think of all of the fond memories I have of you." He murmurs as he rests his head atop yours, kissing it softly before closing his eyes as well.

You smile softly at the thought of him stopping mid-step just to think of you. It warms your soul. "I love you." You whisper, slowly nodding off to the sound of his heartbeat.

"And I love you, my star." He whispers before following you into a deep slumber.

The moon truly cannot thrive without the stars.

#anthony bridgerton smut #fanfic #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton smut #smut #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x female reader #y/n #x y/n #x reader #reader insert #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgertonx fem!reader #18+ only #anthony bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton fic #anthony bridgerton oneshot #(?) #anthony bridgerton being a cutie pie stfu

[mordredisacoolname]

BRIDGERTON BROS FALLING FOR A MALE READER

Male reader

HEADCANONS

Characters: Anthony, Benedict, Colin

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Anthony

-this boy is in DENIAL

-what do you mean he's in love with a MAN??

-he's so doomed

-you were very tight before

-spent every day together

-he really enjoyed your company, more than anyone, and he didn't understand why

-but when he realized he loved you he started avoiding you like the plug

-you don't understand why

-even tho you made peace with liking men and than fact that you're in love with your best friend, you didn't think he returned the feeling

-so you think you did something wrong

-you try talking to him but every time he finds an excuse to be somewhere else

-he is jealous of every man you talk to

-he doesn't have the right, but he still feels it

-after weeks of avoiding you he realizes the feeling won't go away

-so he with Benedict to a party, and sees you kissing a man

-you mean he has a chance with you???

-he barges to the room, his fist aching to punch the other guy, but he controls that feeling and just orders him to get the fuck out

-you're shocked, both just standing there staring at each other

-anthony steps closer to you starting intensely at your eyes

-"I think..." He doesn't finish the sentence and just kisses you

Benedict

-he first meets you in an art class

-watching your hand gracefully moving the paint brush on the canvas

-his starting is interrupted by lord Granville, asking him why haven't he started sketching

-by the end of the class you compliment him on his painting, making him feel something funny in his chest

-next time you're both in the studio he gathers the courage to talk to you, learning you'll be at the Granville's party next week

-you both meet there and spend the whole night together, you invite him to your studio, just the both of you

-he spends the leading days thinking about you

-"so, you want to pose or should I do it?" You ask him once you've taken out the canvas

-"I'd like to paint you" he saying with a playful twinkle in his eyes

-you settle into the chair in front of the canvas, posing for him

-"you know, I've been wanting to practice some anatomy"

-you understand the hint and take off your top, smiling to yourself

-after he's finished for the day you get up to look at what he did

-"so, what do you think"

-"this is amazing" you tell him

-"well, the muse is all to blame" he gets closer to you, looking briefly at your lips

-"oh sorry, next time I'll make sure to move in my sit and not let you work"

-"I won't be complaining if you were the one distracting me"

-he smirks looking into your eyes

-this waiting is killing you so you lean forward pressing your lips against his

-"we'll see next time" you say and leave him standing alone in the studio, eager for your next session

Colin

-you're a featherington relative visiting your family

-you're the closest to Penelope, always getting along

-you arrive together at the ball, all dressed up

-you're in a middle of a conversation with Pen when a man interrupts you to say hello to Pen

-"oh hello, I haven't seen you before" he looks at you in slight awe

-"I'm Penelope's distant relative, 'name', nice to meet you Mr....?"

-it takes Colin a couple seconds to respond "oh right, I'm Colin bridgerton"

-"the famous bridgerton, what a pleasure"

-"famous? You've heard of me?"

-"of course, Penelope never stops talking about you Mr bridgerton" you smirk at her red face

-"ah, that's nice, I think"

-"well, I shall go speak to other people, enjoy your night, Colin"

-he's absolutely smitten

-your voice, your smile, everything

-he visits the featherington house every day after that night, just to see you

-you talk a couple of time, and once he invites you to play cricket with his brothers

-you have am absolute blast, winning against Colin all the time

-he's usually good at this, but he can't seem to pocus

-except he does focus, just not on the game

-one day you sit together on a bench, watching people pass by

-"I'm returning to my hometown in two days" you suddenly say

-his heart sinks

-"what?"

-"yeah, I don't really see a future here, I thought that I'd find me a...wife, and settle down, but no such luck"

-his mind goes blank, he can't lose you

-he's next day he hurries over to the house, asking for you

-you're in your bedroom reading something when he storms in

-"is everything well Colin?"

-"don't go, stay here"

-"I told you, there's no reas-"

-"stay for me" he tells you before he overthinks it too much

-you're surprised, not because you didn't feel something going on between you, but because he actually said it, you thought it would never happen

-you're kinda relieved Colin presented a reason for you to stay, with him

#male reader #male reader insert #x male reader #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #Anthony bridgerton x male reader #Benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict bridgerton x male reader #colin bridgerton x reader #Colin bridgerton x male reader #bridgerton x male reader

[thetalkoftheton]

Anthony: I believe we all need to learn how to be more forgiving people.

Benedict: What did you do?

Anthony: Nothing!

Y/N: Anthony Bridgerton!

Eloise: Ooh, I think we are about to find out what “nothing” means.

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton reader insert #incorrect bridgerton #incorrect bridgerton quotes #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton incorrect quotes #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #eloise bridgerton #eloise bridgerton imagine

[gogogodzilla]

day 5, nipple play

anthony bridgerton x reader warnings: nsfw 18+, anthony is horny for his wife, fem! reader, anthony's pov kinktober ☠︎︎ main masterlist ☠︎︎ read on ao3

Anthony Bridgerton was a ravenous man. As soon as he wed you, he couldn’t get enough of you. It seemed that every waking moment some part of him was touching you, whether it be his hands, his tongue, or another, more desperate part of him. 

He’d woken up earlier than you today; some important business needed to be taken care of. He fantasized about you in his absence, waiting for the second he could be with you again, feeling your soft skin dip under his touch. His mouth watered at the thought. 

When he returned home, he made a beeline for your bedchamber. He wanted to surprise you, perhaps wake you up with his tongue. 

You wore only a look he knew too well, as you waited in bed for him. Anthony hovered in the doorway, a soft smile gracing his features. You sat up, allowing the sheet to fall from your chest, baring yourself to him. 

Anthony froze, like a teenager seeing his first pair of breasts. 

“I missed you this morning, my love,” you spoke, voice still slightly raspy from sleep. 

He willed his feet to work and moved to kneel beside your shared bed. You gave him your hand, and he placed a featherlight kiss across your knuckles. 

“I wish I did not have to leave your side.” 

“All that matters is that you are here now. Do you intend to keep your bride waiting, Mr. Bridgerton?” 

You did not have to ask him twice. He would take any opportunity to ravish you. He moved his hand to cup your breast as he leaned forward to press a hurried kiss against your lips. 

Anthony loved every single part of your body, but he had a soft spot for your mouth. He loved the curve of your smile and the melody of your voice. He also loved the more devious things your mouth was capable of. 

He released you from the kiss as he hovered over you. He watched your chest rise and fall, already breathless. He kneaded your breast under his hand while he took your other nipple in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud. You let out a gasp and held him tightly. 

He continued his ministrations, taking only a moment to move his mouth to your other breast and leaving lovebites in between. He was grinding against your thigh as he licked and sucked to his heart’s desire, attempting to alleviate the growing tent in his pants. You were bucking your hips against him, sure to leave a damp spot on his trousers. 

You were beginning to pant, and he continued to pinch and stroke your nipples. His deft fingers brought you to the edge as they did a myriad of times beforehand. Anthony could no longer take it, and he pulled away from your breast, a string of saliva being the only thing connecting you. 

You let out a whine, your release robbed from you. Anthony was quick to remedy the situation and rub your clit. You mewled under his touch, and it was like music to his ears. 

Anthony was not going to leave this bed if he had anything to say about it. The siren song he had you singing was very convincing. 

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #kinktober #kinktober 2023 #no y/n #reader insert #anthony bridgerton smut #anthony bridgerton x reader smut

[danvy121994]

Promised pt 1

Author note: this is part 1 of my first every fanfic! I hope you like it and sorry if there’s any errors English is not my first language <3

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Synopsis: yn is stuck in a marriage with a man she knows nothing about, apart from the fact that he’s a rake and that his only concerns are his work and he’s family, but who knows what the future might hold for her…

Since the age of fourteen , YN was aware that she would have to marry out of love.

After Edmund Bridgerton died, the oldest son took the title, and with that came many responsibilities; the year after her husband's death Violet hopend up with one of her closest friends about her concerns, Anthony was a young man, whit too much responsibilities for his age, and because of that he wasn’t looking towards a marriage, instead he was going after women of easy virtue and solemnly concentrating on his work as a Viscount. Her friend hearing those words thought of an idea, to promise her daughter to the Viscount and make them marry once she was eighteen, so that he could live his life and learn to be a Viscount in the meantime. She agreed, and that is where our story started…

On the day of her eighteen birthday YN wasn’t happy as she should have been, eighteen for most women is the age when they become a woman, for her eighteen meant the start of her imprisonment.

She always dreamed of meeting the Perfect Man, during a perfect evening and falling in love and with only one glance knowing that they were made for one another. That would never happen.

This is what she thought of as she was getting ready to meet for the first time, and also marry, her future husband. Obviously she as read many thighs about him, from the most famous writer among the ton , lady whistledown, and the more she read the more she was scared of finally meeting him, a dark and handsome man, or at least that’s what they say; he was a rake, he had been with so many women that the author of the newspaper lost the count, and he was very secretive about his life, never engaging in conversations for longer that it needed and often bluntly telling people if he didn’t like them, as much as he could of course since he was a Viscount and needed to keep the family honor ; If there was one thing that she liked about Anthony Bridgerton was his love towards his family, it was something that they shared, if it wasn’t for the love towards her parent yn would have already tried to escape from this union, she knew how much it meant for her mother, so she sat in her chair, quietly as the maids were helping her get ready. As she was so lost in her trail of thoughts she didn’t hear the door opening, a girl appeared from the door,

She had a baby in her arms and as she was walking towards her she spoke “ you must be lady Y/S/N? I am daphne, Anthony’s sister, and you look even more pretty that I imagined” she’s nice, yn thought, “ it’s a pleasure to meet you lady Hastings” she has read of her on lady wistledown, oh how she wishes that she would get a love story like hers. They weren’t able to talk much further because a maid came in the room announcing the start of the ceremony, and in that moment yn was certain that from that moment on, her life would never be the same, in fact she was certain that from that moment on, her life would get even worst once tied to the one of the viscount.

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #reader insert #x reader #daphne bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x you #netflix #netflix series #bridgerton netflix #forced marriage #grumpy x grumpy

[down-bad-bridgerton]

Messy Masquerade pt 1.

The season is opening with a masquerade ball, and Anthony Bridgerton is looking for... just about anyone who wasn't on the list of names provided by his mother.

*~*

I lingered at the edge of the ballroom, my hands nervously shifting the mask concealing my face. I did not know what about the masquerade ball set my heart aflutter. It was certainly an unconventional opening to a season, but leave it to Lady Danbury to shake things up.

I knew my father would likely disapprove of my wallflower-like behavior, it was a frequent topic of discussion. I did not enjoy exchanging pleasantries with bachelors, it yielded no true insight into his character or my own. 

I would much rather observe. One could tell so much about a man merely by seeing his expression when he ended a conversation, a perspective I could not take advantage of when I was the one he was conversing with.

I pursed my lips as I realized the benefit of the masks may be that my notably absent chaperone may have a more difficult time locating me during his check ins. He did not abandon me completely at such events, but he would certainly rather talk to the other men present rather than watch my every move.

He would often steer me in his preferred directions, but I was left to my own devices to follow up on his instruction.

I craned my neck to look over the crowd, deciding a glass of champagne to lighten my mood would be just the thing. Giving up on the notion of seeing anything over the sea of heads, I began to make my way around the room. I clung close to edges, knowing I would inevitably run into a table or server holding a tray of flutes.

As I slipped behind an older couple having a spirited but hushed argument, I began to feel a strange chill snake its way up my spine.

“Absolutely not!” The husband said, shaking his head as he stepped back to put some distance between him and his wife. I had to leap back to avoid colliding with him.

“Our Matilda is a lovely girl, if Viscount Bridgerton truly intends to choose his bride-” the wife argued in a rushed and rage filled tone. I stepped around them, eager to get myself out of earshot.

 I glanced around, on edge as I hurried away from the arguing couple. I had the oddest sense someone was watching me.

I was making slow progress in my journey, I was certainly not the only one seeking to remain on the outskirts of tonight’s activities. As I waited patiently for a slow moving group of girls to rearrange themselves, I looked up and locked eyes with a man working his way through the throng closer to the dance floor.

While he too wore a mask, his thick, neatly styled hair was a dead give away; he was a Bridgerton. I paused, hovering to watch as he approached to determine which Bridgerton was working his way towards me. As he drew nearer, his height became more apparent and I surmised it must be the Viscount himself.

Curiosity satisfied, I turned to continue on my way, but something caught my eye. Was he… Looking at me?

I turned back, startled to see him walking briskly in my direction. I found myself rooted to the spot, a storm of curiosity and dread brewing in my belly. This must be the work of Violet Bridgerton, I realized. She certainly had a way of spotting a wallflower, I had witnessed her sending Colin off to escort Penelope Featherington to the dance floor on multiple occasions.

I did not have time to follow that thought any further, I forced my thoughts to the back of my mind, mustering the most serene smile I could. 

“Good evening.” He greeted me, wearing a polite smile. 

“Good evening, Viscount Bridgerton.” I dipped my head graciously, trying my hardest to keep my smile from growing into a terribly unbecoming smirk as I saw his eyes widen behind the mask.

“My reputation precedes me, it seems.” He replied, clearly amused. He gestured to his mask flippantly. “This appears rather pointless.”

“Unfortunately so, in your case.” I replied, nodding my agreement. “Mine, however, seems to serve its intended purpose.”

“So will you tell me your name?” He asked. I felt a pang, I had not spoken to the Viscount often, but my mother had been good friends with his before her passing and I had thought he might recognize me from my visits to his sisters. I pursed my lips, mulling over my options before responding.

“Well that would ruin the fun, would it not?” I said in a hushed voice. My eyebrows rose beneath my mask, before I realized he could not see that part of my face. I flicked open my fan and fanned myself a few times, hoping it would dispel the heat in my cheeks.

“Very well, I shall respect your privacy.” He said, nodding. He glanced down at his shoes, shifting his weight before returning his piercing dark gaze to me. “If you will not tell me your name, will you at least grant me a dance?”

My lips parted, but no sound came out. I had suspected that was his goal, but his request still took me aback. 

“I would be delighted, my Lord.” I said, knowing better than to turn a man down. Folding my fan, I turned to the young ladies next to me. Before I could even ask, a blonde girl who I only knew by her family name was extending her hand to take my fan. We exchanged smiles as I placed my folded fan into her palm and turned back to see Lord Bridgerton extending his hand to me.

I placed my hand in his, allowing him to lead me toward the dance floor. My heart was hammering in my chest, I did not think I was a bad dancer, but I had not had much practice and I had admittedly neglected to maintain my skill during the off season. I closed my eyes for a brief moment as he led me through the crowd, glad that if I humiliated myself hopefully the ton would not recognize me immediately.

We took our positions, standing opposite one another as couples around us took their places and others cleared from the dance floor. I looked back to Anthony, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of me when I saw his gaze fixed on me. He averted his gaze as soon as our eyes locked. 

I opened my mouth to say something, but I was interrupted by orchestra abruptly beginning to play their next song. We fell into rhythm immediately, holding our palms up with mere inches between them and beginning to rotate around one another.

“Is this your first season?” He asked as he gracefully swapped hands, turning on the spot and tucking his other arm behind his back. I mirrored him, changing directions as gracefully as I could.

“No, it is my second.” I answered, hoping he could not tell how hard I was focusing on the placement of each step.

“Really?” He seemed surprised. “Why is that?”

“I had suitors, no proposals.” I said tensely, tensing as the music grew more intense and he closed the distance between them. They both lifted their hands, they did not quite touch, they were close enough that their gloved fingers brushed but their palms did not touch. They continued their slow rotation, there was no where to look now but the others face.

“I did not mean to offend.” He said hastily. “I just find it surprising.”

“We found my prospects wanting.” I replied, struggling to keep the bite from my tone. He smiled in amusement.

“I can certainly understand why, it was a struggle to find a suitable match for my sister in the pool of bachelors from last season.” He said with a mock shudder. I blinked in surprise, it was not common for a gentleman to speak poorly of his peers (unless of course, they were vying for the same hand.)

The music picked up pace, and we stepped together effortlessly. He grabbed my hand and took my waist in one fluid movement, and we began to step to the rhythm of the music in harmony.

“Rumor has it you intend to find a wife this season.” I said casually, enjoying the exasperated look on his face as his shoulder slumped beneath my hand.

“Ah, my mother has been effective in getting the word out.” He sighed. “Do not remind me, please. My feet are sore from her last recommendation.”

“So I made the list.” I said smugly, my smirk getting the best of me. I had suspected he had asked me to dance at his Mother’s behest.

Anthony did not answer, but he let out a hearty laugh. My smirk fell quickly, my heart sinking. Was I so low in rank that I was a laughable addition to her list?

“My Mother’s list is to blame for the attacks on my feet.” He said, shaking his head and chuckling. “If you are wondering if I approached you due to her, I did not.”

“Oh.” I said lamely, looking down at our feet. My cheeks were flushed, and I did not know what to say or make of what he’d said. We continued to move in sync, while I wished the ground would swallow me up.

“Tell me, Miss.” he said suddenly, clearly wanting to keep the conversation going. I looked up, waiting for him to finish his thought. “What are you looking for in a match?”

“Someone kind.” I blurted out. I quickly realized that seemed too simple, although it was the truth. I hastened to elaborate. “Someone compassionate, gentle… Someone I might consider a friend.”

“That is all?” He pressed, surprised.

“I am a young lady in my second season.” I reminded him patiently. “I dare not get my hopes too high.”

“That is a shame.” He said, his expression grim. “But I understand.”

I was spared having to come up with a response by the song coming to an end. We looked to one another for a moment, and then pulled apart. 

“Thank you, my Lord.” I said, dropping into a curtsy.

“Please, call me Anthony.” He said, waving away my formalities.

“Best of luck for the season. Enjoy your evening.” I said, offering him a polite smile as I turned to make my way off the dance floor. 

“Wait! You did not give me your name.” He called after me, he took a few steps toward me, but I knew he would not chase me across a crowded ballroom and I had already put distance between us.

“Goodnight!” I called over my shoulder, smiling to myself as I picked up my skirts to avoid tripping. I hurried into the crowd, slipping in between the other guests skillfully, putting plenty of distance between Lord Bridgerton and myself. It was certainly not my most graceful interaction at a ball, but I was spared further humiliation by anonymity.

I heard my name being called, and turned to see my father approaching from the direction of the terrace. I moved to meet him, the smell of whiskey and cigar smoke radiating off of him.

“Have you had any luck?” He asked gruffly, his eyes bloodshot from the drink.

I simply shook my head, reaching out to steady him as he staggered. “Not yet, how has your evening been?”

“Productive. I hear Lord Lumley has a boy around your age…..” He said, looping my arm with his as he wobbled his way towards the refreshment table. I hummed, feigning my interest as I listened to his drunken ramblings to close the evening.

#reader insert #x reader #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #netflix #viscount bridgerton #regency era

[thebadgerclan]

Repayment

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

Requested by @blueberrycoffee19

Summary: Kate and Edwina wish to repay you...

For as long as Edwina could remember, you had been in her life.  She had grown up calling you her “Auntie Y/N”, and you had helped Kate and Lady Mary shape her into the wonderful young lady she was today.  You accompanied the Sheffield-Sharmas to London for Edwina’s season, and everyone was floored when she was named the season’s diamond.  The surprises continued when Queen Charlotte offered to put in a good with her nephew, Prince Fredrich, who had just arrived to visit his aunt.

Lady Mary and Kate were overjoyed for Edwina, and to your shock, they attributed the bulk of her success to you.  “You have been there for us since the beginning,” Lady Mary had said.  “You treated Kate and Edwina as your own sisters, and I will forever be in your debt.”  Kate had shared the sentiment.  “Thanks to your efforts, Edwina has charmed a prince.  Fredrich has said he will provide for us all!  I will not be forced to marry!”

They insisted on repaying you, something you insisted was entirely unnecessary.  “We will find you a suitor!” Edwina had said excitedly.  “Edwina, darling, I require no repayment.  You are as much my family as my own blood, I would do the same for them.”  But the sisters heard none of your arguments, drafting and revising lists of potential suitors.  As it turns out, you were quite popular amongst the ton, and you soon felt like a debutante yourself.

Promenades, afternoon teas, lunch parties, dinner parties, your dance card full at every ball; it was a life you had never envisioned for yourself, but one you were enjoying nonetheless.  Like most evenings, you were dressed in a glittering gown, your hair curled and pinned, every gentleman vying for a dance with you.  Kate leaned in to whisper to you, keeping her gaze ahead.

“I know you have met many of these gentlemen,” she said.  “But him… He is a case I have yet to crack.”  She pointed to a strikingly handsome man who was speaking with someone who appeared to be his sister.  “The Viscount Bridgerton.  The head of his household who has yet to marry.  He inherited his title tragically–his father passed quite suddenly.  From what I managed to gather, his standards are very high.  But you, Y/N, I believe you may meet those standards.”

You smiled.  You would be hard pressed to deny that the Viscount Bridgerton was attractive.  You had heard about him; his history as a rake, his fierce devotion to his family, and his apparent aversion to marriage.  He was a challenge, and oh, you did love a challenge.  “How would I even be introduced?”  Edwina smirked.  “Leave that to me.”  She took your dance card, seeing who was slated for your next dance.  She copied that name onto hers and conveniently spilled her lemonade on yours.

“He is nothing if not a gentleman,” Edwina said.  “When he sees you unaccompanied for a dance, he will have to offer.”  You took Edwina’s hand, smiling as you shook your head.  “You are a genius, Edwina.  You shall make an excellent princess.”  Edwina blushed, smoothly stepping in front of your original partner for the next dance, as you made your way across the room into Lord Bridgerton’s line of sight.

When people began pairing off, you remained solitary, which sure enough, drew the Viscount’s attention.  “Pardon me, my lady?” he said.  “Are you in need of a dance partner?”  You smiled coyly, offering your hand.  “I am indeed, thank you, Lord…?”  He took your hand.  “Bridgerton, miss.  Viscount Anthony Bridgerton.  And you are?”  “Miss Y/N L/N, my lord.  It is a pleasure to meet you.”  “I assure you, miss, the pleasure is entirely mine.”

He kissed your hand, and the musicians began playing.  The pair of you took to the dance floor, the steps like second nature, allowing you to speak to one another as you danced.  “So, Miss L/N,” Anthony said.  “I do not believe I have seen you in town before.”  “No, I am here with the Lady Sheffield-Sharma and her daughters.  I have been close with them since childhood.”

“I see…”  He spun you before you faced him again.  “If I may, are you seeking a match this season?”  You shook your head.  “Not originally.  But Miss Edwina has caught Her Majesty’s nephew’s eye, so Kate–her sister–and she insisted on finding me a suitor.”  Anthony nodded.  “But tell me, my lord, are you not also seeking a wife?”  “Indeed I am.  I have been told my criteria are a bit harsh, however.”

You laughed, a real laugh, and Anthony felt his heart squeeze.  “How so?”  “Oh, I dare not say in front of a gently bred lady.”  You looked at his through your lashes.  “There is little I have not heard, Lord Bridgerton,” you replied, and he smiled.  “Very well.  I had thought my requirements were simple: she must be well read, be reasonably intelligent, be able to hold a decent conversation, and….”

“And what, sir?” you said, a hint of teasing leaching into your voice.  “That she be reasonably pleasant to look upon.”  You had to stifle a roaring laugh.  “Oh my.  Well, perhaps it was the way you phrased it?  I can indeed see how they may be off putting.”  Anthony cocked his head.  “How might you suggest I pose such questions?  My current model has been proven ineffective, I suppose.”

“Well, rather than asking a lady if she is well read, as what she enjoys reading.  Do not ask her if she is intelligent, ask her if she enjoys studying, and what she enjoys.  As for her appearance, I suppose that is subjective.  Though you must understand, my lord, we have been raised on needlework and pianoforte.  So if a lady brags about her skills, it is because we have been told those are what gentlemen are looking for.”

The Viscount nearly rolled his eyes.  “I cannot speak for all gentlemen, but I certainly do not care if a woman can embroider a pillow.  There are far more practical uses for one’s time.”  “I quite agree.  Lord knows how much blood I have lost to embroidery.”  Anthony laughed, a warm, hearty sound, and you smiled.  The dance ended, and Anthony bowed as you curtsied.  He found that he was not annoyed with dancing as he normally was.

You were sharp, witty, funny.  Clearly an intelligent young lady, and gorgeous to boot.  How was it possible that you met every one of his criteria for a wife?  “Miss L/N, if I am not too bold, might I call upon you tomorrow morning?  I feel we have much to discuss.”  You smiled, feeling your heart skip a beat.  “I would like that, my lord.  I am staying with Lady Danbury.”  Anthony kissed your hand once he had returned you to Kate and Edwina.  “Until tomorrow, then, Miss L/N.”

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton reader insert

[supercap2319]

It wasn't a secret that Y/N and Anthony Bridgerton were rivals since boyhood, but Benedict was still shocked to see his older brother and Y/N together in Anthony's bedchambers in such a sight of lust, passion and sex.

Benedict's eyes traveled from Anthony's to Y/N's. "I trust you both are doing well?"

Anthony gives his brother a mischief smirk. "Very well, brother. In fact, why not join us? Y/N says he's always fancied you."

Benedict locked eyes with Y/N as he blushed.

#x male reader #male reader insert #male x male #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton

[peterpparkrr]

Pinned (pt. 2)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: Lord Bridgerton continues to find ways to be in his seamstress’ presence. A truth is revealed that poses as a harsh reminder of the way the world works.

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: The first part of this story (which was supposed to be a oneshot) got so much love, so thank you for the patience, and here is part 2 of an ever-growing story. Let me know what you think of it! And what you’d like to see from this story in the future!

First part // next part

It was easy to fall deep into a reverie when you were working. There was something so methodical and repetitive about sewing that it was easy for you to end up woolgathering while your hands completed the work they’d been trained for the past few years to complete so effortlessly.

And these days it felt like you had more and more to think about. 

Your bizarre evening with Lord Bridgerton had left you far more rattled than you wanted to let on. 

The entire thing had felt like a fever dream. 

You still had no idea what had taken a hold of him in the moment that he had decided to escort you to your meeting. It had seemed remarkable out of character for a gentleman to take an interest in you that was not overtly sexual in nature. 

But Lord Bridgerton seemed to lack the entitlement that men usually held when approaching you. 

Which in turn made you all the more suspicious of his motivations. 

You don’t like not knowing what to expect.

“Miss,” You heard a voice call out, suddenly snapping you out of your thoughts.

“Oh!” You turned around and looked up to see Lord Bridgerton standing on the other side of the counter. “Lord Bridgerton, what can I help you with?” You ask him as you move to set aside the pair of trousers you were hemming.

“I find myself in desperate need of another suit,” He tells you.

Your brows furrow in confusion as you look up at him.

“But you just-”

“Are you trying to talk me out of buying something at your shop?” Anthony asks, gently teasing. “I am more than happy to take my business elsewhere,” He adds with a sweeping arm motion to the door.

“I-I uh,” You stutter slightly as you stare back at him with wide eyes. 

You spare a glance back towards the office where Mr. Raugland is balancing the books. Thank God for that small mercy. It was the only time during the day that he has the door closed and can’t hear much of anything coming from the storefront.

“That was meant to be a joke,” He tells you after a moment.

“I suppose I did not find it very funny,” You reply sharply. “My lord,” You add quickly.

“My apologies,” Lord Bridgerton tells you. “But I really do need another suit.” 

“I already have your current measurements, do you know what style you’d like this one to be?” You ask him politely.

Lord Bridgerton studies you for a moment as he seems to consider his answer. 

“No, I’m afraid I don’t, could you help me pick something out?” He asks. 

“Of course,” You reply as you step out from behind the counter. “You can follow me right this way.”

“This is some of our selection,” You explain as you begin to rattle off your usual sales pitch. gesturing to various cuts and styles as you lead him through the samples.

“Would you like to see how any of them fit?” You ask him as you turn to face him again.

Lord Bridgerton nods but doesn’t give you any indication of which ones in particular, so you select some of your favorites as you walk him over to the dais by the mirrors.

He’s quiet as you help him out of his jacket and vest, it’s not until you’re helping him into one of the first vest styles that he begins to make conversation.

“How long have you been a seamstress?” He asks out of the blue.

“I’ve been sewing since I was old enough to hold a needle steady, and I got my first job when I was thirteen,” You tell him quietly as you focus on the buttons.

“And how old are you now?” He asks.

“I thought with all that genteel breeding that your sort were supposed to know better than to ask impertinent questions,” You comment as you smooth the fabric of the vest over his shoulders, making the mistake to look up at him as you do so, only to find him already looking down at you. 

And that is when you realize you are standing far too close to him.

You quickly step back off the dais and pretend to busy yourself taking in the cut of the vest before helping him into the matching jacket.

“What do you think?” You ask as you his reflection in the mirror, only to realize that his gaze is instead focused on your reflection.

“I should be asking you that,” He tells you. “I want to know what you think of it.”

“I think it fits you very well,” You tell him. The Viscount looks incredibly handsome in the dark vest and jacket. In your strictly professional opinion, of course.

“Do you?” He asks, a wide grin crossing his face as he notices your expression.

“Do not tease me,” You warn him gently as you step up to help him out of the jacket.

“That’s right, you do not like teasing,” He acknowledges as he unbuttons the vest. 

“I do not like being made the butt of a joke,” You correct him as you take the vest off as well.

“I would-” Lord Bridgerton begins to protest before you quickly cut him off.

“Perhaps you wouldn’t, but I do not know you, my Lord,” You point out as you turn back to face him. “But I have known enough men like you,” You add quietly.

He looks like he wants to press further but when you hold up the next vest he only slips his arms through it and focuses on doing up the buttons. 

“Obviously on you, this would be taken in here,” You tell him softly as you pull the loose fabric taut against his body, your other hand pulling down on the fabric in front so that the lines are straight.

“Obviously,” Anthony parrotted back quietly, though his muscles tensed nervously under the fabric that your hand was pulling at.

It really is a shame, this new style does such wonders for the male anatomy, yet they’re still hidden under long jackets, tails, and overcoats.

“It’ll match well with this jacket, I think,” You tell him as you move to grab the brighter blue velvet.

He slips his arms in and you smooth the shoulders and back before moving back around to the front to pull the fabric so that it hangs nicely and he can better idea of what it might look like for him. Your fingers linger as they trace up and down the front lapels.

“So what exactly do you need another suit for?” You ask him as you start to pull at the hems, folding and cuffing where you need to.

“Is it not enough to want to see you?” He asks lowly as he dips his chin down slightly to catch your eye.

You roll your eyes, though you can feel your cheeks begin to heat against your own volition as you avert your gaze.

“I am being serious,” You clarify.

“Well, because this is the season that I intend to marry, my mother has decided that we must attend every event,” He tells you. “And since that doubles, if not triples my usual social obligations, I figured it best to get another suit before my mother could berate me for my clothing on top of everything else.”

Married? Did he already know whom he was going to propose to? Had he already proposed to some young debutante? 

You had thought yourself a sensible woman. And you’d never had a problem with your place in the world. But the way your heart had stuttered at Lord Bridgerton’s causal admittance of his impending nuptials? It had hurt in a way that you had not expected. Stabbing at the tender softness in your chest that had not yet been hardened.

He had spoken to you like he cared about you. Truly cared about you, and you’d been naive enough to believe it true. All the while he had been planning to marry someone. 

Someone else.

You were far more naive than you had realized.

“Oh,” You reply after a beat. “I see.”

“Which do you prefer? This one or the first?” You ask him, quickly snapping back into real life. Needing the reminder that you were working, that you were in the middle of a consultation for a customer.

Nothing more.

“They’re both fine, do you have a preference?” He asks as he turns to look at himself in the mirrors.

“You’re the one who has to wear them, you ought to choose,” You point out as you turn to busy yourself with clearing away the garments you’d set aside.

“This one, then, I think,” He tells you.

“Very good, my Lord,” You reply politely, trying desperately to keep your tone distant as you set up to take the jacket from him, avoiding his gaze as you do so. Building your walls back up as you do so. Trying not to focus too hard on how quickly you had been willing to let them crumble in the first place.

“Are you alright?” He asks after a moment as he steps towards you. You can hear the concern laced into his words, and you wish you could just believe him, to talk to him. But you should have known from the beginning that this could never happen. 

“Of course,” You reply quickly, your voice turning chipper and false as you turn to put the garments back on their hangers. 

“I said something wrong,” Lord Bridgerton surmises astutely. “What did I say?”

“Nothing, my lord,” You reply as you take the vest from him, placing them over your arm as you begin to move back through the shop. “I’ll have these garments ready for you by the end of the week.”

“And will you be delivering them?” He asks, and you think you might see a glimmer of hopefulness in his eyes. One that you see in an entirely new light after his previous comments. A hope that you cannot allow to stand, not in relation to yourself.

“That is what the delivery boys are for,” You remind him, harkening back to your first real conversation with him. 

“I see,” He replies slowly.

“Yes,” You state as you move back behind your counter. Finding some semblance of safety with the barrier now places between you.

“I am sorry,” He offers. “For whatever I said-”

“You said nothing wrong,” You tell him quickly as you look up at him, already shaking your head. “I’m sorry.” 

You see a pair of gentlemen walk through the door.

“I have to help those customers,” You tell him before you turn away from him, not looking back until you heard the door close again and you see Lord Bridgerton making his way down the pavement.

Distance. All you needed was distance, to remind you that you lived in two very different worlds. Worlds that would never truly overlap.

#pinned series #anthony bridgerton #Bridgerton #Bridgerton Series #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton request #anthony bridgerton series #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton request #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton reader insert #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton reader insert #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton x female reader

[auroracalisto]

a love like this will never end

— one fateful night, your pregnancy comes to an end as you give birth to anthony's child. but he is gone, his work as a viscount keeping him away, and the after-effects of giving birth have far more of a hold on you than you'd like to admit—one where you awaken with anthony's return and a guilty heart. word count: 1.3k tw: pain, birth, hard pregnancy, reader essentially eludes death, anxiety, afab!reader but no identifying pronouns/gender-related language, pregnancy also terrifies me so idk what i'm doing writing this but here we are a/n: it's been three months since i've posted any kind of fic. and i've been writing on this one for over two of those months. so.

missing, was your loving husband.

business often found him in the most trying of times, the ends of your pregnancy being one of them.

but pregnancy did not await his arrival. pregnancy was of its own device, and therefore, arriving far sooner than you would have hoped.

screams escaped you, causing distress amongst those of the bridgerton household. not that they could blame you—they were quite aware of the horrors that were giving birth, having experienced or at least been around the scenario more than just a few times.

pain rippled through your body like no other.

the blood had made your maid, lucinda, faint-hearted.

it wasn’t often she had to deal with something like this, but she would be with you, through thick and thin. if only your husband had been there just as she had.

perhaps things would have gone far smoother.

most likely not, but you liked to imagine it would have been easier having his support. having his voice whisper sweet nothings, easing you through the process of bringing this life into the world—the very life that you had been far too eager to meet, and now, you were regretting ever thinking that.

if only it had been a day later. a week, even. anything that would have somehow prepared you for the pain that wreaked havoc on your body.

you could only wish for his return sooner than later, so he could witness the miracle that the two of you had procreated, despite the immense pain you felt.

his heir.

breathless gasps came from you as you tried your hardest to calm yourself down.

soft cries from your infant came just beyond you, the doctor handing off the baby to your maid, making haste to clean it’s face as you craned your head just to get a glimpse of your child.

“what is it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“a boy,” the doctor said.

“a boy,” you sounded, tears springing to your eyes. you would have been happy with any child—but you knew this child would never have to want for more than what they are. “i have a boy.”

your maid carefully brought your infant to you, and you looked up at her with moist eyes.

“what of anthony?” you asked. “is he not here?”

“no, my lady,” she softly frowned in return. “he will be here soon enough, that i am sure.”

your heart pounded in your chest. you looked up at the woman for just a moment, a wave of darkness flashing across your eyes.

“lucinda,” you began, carefully holding out your child. but before you said anything more, you felt your eyes falling shut and your arms weakening—lucinda was quick to catch your infant, looking at the doctor nervously.

“what is happening?” she asked.

as the doctor spoke, you fell into a deep darkness—one you had only ever heard of in stories before. one you were afraid you might not ever come out of.

you could only scream at yourself, hoping to return to the surface once more. you couldn't leave. not yet. your new life had barely begun.

you awoke to the sound of anthony’s voice. but he was not speaking with you, despite how choked up he sounded.

“you are my heir,” anthony softly spoke, his arms carefully cradling the hours-old infant. “an heir who will do incredible things. your mother will—has made sure of that.”

a choked chuckle escaped your dry throat.

“oh, have i?” you weakly called, arm raised just above your eyes to keep the sun from blinding you.

anthony looked up, wide eyes taking place of his previously solemn expression.

“my love,” he began, walking to you as quickly as he could with the child. “my love, you had me frightened. had i lost you—“

“—i’m fine,” you interjected, knowing he might go into a tangent if you weren’t careful; the man had always been nervous with the prospect of children—of marrying for love. you had promised him long ago, only shortly after realizing that you loved him, that you would never leave him. for as long as you were alive and well, you would be by his side, forever. and you nearly broke that promise.

“the babe?”

your own voice startled you out of your thoughts.

he paused, knowing you had gone through far too much to withstand his sorrow. he would push it down, just like he had learned to throughout the years of living as the viscount. he stared at you for just a moment before speaking. “he’s perfect.”

as you pushed yourself to sit up, he quickly put a hand out to stop you, carefully holding the baby with his other arm.

“no. do not move.”

you paused, a soft frown forming on your lips. “i wish to see—“

“—and i will bring him to you. but you are far too weak to put yourself through anything more than what you have already gone through,” he said. anthony finally made the last couple of steps he needed to be beside of you, sitting down on the edge of the bed with ease.

“the doctor said you will be fine. plenty of bedrest and some sunlight will do you good.”

you gave a small nod, watching as your husband maneuvered his arms and your child so you could officially meet your newborn baby.

a smile spread across your lips at the sight of his perfect little nose, his round little cheeks, the little tuft of hair that sat perfectly on his head. his eyes were the most beautiful color you had ever seen. everything about your child was perfect.

“he favors you,” anthony said with a soft chuckle.

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes. “quite the contrary,” you said. "i do believe he favors you, my love."

anthony hummed softly in response. baby still in his arms, while his heart filled with love and admiration for the very being who brought this beautiful family to life.

"had i lost you," he repeated, his heavy heart getting the best of him and ignoring what he had told himself just moments earlier. "i could not have lived with myself."

"anthony..." you said, your voice hardly above a whisper. "i can assure you, i will never leave you. you have my word."

he smiled faintly. he wouldn't tell you how many tears he shed before he picked up his child, fear settling in his bones as the doctor told him he had arrived back at their home just a few minutes too late. you were asleep—for how long, he didn't know. he considered it a miracle for you to even come to as soon as you did (the doctor decided it would be best to keep the idea of death off of anthony bridgerton's already fragile state of mind).

anthony would not tell you, regardless of how it made him feel. seeing you lie there, so unaware of the world. dying? no. not dying. but you could have been. it frightened anthony.

you would push through. you had to. and when he heard your voice, he knew all was well with the world.

luck had not always been on his side. for anthony bridgerton, he often made his own luck, forging his way through the world. but he couldn't help but revel in the fact that fortune was on his side with you.

he looked down at you, smiling. "i love you, y/n."

"and i, you, anthony. more than anything."

he chuckled softly, his eyes flickering to the babe in his arms. "now, what will we name him?" he asked, tilting his head. "i've yet to think of something. perhaps you've already chosen one?"

"i'm not sure," you said, smiling. "perhaps we can start with the letter a. have any ideas?"

#anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony x reader #x reader #reader insert #afab!reader #pregnancy #birth #childbirth #fic #fanfic #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x you #x you #y/n #one shot #anthony #bridgerton fic

[rob1ns-liv1n]

Hi! You’re finally back!! I love your Bridgerton brother reader so much omg! I have so many ideas but one is that reader is really good at singing and playing but nobody in the family really know. And one day they hear him play and sing and are amazed.

Three Times The Bridgertons were Haunted and One Time They Weren't | Brother! Reader!

A/N: that's so sweet, thank you! you actually just made my day. i actually play piano so this was really fun to write. if you see any underlined words, those are links for the songs that the reader is singing/playing. you can play them if you want to have a more immersive experience. anyway sorry this took so long, but here's the request :]

Ever since you could remember Daphne had always been the musical sibling. As soon as she could talk she was given piano lessons every day after her normal schooling schedule. Your mother knew that suitors had more interest in girls with musical talents, so she believed it best to begin Daphne's lessons as early as possible. When Eloise came of age, she was meant to learn the piano as well. Unfortunately for mama, she was more interested in her diaries. Instead of trying to learn, Eloise played terribly on purpose in order to get out of lessons. After a month, mother decided that she wouldn't force any more of her daughters into music lessons for fear of another Eloise situation.

And so Daphne remained the glorified musical sibling. That is, until (Y/N) Bridgerton was tasked with disposing of Daphne's old assignment books at the age of 12 years old. Daphne, who was fourteen at the time, needed space in her sheet music drawer and with you being the good younger brother that you are you offered to get rid of her oldest books. However, you never planned to throw them away. You were going to keep them for yourself.

Later that night, when everyone had gone to bed you tip toed into the sitting room holding the treasured books tightly to your chest. From then on your nightly musical sessions became your most precious secret. It continued to be that way for five years until one fateful night when Daphne and Anthony had gotten up to make themselves warm milk.

Anthony took a slow sip from his milk jug, "We've been bested by a stove."

"Cold milk is much more refreshing anyway." reasoned Daphne.

"I suppose-" Anthony paused abruptly staring towards the door. "Do you hear that?"

Daphne set her jug down and opened the door an inch. Faint piano reverberated through the hall. Anthony, who was now leaning on the door, shot his sister a confused look, "Could it be Hyacinth?"

"No, the piece is sounds much too advanced." whispered Daphne. "Hyacinth has only just started playing, it must be someone else."

Anthony slowly inched towards the kitchen door, intent on sneakily uncovering just who was up a this hour playing piano. Unfortunately for him, the kitchen door did not in fact agree with this plan. As soon as Anthony began to open it, the old wood squealed obnoxiously like a petulant child and the piano came to an abrupt halt.

After watching her brother completely annihilate their chance to properly sleuth, Daphne rushed ahead to the drawing room and hastily opened the door-

-to find the room completely empty.

"Anthony, it's empty."

"What?"

"It's empty. As in there is no one in the drawing room."

"There must be a reasonable explanation..." Anthony's eyes lit up. "Perhaps they are hiding!"

"Hiding? But-"

A chill swept through the air catching the siblings by surprise. A sense of déjà vu came over her and she gasped in realization.

"It's a ghost!" Daphne continued, undeterred by Anthony's perplexed expression. "I recognize the signs. Ghosts are drawn to music, they cause cold winds and they are known to act only between midnight and dawn. It's a ghost. I'm sure of it!"

"And where exactly did you come across this information?"

"A novel....."

"A novel?!"

A mournful moan echoed through the room. In less than a second the door was slammed closed by Anthony's shaking hands.

"So...this novel....."

. . .

It was nearly a week later when two more of your siblings discovered the elusive "ghost" haunting the Bridgerton Estate. Gregory woke up from a nightmare in distress and with Hyacinth's room being so close to his he managed to wake her up too. His sister was not happy to be woken up, but her beauty sleep came second when an upset Gregory was involved. As she was trying her best to comfort him, the pair heard someone humming. Rain pounded steadily on the roof of the estate making the humming seem hypnotizingly sweet. Gregory looked up at his sister in confusion.

"Who do you think that is?"

Hyacinth tilted her head towards the gentle voice. "I don't know. Maybe it's that ghost Anthony keeps mumbling about."

The soft humming filled the silent room as Gregory slowly calmed down. Eventually his sister grabbed a spare blanket from the end of the bed and the two settled on the mattress together, enjoying the hums of their ghostly performer.

...

A single lit candle burned pathetically as the taunting sound of silence permeated Benedict's room. He had been trying to sketch for quite some time now, but despite his most focused effort; his pencil would not seem to budge. With a twitch of his eyebrow Benedict rose from his seat and flung his pencil at the wall nearest to him. Which just so happened to be the wall he shared with his dearest brother, Colin. Benedict dragged a hand over his face in exasperation hoping to God, or anyone really, that his oh-so-caring brother would not awaken. But as the sound of shuffling came closer to the artist's bedroom door it became apparent to Benedict that God was not, in fact, a merciful father.

"Brother?"

"Yes?" Came Benedict's squeaking reply.

The door opened and the younger Bridgerton stepped through with a glare leveled at his older brother. "What in the world are you doing up this late?"

"Nothing, actually. I couldn't sleep so I tried sketching. But then I couldn't even do that!"

Benedict glared at his discarded sketchbook as he continued, his frustration building.

"Now I've spent over three hours sitting in front of this damned fire losing my mind while I try to sketch at least one single drawing that is decent enough to call art."

Belatedly, Benedict realized that he had been yelling, but before he could apologize Colin stepped forward and grasped his shoulder.

"I know you must be frustrated Benny, but maybe tonight's just not your night. And it doesn't have to be either." Colin pinched the artist's cheeks. "There's always the morning."

As soon as his younger brother's hands left his face, a heavy weight seemed to lift from Benedict's shoulders. "I suppose your right. Till morning then."

"Till morning."

"Until then," began Benedict, a small smile dancing on his face. "You're welcome to stay here by the fire. I know how cranky you get on these kinds of cold nights."

Colin simply rolled his eyes before grabbing what he knew was his elder brother's favorite blanket and settling on the sofa closest to the fire. An indignant squawk left Benedict as he stared dumbly at the criminal who had just stolen from him. "Y-you can't have that blanket."

"Why not? You invited me to your room and I am without a blanket. It's only fair."

"Only fair? But that's my blanket." reasoned Benedict. "Surely, you of all people understand how important it is to me."

Despite the strength of Colin's will, he could not handle seeing his brother look so dejected. If he didn't know better it would almost seem like he had just burned the Bridgerton estate to the ground rather than steal his brother's favorite blanket. With a heavy sigh the young boy fluffed out the blanket and sunk down to the soft rug that sat between the sofa and fireplace. Benedict caught on and settled down next to Colin, pulling the blanket over himself as well.

As the two began to doze off the faint whisper of a piano wafted through the room. Distantly, the two boys wondered why Daphne could possibly be up so late. In the morning, they would realize that Daphne was not home.

. . .

"Alright, I assume we all know why this family meeting was called?"

Anthony in front of his assembled siblings as they sat in the drawing room. You glanced around with a sheepish look of uncertainty, "Why exactly was this meeting called?"

"The ghost problem." Anthony began to pace, pausing only to lock eyes dramatically with each and every one of his siblings. "For the last year, we have all encountered signs of ghost activity. Me and Daphne first discovered the apparition playing the piano just past midnight. Then, Hyacinth and Gregory heard it humming. And Benedict and Colin were put to sleep by its most recent piano performance. Am I missing anything?"

The siblings collectively shook their heads, except for one.

"Good. This all circles back to the reason why I have summoned you all in the first place. Tonight we must partake....in a ghost hunt."

"A ghost hunt?" scoffed Eloise. "Really?"

"Yes, really! It is our duty to protect this house. Even against threats that we cannot see."

"Fine, so long as I get to search with (Y/N)."

"That can be arranged. Now-"

"Actually...I don't think that will be necessary." You clear your throat sheepishly as your confidence withers under the curious looks of your family.

Anthony quirks a brow, "and why is that?"

"Well, see that is....um that...well, because I'm the ghost."

Silence overtakes the drawing room. Your siblings think clearly think you're joking, but there's just one thing that might convince them. You walk over to the piano and pull out the bench before taking a seat. The moment your fingers greet the ivories everything falls away. You play each of the three songs your siblings heard and try not to laugh as you hear their shocked gasps echo in the drawing room. A part of you know that there will be a lot of questions after you finish your "concert," but for now all you have to do is focus on the next note to play. The other stuff is a future (Y/N) problem.

.

.

.

.

.

BONUS SCENE:

The whole family claps for you as you finish playing. Well almost the whole family, with the exception of the oldest brother.

"While I am impressed by your musical prowess...I wasted money on a book about exorcisms for this!

And there were no refunds..."

#brother reader #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton #reader insert #sibling reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #family feels #bridgerton x brother! reader

[mishtay]

When all the hot guy's actors are gay irl 😭😭

#boy crush #fanfic #reader insert #fluffy #crush #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kanthony #Crussshh #crush x reader #wednesday x tyler #Tyler #wednesday #gaylife #actors #actorsaregayirl

[thetalkoftheton]

Anthony: Y/N is upset with me and I have no idea why.

Kate: Were you talking before they got upset?

Anthony: Yes.

Kate: That is probably it.

#bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton reader insert #incorrect bridgerton #incorrect bridgerton quotes #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton incorrect quotes #anthony bridgerton x y/n #kate sharma

[winxanity-ii]

𝐑𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐋𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍'𝐒 𝐄𝐃𝐆𝐄

╚»★«╝ 𝐁𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐌𝐞𝐧: 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐨𝐧 x 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐒𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ╚»★«╝

ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: hella angst

‌🇷‌🇦‌🇹‌🇮‌🇳‌🇬‌: non-explicit

🇵‌🇴‌🇻‌: 2nd person; You/Your

🇩‌🇪‌🇸‌🇨‌🇷‌🇮‌🇵‌🇹‌🇮‌🇴‌🇳‌: in which, you find your emotions teetering between rage and the fierce love you harbor for your sibling.

🇼‌🇴‌🇷‌🇩‌ 🇨‌🇴‌🇺‌🇳‌🇹‌: 2.8k

🇦‌/🇳‌‌: Had to dive deep into the emotional turmoil for this one! Simon's story really hits a nerve for me and wholeheartedly believe Daphne should have had consequences for what she did, but I digress. Can't wait to hear what y'all think!.

★·.·´🇧‌🇷‌🇮‌🇩‌🇬‌🇪‌🇷‌🇹‌🇴‌🇳‌ 🇲‌🇦‌🇸‌🇹‌🇪‌🇷‌🇱‌🇮‌🇸‌🇹‌`·.·★

You've lived in luxury your entire life, born into a world where opulence is as common as the air you breathe. Your family, known for its ancient lineage and vast wealth, has always moved in the highest circles of society. The grand estate you call home is a testament to generations of prosperity, its sprawling gardens and ornate architecture speaking of a legacy carefully cultivated over centuries.

From the moment of your birth, your life was set against a backdrop of gilded halls and whispered secrets. Your childhood was a tapestry of private tutors, elegant parties, and summers spent in villas overlooking the sea. Yet, amidst this world of privilege, you always sought something more genuine, something real beyond the facades of high society.

Your father, understanding your thirst for knowledge and your disdain for superficialities, had a special room created just for you. It was designed to be a haven, a place where you could escape the endless politicking and shallow conversations that dominated the rest of the house.

Now, as you sit in this very room, the memory of its creation still vivid in your mind, you're surrounded by the comfort it provides. It's spacious, with high ceilings and a warm, inviting ambiance. The walls are lined with rows upon rows of bookshelves, each filled with volumes collected throughout your life. From classic literature to modern tales, every book holds a story of its own, not just within its pages, but in the memories of when and why it was added to your collection. Some were gifts from distant lands, others were discoveries from your own adventures, each one handpicked and cherished.

In the corner of the room, large bay windows stretch from floor to ceiling, framing a picturesque view of the estate's lush gardens. The windows are designed to capture the day's natural light, casting a soft, serene glow across the room, perfect for reading. Sheer curtains dance gently with the breeze, adding a touch of elegance.

Your rocking chair, an oversized, plush piece, sits in the middle of the room. It's heaped with soft blankets and pillows, creating a nest of comfort. Here, you spend countless hours lost in the worlds within your books, the chair gently swaying to the rhythm of your imagination.

To your left, Kira, your personal maid, is a constant presence. Her Blasian heritage gives her a unique beauty, with reddish-dark auburn hair that cascades in gentle waves down her back. Her light brown eyes are expressive, often reflecting her mood before she even speaks. Her skin is a rich dark brown, sprinkled with freckles that add to her distinctive appearance. Tall and slender, she moves with a grace that belies her underlying strength, and her voice, airy yet slightly scratchy, fills the room with a comforting familiarity.

As she knits you a pair of winter gloves, Kira speaks up, her tone carrying her characteristic brashness mixed with a hint of humor. "You wouldn't believe the latest rumor I heard from the market," she says, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Apparently, Lady Edith was caught in a rather compromising situation with the Duchess of Wohrmans. It seems high society isn't as prim and proper as they pretend to be."

You can't help but chuckle at her comment, appreciating her candidness and the way she always manages to bring a slice of the outside world into your sheltered life.

"Kira, you do realize that half of these rumors are probably just wild tales, right?" you reply, amused.

Kira looks up from her knitting, a sly smile on her face. "Oh, of course. But it's always fun to speculate, isn't it? Besides, it's the only entertainment we get around here, given how these snobby lords and ladies turn their noses up at everything."

Her brash temperament, so carefully controlled yet so openly shared with you behind closed doors, is a refreshing contrast to the often stifling decorum of high society. Her rants about the various characters you both encounter are a source of much-needed levity in your life. But in truth, Kira is more than just a maid; she's a confidant, fiercely loyal, and the only one who hears your true thoughts about the high society you navigate.

The tranquility is shattered when the doors slam open. You look up, startled, to see Simon, your older brother.

Simon's visits are always a highlight for you, especially given the circumstances of your life. Your father's dying wish was that you reside in the family home until you are eligible to wed. At nearly 19 years old, you are yet to experience the onset of your period, a traditional marker of marriage eligibility in your society. This delay has kept you bound to the family estate, a situation made more bearable by Simon's infrequent but cherished visits.

Ten years your senior, you and Simon share the same father but a different mother. The tragic fate that befell your mother during childbirth mirrored the loss Simon experienced with his own mother, creating a unique bond of understanding and shared loss between you two.

As Simon steps into the room, you can't help but feel a surge of excitement, curious about the latest news and gossip from town. The last you heard, he had attended the 1813 social season hosted by Lady Danbury, a significant event in high society. Simon's experiences in these social whirlwinds often provide you with much-needed connection to the outside world and the intrigues of the upper class.

"Simon!" you exclaim, rising from your chair. "I didn't expect to see you so soon. Tell me everything. How was the social season? Any interesting gossip, brother?"

Simon always had a commanding presence, his handsome features often drawing admiring glances. His skin is a deep, rich brown, a perfect complement to his neatly styled black hair. His eyes, usually bright and full of life, are a striking contrast to his dark complexion. But today, those eyes are different. They're dim, lacking their usual spark, and you notice a wetness behind them that others might miss. This ability to read him so well comes from a lifetime of shared experiences and secrets.

The smile on your face drops as you take in his state. His face is stony, but his eyes betray the turmoil within. Quickly, you gesture for Kira to leave, understanding that whatever Simon is about to share requires privacy. As he approaches, you can't help but feel a knot of worry forming in your stomach, bracing yourself for what's to come.

As she exits, Simon shuffles over, his posture a stark contrast to his usual confident stride.

In almost a whisper, laden with concern, you call out, "Simon… are you alright?"

Suddenly, he breaks down, his sobs echoing through the room. Gently, you pull him into an embrace, offering silent support and feeling his body shake with each sob. "It's okay, Simon. I'm here," you whisper, trying to soothe his anguish.

Tears fill your own eyes as you feel your brother's pain. You've never seen him like this, so vulnerable and broken; a mix of protectiveness and sorrow envelopes your heart.

As his sobs subside, you gently lift his face to meet yours. With a soft handkerchief, you carefully wipe away his tears. "Simon, what's wrong? Did something happen? You're scaring me."

Simon looks at you, a storm of emotions playing across his face as his eyes fill with sorrow. "Before I say anything… please promise me you won't do anything rash."

Perplexed but concerned, you slowly nod. "I promise."

He takes a deep breath. "It's… Daphne." he finally admits, his voice a fragile whisper.

"Daphne?" Your heart skips a beat. "What about her?"

Simon looks away in shame. "She… forced me into… into having a child with her."

Your body goes rigid, your mind racing with shock and anger. "Daphne… she… she what?"

"Y/N…" Simon grips your hands, seeking to ground you, his own trembling. "You promised. Please, just listen."

"Promised!?" Your voice rises in disbelief. "How dare you ask for calm when I've just learned that… that she…"

Simon interjects urgently, "Y/N, please…"

"…raped my brother!?" The words are like venom, filled with fury and disbelief.

Simon flinches at the word, a silent plea in his eyes as tries to calm you, but you're incensed. "It's sickening, Simon! She knew you didn't want children. You told her, and she still…"

"Y/N, I know, I know," Simon's voice cracks. "But please, don't do anything… don't make it worse."

You finally quiet down, the gravity of the situation sinking in. "She doesn't deserve you, Simon. She never did."

Through his tears, Simon begs again, "Please, don't do anything rash."

You give a non-committal response, your mind already racing with thoughts of retribution. Your heart aches at his vulnerability, but your anger towards Daphne burns fiercely. "How can she live with herself after doing this to you?"

Simon shakes his head, lost in his own turmoil. "I don't know. I just… I need some time to think."

Realizing he needs comfort more than anything, you soften. "Alright, Simon. Let's just… let's just sit for a while."

You call for Kira, giving her a specific look that she immediately understands. "Bring us the Night's Whisper tea, please."

Kira nods, aware of the tea's purpose. Night's Whisper is a special blend you created for your insomnia, known only to you and Kira. As she leaves to prepare the tea, you turn to Simon, who sits beside you, his frame shaking slightly from the weight of his emotions.

"Simon," you begin softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's always been you comforting me… It feels strange, being on this side."

Simon offers a weak smile, a ghost of his usual charm. "Yeah, roles reversed, huh?"

You sit together in silence, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. When Kira returns with the tea, the delicate aroma of Night's Whisper fills the room, offering a brief respite from the heaviness of your conversation.

As you both sip the tea, you gently probe, "Simon, tell me… how did it all start? That night with Daphne?"

He takes a deep breath, his voice a wistful whisper. "It was a normal night, just like any other. We were both getting ready for bed, the house quiet around us…"

Simon's words transport you to that night, his narrative painting a vivid picture. "I remember the coolness of the sheets, the dim light from the hallway spilling into the room. We talked a bit, just mundane things… nothing out of the ordinary…" The story unfolds, each word heavy with regret and betrayal. Simon's normally animated face is now a mask of sorrow. You reach out, placing a comforting hand over his.

The tea works its subtle magic, and Simon's eyelids begin to droop, offering him the peace and safety he so desperately needs. You need more to feel drowsy, but for Simon, it's enough to gently lull him into a peaceful sleep in the comfort of your chair. You sit with him, a silent guardian, as he drifts into a much-needed sleep.

As Simon rests, you sit beside him, a mix of emotions swirling within you. Your mind is set on protecting your brother, no matter the cost. Sitting up, you press a tender kiss on his forehead. Turning to Kira, your voice is firm, "Get my horse ready. I need to go."

As you ride your favorite horse, the wind whips through your unraveling braids, your focus laser-sharp on reaching Simon's home. You care little for the dirt staining your clothes or the disarray of your hair; all that matters is confronting Daphne.

Arriving at the house, you bypass the maid, your steps resolute and swift. Daphne is in the common room, surrounded by her friend, Penelope, and another highborn lady. She's elegantly dressed, her light skin contrasting with her strawberry-blonde hair, styled impeccably. Her face, usually composed and serene, is animated as she speaks of a hopeful pregnancy.

You've only heard of Daphne through gossip and Simon's reluctant admissions of their arrangement. An arrangement that now reveals its ugly truth.

With swift strides, you approach her and, without a word, call her a "harlot," your hand connecting sharply with her cheek. The sound echoes in the room, drawing gasps.

Daphne recoils, her hand flying to her face in shock. "What the hell do you think you're doing?" she exclaims, her voice a mixture of anger and confusion.

"You know exactly why I'm here, Daphne," you say coldly, your voice laced with barely contained rage.

Her confusion deepens. "I have no idea what you're talking about. How dare you assault me in my own home?"

"You've done far worse in this very house," you retort sharply. "What you did to Simon…"

Daphne's expression shifts as realization dawns. "Oh, this is about Simon?" she says with a sneer. "He lied to me. He said he couldn't have children."

You can't believe what you're hearing. "He never said he couldn't. He said he wouldn't. There's a difference, Daphne. Still, a misunderstanding on your part doesn't justify what you did."

Her defiance is palpable. "I did what was right. He needed to continue his lineage. It's what anyone in our position would do."

"Please! Don't lump me with the likes of you!" You hiss out in distaste, your anger boiling over. "You had no right to take advantage of him! If you were confused, you should have talked to him, not… not violate his trust and his body!"

Penelope and the other woman watch in stunned silence, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife.

"You're twisting the situation," Daphne argues, attempting to regain her composure. "Simon is my husband. It's my duty to—"

"Duty?" you cut her off, stepping closer, towering over her. "Your duty doesn't include rape, Daphne."

She tries to meet your gaze, but there's a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. "R-Rape? You're overreacting. It's not like...not like—"

"Not like what?" you snap, grabbing her chin firmly, forcing her to look into your eyes. "Not like betrayal? Not like a violation of the deepest kind?"

Daphne's eyes widen as she gazes into yours, and for a moment, she sees Simon in you—the same eyes, the same intensity. The resemblance is uncanny, and it shakes her, the reality of her actions hitting her.

"Stay away from my brother," you command, your voice low and dangerous. "I'm serious, Daphne. If you ever try to come near him, or even attempt to justify your heinous crime one more time, you'll have to deal with me. And to the gods above, that's a threat you don't want to test."

Releasing Daphne's chin, you straighten up, your gaze sharp and unyielding. The room, once filled with the light-hearted chatter of high society, is now heavy with the weight of unsaid truths and unveiled secrets. Daphne sits there, her face a mix of shock and realization, finally understanding the depth of her transgressions.

You quickly smooth out your dress, restoring some semblance of poise to your disheveled appearance. Turning towards the other women in the room, you lock eyes with Penelope Featherington, her face a picture of shock and fascination. Beside her sits Lady Clarissa, a minor yet prominent figure in your social circle, known for her penchant for gossip and extravagant hats.

With a flourish of mock politeness, you offer them a sweet, yet blatantly sarcastic smile. "Ladies," you say, your voice laced with faux cheerfulness, echoing with underlying scorn.

Executing a curtsey with exaggerated grace, the irony of the gesture hangs heavy in the air. Penelope, the voice behind Lady Whistledown, seems at a loss for words, her usual knack for capturing society's secrets momentarily stilled. Lady Clarissa, on the other hand, looks utterly bewildered, her eyes darting between you and Daphne, trying to grasp the full scope of the scandal unfolding before her.

Straightening up, you hold their stunned gazes for a moment, letting the impact of your actions resonate. Then, without another word, you turn on your heel and stride out of the room. Each step is measured and deliberate, echoing with the resolve of someone who has just fiercely defended a loved one.

As you leave, the room remains in stunned silence, the ladies left to ponder the events that just unfolded. Your heart is heavy with the burden of what you had to do, but it's buoyed by the knowledge that you've done what was necessary to protect Simon. The walls of the grand house seem to close in on you as you make your way out, the echoes of high society's hollow pretenses fading behind you.

lololo i hope you guys enjoyed, my bby simon deserved more frfr 🥹❤️❤️

#simon basset #bridgerton #saltfic #siblings #simon x reader #bridgerton insert #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #‧̍̊˙˚˙xaniwrites-simon basset