#the bloody viscount

[aphroditelovesu]

The Bloody Viscount - II

— summary: You had fallen in love with Viscount Bridgerton and he had fallen in love with you. The marriage seemed perfect, but then why did Anthony Bridgerton always come home late and bloodstained?

— gender: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, kidnapping, angst, fluffy, dub-con (?), possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!anthony bridgerton x female!reader.

— word count: 1,705.

— tag list: @will-delete-this-later-probably, @cayt0123, @flowercrowns-goodvibes, @czarinera, @remuslupinwifee

— prologue, chapter 1;

Chapter 2

''Viscount Bridgerton was seen dancing with Lady (Y/N) (L/N) at Lady Danbury's ball last night. I have no information on how she had the cunning to attract Lord Bridgerton's attention, yet. He seemed quite enamored with his partner, dare I say. Will we have a Viscountess soon? After all, who better to play the role of viscountess than the diamond of the season?

Chronicles of the Society of Lady Whistledown, April 27, 1813.

''Ah!'' Your mother's scream of happiness was hard to ignore. You were trying to embroider some flowers, but with your mother's constant shouting it was difficult to concentrate.

That's because you were in separate rooms.

''(Y/N)!'' She shouted your name. Sighing, you got up from the couch and placed your unfinished embroidery aside. You smoothed your light blue dress so she wouldn't scold you and went to the dining room.

''Yes, mom?'' You asked as you entered the dining room, where your parents were together. Your father was drinking a cup of tea and your mother had Lady Whistledown's newspaper open.

''Have you read today's Whistledown?''

You shook your head in denial.

''Well then, read it!''

You fight the inner urge to scoff. She always scolded you every time she saw you reading, but you suppressed your words. You sat down on the padded chair and began to read.

What you had read did not please you in the same way it had pleased your mother.

'Isn't this wonderful?'' Your mother looked at your father.

He cleared his throat, ''I suppose.''

She wasn't even listening to his words, ''Our daughter has captivated a viscount! Imagine what this could do for us?'' She rambled.

''Mom...'' You sighed.

''This is perfect! You will be a perfect viscountess.''

You sank into the chair, wanting to hide. She wouldn't listen to you. She never listened. She seemed very happy with the idea of being part of the british aristocracy.

''Lady Whistledown has been writing about you, brother.''

Anthony looked at Benedict who was drinking tea and biscuits. He frowned at him.

''Really?'' Anthony muttered disinterestedly, looking at his gathered family. His mother was sitting on the couch with Hyacinth, Francesca, Gregory and Eloise. Colin and Benedict were beside him.

Damn Whistledown always wrote about him. He just wanted to find out who the damn woman was and choke her.

Until death, preferably.

''Apparently you found your viscountess.'' Benedict teased, sharing a knowing look with Colin.

His mother turned her face towards them the moment the word “Viscountess” left Benedict’s mouth. Anthony mentally cursed him.

Anthony knew who they were talking about and as much as it irritated him, they were telling the truth. He had found his viscountess and was determined to marry her.

Lady (Y/N). She was quite lovely and captivated him in a way no woman ever had. He wanted to make her his wife.

And he would.

''Is it true?'' Colin asked.

Anthony rolled his eyes. Benedict held back a laugh.

''Yes. I'm going to marry Lady (Y/N) (L/N).''

He ignored it when his mother looked at him, curious and shocked. He ignored his brothers' curious looks. All he thought about at that moment was her. Beautiful and wonderful, dressed in white at an altar.

All perfect for him. Perfect for him to ruin.

The park was beautiful and full, as always. Looking around, you saw several debutantes and suitors, with their mothers at their heels. You liked Hyde Park, it was a beautiful and comfortable place.

Well, it tends to be when your mother isn't on your heels.

You loved her. You really loved her. But sometimes you wish you didn't depend on her, that you didn't have to deal with all of this. It's suffocating.

And hearing her talk about the viscount didn't make you excited. And you didn't even like it. He was an attractive man and your dance at Lady Danbury's ball was something special.

You admitted all of this, but...

But you knew how to handle it right. You didn't even know if he was really interested in you. You knew his reputation, how he was a libertine and that didn't make you comfortable at all.

You would like to marry for love, or at least to a gentleman who did not have such a reputation as the viscount possessed. It was unlikely to happen, but you couldn't give up hope.

Sighing, you looked around.

You and your mother were sitting on a picnic blanket spread out on the lush green lawn of Hyde Park. You were sitting between some pillows that had been placed and drinking a glass of lemonade.

Near you were the Featherington's. You waved at Penelope when she looked at you and, seemingly embarrassed, she smiled and waved back.

"So, she said- (Y/N)!" You turned your scared head to your mother, "Are you even listening to what I'm saying?"

No, you weren't.

"I'm sorry mom."

She rolled her eyes, "As I was saying..." You didn't even bother to listen to her. You looked over at the Featherington's and saw Miss Eloise Bridgerton talking to Penelope.

You didn't pay much attention.

Until you heard that voice. That damn voice that haunted your dreams last night.

"Lady (Y/N) (L/N)."

You stood up quickly, smoothing down your dress. You gave a small curtsy, "Lord Bridgerton."

He looked impeccable as always. You couldn’t help but blush at the intensity of his gaze on you. You felt your body tremble a little when he took your hand and kissed your right hand, gently and kind.

"Lord Bridgerton!" Your mother quickly stood up and greeted him.

"Lady (Y/M) (L/N)." Anthony took your mother's gloved hand and gave it a polite kiss.

"It's a pleasure to see you here."

"My mother insisted that I accompany her." He replied.

"Oh, is Lady Violet here?"

Anthony nodded, "She's right there." He pointed out to his mother that he was talking to Lady Danbury.

"I see." Your mother muttered, looking at the two women vehemently.

"I would like to ask your permission to walk with Lady (Y/N)." You choked on his words.

Your mother's eyes perked up.

"Of course. (Y/N) would love to walk a bit."

You mentally rolled your eyes. But your mother's reprimanding look made you stiff.

Anthony reached his arm out to you and without much of a choice, you hooked his arm with yours.

You tried to ignore the shiver the contact brought you.

With your mother in the behind, you and the viscount began walking through the park in silence at first.

"Does my presence make you uncomfortable?" He asked suddenly.

You shook your head quickly.

"No. It's not that. I just... I get lost in my thoughts sometimes." Your words were not lies.

"Good." That's all he said.

You kept your attention on the flowers and trees in front of you. All very beautiful, well-groomed and full of life.

"It's very beautiful, isn't it?" You murmured to a small bed of roses.

Anthony followed your gaze and nodded.

"Do you like flowers?" You knew it was probably a silly question to ask a man, but you didn't care.

Anything was better than the silence that had become uncomfortable.

"I have nothing against them." You laughed a little. He smiled and continued, "But I think hyacinths are beautiful."

"They are."

Anthony let go of your hand and went to a white rose bush, he picked up the flower and removed its thorns. You looked at him confused, until he handed you the rose.

You felt your heart speed up at such a gesture. It was the first time you received flowers from someone and you never realized how much you wanted flowers until you received them.

"T-Thank you, Lord Bridgerton."

"Lady (Y/N)." He took on a serious tone and you were alarmed, "You can call me Anthony."

"That wouldn't be appropriate..."

When he approached you and touched your free hand, your breathing became heavy. This was wrong. You shouldn't be this close.

"I think I've made my intentions pretty clear." He whispered, looking straight into your eyes. "I believe I've made it clear that I want to court you."

You couldn't respond.

"I want you to call me Anthony..." He murmured, his breath very close to your face, "Because I want to become your husband."

You weren’t sure if you could breathe.

''I...'' You swallowed, pulling away a little.

Anthony frowned but didn't protest.

You coughed and squeezed the rose a little tighter.

"I think we need to go back."

He watched you like a predator watched its prey. He remained silent for a few minutes before nodding.

"Of course. It's getting late." He offered you his arm and you took it.

The walk back to where your mothers were was silent and under the watchful eyes of other people.

You just wanted to lie down and not have to deal with the interrogation your mother would do later.

Anthony couldn't sleep.

He tried and tried. He changed position several times, but sleep never came.

His mind was stuck on you.

How he had touched you. Even though it wasn't a direct touch, due to the glove you were wearing, he still thought.

He thought about what it would be like to slip on that glove and feel your skin against his.

Anthony tried to fight the feelings, the desires that were growing but he couldn't. All he found himself thinking about was kissing you, tasting your skin and touching you in places you had never been touched.

So pure. So inocent. So virginal.

His. His perfect diamond.

It was these thoughts that brought him to climax in the silent and lonely night in his room.

He caressed himself thinking about what you would look like under those dresses, the expressions you would make when he was inside you. How you would moan his name when you reached your own climax.

It was these thoughts, these mental images that caused him to moan your name like a prayer as he released himself into his hand, making it dirty.

Anthony closed his eyes, breathing deeply.

He needed to marry you soon.

— lady l: What did you think of the chapter? I hope you liked it, I'm sorry for the delay and any errors there were! Feel free to give me your feeback. Drink water and I love you you all! ❤️

[halcyon-and-elysian]

[theoasiswinds]

Yeah right now, not a big Erik fan, but it's good story good story, gotta keep telling myself that.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

Dragon Age really peaked with Loghain as an antagonist, and it sucks because Meredith was right there. But unfortunately, she was heavily underutilized and it drives me nuts.

Y'know, when Loghain says everything he did was for Fereldan, I believe him. When Meredith says everything she did was for Kirkwall, I roll my eyes and say, "Mmhmm, sure, I totally believe Kirkwall is your first priority. Your head definitely isn't shoved up your own ass."

Her words never match her actions, so why should I believe anything she says?

She claims she's not a tyrant, but she breaks Chantry law frequently to make harrowed mages tranquil over petty things. She's executed mages at random to make an example of them. She lets her templars do whatever they want to the mages... but y'know, she's definitely not a cruel, oppressive leader or anything.

She claims she keeps Kirkwall safe from dangerous blood mages, but remind me, who actually stopped Quentin? The blood mage who murdered several women, including Leandra, so that he could stitch them all together to recreate his dead wife? Oh right, it was Hawke who put a stop to that, not Meredith or her templars because none of them believed Emeric or put in the actual effort to do their job.

She claims she has to enact the Rite of Annulment after the Chantry blows up because the people will demand justice... as if she didn't already send for permission to carry out the rite at the beginning of Act 3. If you wanted to give the people justice and blood, you'd demand to publicly execute Anders, the one who actually did it. Why pretend to be sympathetic and patient when you wear your bloodlust on your sleeve?

My interpretation of Meredith has always been that she's self-righteous and egotistic. Maybe she didn't start out that way; I'm aware that her backstory involves her sister turning into an abomination who then murdered her family and 70 more people, all because Meredith's parents didn't send her to the circle in the first place. This left Meredith an orphan and that's why she has such a strong and harsh opinion of magic. I mean, fair enough. I'm not going to pretend like that's not understandable.

But, I think there came a point where it stopped being about protecting Kirkwall from magic, and it become more about how much power Meredith could grasp in her iron fist, and then abusing it to prove herself in charge. And no, it's not the corruption of the red lyrium; Meredith was corrupted long before she got her hands on that idol.

I mean, c'mon-- she wears a goddamn replica of Andraste's crown, okay? Meredith really believes herself on the same level as Andraste. Do you want to tell her, or should I, that if Andraste ever came back and witnessed the bullshit that happened in Kirkwall, she'd run Meredith through herself?

Hate to break it to you lady, but the Maker isn't going to make you his new bride because you murdered an entire tower of mages.

And it drives me nuts because she has the foundation to surpass Loghain as most interesting DA antagonist. But just like with a lot of things in DA2, there wasn't enough time dedicated to her. What do you mean I only get to talk to this lady at the end of Act 2 and in Act 3? You spend nearly two acts building her up and that's it?

Oh and don't even get me started on how underutilized Orsino was because oh my god-

[hiddenpxpercuts]

@mastcrmiind​ (Enola)

“First off, what in the hell was happening last night? I swear I thought the town had gone insane. I went home, because I hadn’t found you and didn’t want to risk you or myself getting hurt.” Tewksbury replied with a sigh. “Anyway, how are you?”

[lqveharrington]

My Wife | A.B.

summary: It was arranged for you and Anthony to marry for convince, but it seems as if the both of you find it much more than just a marriage of convince.

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

includes: use of she/her pronouns, minimal use of Y/N, kissing, mentions of sex, some angst

a/n: i’ve been watching too much bridgerton and reading too much books to not write about him

After being wed and having one of the best wedding lunches, the new viscountess and Viscount Bridgerton found themselves with a dilemma. Although the two had known each other for quite some time before having to wed, they had not considered how they truly felt for one another. They merely saw each other as close friends through the years. So when their wedding night came — along with the added nights of their honeymoon — the newly wed couple did not know what was to come of them.

“You mustn’t leave us yet!” Hyacinth wraps her arms around your middle, smiling brightly toward her newest sister-in-law. “I still have so many things I need to ask you and so little time!”

“I’ll be back in a month, Hyacinth.” You press a kiss to her temple and squeeze her in your arms. You tuck one of her curls behind her ear and rub her cheek. “Besides, I’ve seen you grow into an amazing young woman so far, I doubt it’ll change in one month.”

She happily takes the compliment — albeit shyly — and took your hands in her. She swings them by her side and looks at you with all seriousness. “You must promise to be back in a month. No more and no less.”

“I promise.” You give her a soft smile. It wasn’t uncommon for Hyacinth to make you promise such things, she truly loved you even before you were betrothed to her eldest brother. You squeeze her hands gently, giving her a reassuring gaze. “But you must promise me that you’ll tell me all those stories of your adventures when I come back.”

“Of course.” She gives you a bright grin.

You give her an equally bright smile as she wraps her arms around you one last time before letting go, off to bother Gregory. The young Bridgerton boy gave you a hug, murmuring softly about how much he’d miss you before following his younger sister to stand by the front gates. They both were truly lights in the Bridgerton family, and you were happy that they both officially became a siblings to you. Even after practically raising them along side Anthony and Violet.

You move to walk over to the carriage when Eloise rushes over to you, eyes glazed and puffy.

“Eloise?” You stand in front of the young woman, catching her wipe her tears and sniffle. “Are you alright?” You bring a hand up to wipe her tears, giving her a look of remorse.

“I’m not bloody fine.” She sadly chuckled before pulling you into a tight hug. Eloise buried her head into your shoulder, sniffling loudly. “I can’t believe you married my prick brother.”

You quickly embraced the brunette, holding her close as her tears were soaked up by your white dress. You rubbed her back softly, murmuring a quiet response. “I can’t believe you’re crying for me and not Anthony.”

“Like I said, he’s a prick.” Eloise wiped her face with her bare hand, no decorum whatsoever. You handed her a handkerchief, nodding when she thanked you. She glanced back at the carriage awaiting you and Anthony before meeting your eyes again. “When I was younger, I thought that the easiest way for you to become my sister was to marry into the family.”

You listened intently, rubbing her shoulder.

“I didn’t think that you needed to marry after you helped raise us. You were practically family. I guess I never saw Anthony nor Benedict enough to marry such an amazing woman.” She fiddled with the bow at the front of her dress as she explained her thoughts for you. “When you came over one day and told us you were getting married to dear old Anthony… I think I was elated that you would really be our sister.” She looked up at you again. “I was happy that you and him came to your senses and that you would become the new Viscountess.”

Your eyes widened slightly. You forgot that no one else other than Anthony and your father knew that marriage was for convience. That the marriage was for the Bridgerton heir. Quickly, you mask your face. “I’ll let your mama handle being Viscountess for as long as she wants. I still have much to learn about that role.”

“Nonsense, you learned so much about it when you came over to help with Gregory and Hyacinth.” She nudged your side before pulling you into one last hug. “I won’t keep you long because Anthony keeps glaring over, but I truly believe you would be the best Viscountess the ton will ever see.” She pauses and looks over at her mother. “Well, besides mama.”

You shake your head with a playful grin, “I’ll see you in a month, El.”

She smiles softly as you step away to your carriage. You soften your gaze as you look back at her and the rest of the Bridgerton family. They were practically your second family and now they truly were family. You gave them a short curtesy for being a home to you when an arm wrapped around your waist. Without even looking, you knew who was next to you.

“Are you all done with your goodbyes?” Anthony teases, recounting how each of his siblings had a personal farewell from you. “I want my wife back.”

You scrunch your nose at his teasing words as he lays his hand out to help you into the carriage. “Jealous, Viscount Bridgerton?” You steady yourself as you enter the carriage, hand delicately placed in his. You adjust yourself in the carriage, pushing strands of hair off your face.

He squeezes your hand as he takes a seat next to you. He gave you a gentle look, eyes roaming around your face. “I would never be jealous of my siblings. Besides you’re stuck with me, Viscountess Bridgerton.”

You send him a soft smile at his words before waving toward the Bridgerton family once more as the carriage pulled away. You lean your head on Anthony’s shoulder like you usually did when you were younger, keeping your hand in his.

“You know, you don’t need to bow down to them.” Anthony gave a short peck to your head, rubbing his thumb on your hand.

You hum before speaking, “Your family has earned my respect over many years. I owe them at least one bow before I’m officially the Viscountess.”

He continues to rub your hand as he processes your words.

As the trek to Aubrey Hall began, you kept your hands intertwined with Anthony’s the entire time, occasionally one of you squeezing the other’s hand. You spoke mindlessly about the recent books you’ve read or how the visits to the modiste went with his sisters. You honestly did everything to keep your mind off from the impending wedding night that was to fall on the both of you.

And as if he read your mind, Anthony did the same. While he listened intently to your words, he added comments where he deemed it necessary and rubbed soft circles into your hand when he asked for more information. He would also tell his own tales, although they ranged from being drunk with his brothers to filing papers.

The tension between the both of you became apparent as you started to feel warmth lingering on your skin from his touch. It became even more ignited when you saw how he looked at you. He gave you such an amorous gaze, like you hung the stars up just for him.

You arrived at Aubrey Hall during nightfall, the lights outside just being lit by the staff already waiting for the both of you. No matter how many times you saw the place, you marveled at how beautiful it was.

Anthony stepped out of the carriage and dusted himself off before extending his hand for you to take. He led you through the house where the both of you would be staying, your things arriving well before your carriage came.

You let go of Anthony’s hand as you sat in front of the vanity, gently taking your earrings out and your jewelry when you saw him staring at you intensely. You raised a brow and opened your mouth to comment on it when he spoke.

The both of you quietly laughed at the unexpected mixing of your voices. You finished pulling all your jewelry off and stood to face him properly. He nodded for you to go first, taking your hand in his again.

“Anthony…” You say softly and thumb his pulse. “Can I ask you something?”

He hummed and met your eyes, creasing his brows when he saw the hesitation in them. “What is it?”

“I… You…” You pause, looking away and spinning your wedding ring anxiously. You rubbed your face before continuing, slowly meeting his eyes. “Did you truly only agree to marry me for convenience? For an heir to the Bridgerton name?”

Anthony let go of your hand and rubbed his jaw, sighing. “Yes… And no.”

You looked at him in confusion before he spoke again.

“I knew I had to marry someday. I thought it would merely be for an heir, but mother wanted it to be of love since Daphne found her true match.” Anthony chuckled softly at the fond memory of his sister in a now very happy marriage. “I wasn’t too sure how love with someone other than family was supposed to feel like. I wasn’t sure exactly how I was supposed to find someone to marry for love.”

The idea plagued your mind. You never knew what love from a significant other was supposed to feel like either. You knew love from your family and what the Bridgertons’ had shown you.

“I saw how mother was with father when he was still… I never really felt it.” Anthony gazed into your eyes with something you couldn’t place. “Not until recently. You,” He sucked in a small breath before continuing. “You lit up a room whenever you came by and my siblings adored you, I adored you.” He cupped your cheek softly. “There were countless nights where I couldn’t sleep because I knew you were available for any other man of the ton and you only saw me as a friend. A friend from childhood.”

You parted your mouth slightly at the confession, feeling the heat from his hands.

“When your father came up to me and proposed the marriage with you, I thought it couldn’t be bad. I would marry the woman who stuck with me my entire life. I accepted for the convenience of it all, but I truly felt more even before this arrangement was brought up.” Anthony brought his other hand up to your face and stared intently, rubbing the apples of your cheeks.

“What are you…” You trail off as he gives you a look to listen.

“I’m saying I love you, Y/N. With all my heart and soul. You showed me what love was and how it was supposed to feel.” Anthony says before pulling your face to his and capturing your lips.

You let out a small noise of surprise before melting into the kiss, letting your arms wrap behind his neck. He trailed a hand down to your hip and pulled you closer to him as you smiled into the kiss.

Panting, you part from the mind searing kiss and rest your forehead on his, eyes shut. “Anthony?”

Anthony slowly nodded, “Yes?”

“I love you too.” You kiss him again.

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[skyrigel]

Call it what you want || A.B x reader

Pairing: Anthony bridgerton x reader

Summary: hiding in Anthony's study doesn't help when you are bane of his existence, ofcourse he would know and get mad for driving him crazy.

Warning: injury, blood, heavy makeout, mutual pinning, no use of y/n ( ew.) Gn!reader, mild angst :)

Rigel's note 🪩: am I reading bridgerton books again ? Yes, will anything stop me from fretting over lord bridgerton ? Nope.

Words : 1.4 k ( of Anthony being unholy)

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" You seem distracted my lord." Her voice was smooth and furry but it was almost too good to be, a pretendence. You clamped your mouth even harder when you heard Anthony groan, he was clearly irritated at something.

The table under which you were hiding creaked as Anthony might have stomped his glass. With the force it hit the wood, it cracked and must have drawn blood because Anthony huffed and the other woman almost screamed.

" My lord ! " The woman exclaimed, her tone was half concerned half frustrated, she must have been coming to his aid because lord Anthony cleared his throat soundly.

" No, no...you go outside, I will be back." He said curtly, " please." He added as a small tsk escaped his mouth.

You prayed to every god, every almighty you knew to make Anthony go out too, why was he staying back and if she had also then what would have happened to your holy heart—

You thought train came to an halt when Anthony's voice boomed across the room.

" Get out." Anthony was calm but it was only the calmness that followed before a catastrophic storm, oh shit.

Maybe it's not you, maybe it was meant for someone else and maybe—

" Are you coming out on you own or do you want me to come and get you ? " You swore you heard a glint of amusement but that could be trick of your heart as it was so close to exploding, it punched against your ribs and your breath almost hinged in your throat as you dipped your head to come out from your confined space.

Stupid, so, so stupid, thinking to escape your feelings as lord Viscount smiled and winked the night away only to end up in his office and it was so close to watching your own heart broke into a thousand small pieces.

Your knees buckled as you stood straight, smoothing your dazzling attire as Anthony gaze peirecd you, something dark covered his iris and he looked so smug with his bloodied hand tending to a glass full of whiskey, his legs sprawled across the couch in the most unholiest way but you shouldn't think about that, also, he looked very, very, mad.

" So-"

" It was a mistake! " You beat him, blurting as heat crept up slowly and you wished it wasn't as shaky as it sounded.

" Mistake ?! " He drawled unamused, his brow furrowing together as he stood up, you missed the display but there were other pressing matters.

" Your hand—"

" You, you and your lavender scent ! " He snapped, " what do you think you were doing here ? " His mouth was parted as if he was experiencing something wrecking inside him.

" What—" you began but his eyes snapped at you, like a predator and he fisted his hand that was too painful to watch as drops of red hot fluid dripped down.

" Why do you torment me ? You like it, don't you ?! " His eyes were shining, he swallowed hard at the lump forming in his throat and you felt your mouth going dry, instinctively you licked your lips and that may have fueled whatever Anthony was accusing you of, another entire torment.

" Do not." He bellowed, anger, maybe, something blazing reached his eyes and it was bright enough to turn your bones to ashes and blood a mere vapour, " don't do this to me, no, no, no ....day and night, whenever and forever, stop this torture, stop this haunting ! "

" What have I done Anthony ? " You felt your chest heaving and a soft choked noise escaped your throat, Anthony gave a strangled laugh as he mouthed, what have I done, so smugly that you felt an almost urge to wipe that from him, tear it from his lips with your own and it scared you so much that you tore your gaze from his burning eyes to his bleeding hand, still bleeding.

" Stop." You told him as he tried to pull away from your touch, " you will hurt yourself my lord." You hoped it was a glare you were aiming at, Anthony gave you a humour me look but gave in to you.

You slid out your handkerchief, folding it in a triangle as you pulled it around his palm, whatever noises he made were too distracting.

" I beg you." It came as whsiper, a pleading.

You tied a knot not hard and not loose as you glanced at Anthony, already drinking you in.

" What have I done Anthony ? " You asked him again, feeling the coiling in your stomach as it latched when Anthony brought his other hand, the uninjured that wasn't in your hands, to caress your jaw.

His thumb curved around your chin as his lips parted in a gasp, " You ask me what have you done ? Yet you do it all the time, drive me crazy..." He exhaled as you looked at him with blown eyes and heavy lids, his thumb ghosted the corner of your mouth, your face was suddenly too close to him and it was just mere inches, the distance was everything and nothing and you were suddenly too aware of everything that was pressing into Anthony and the rest hardly mattered.

" You look at me with those pretty eyes and say those mean words of yours with that soft mouth...how can I stop you ? Invading all my dreams and turning my world upside down ! " His thumb pressed upon your closed mouth as you reflexively parted, his soft pink pad wet from the salvia gathering up.

He smiled ans hummed along, his knuckles lifting the base of your base, where your chin met your throat.

" Do you have any idea ? " He almost mocked, his word were almost whsipers while your breath were apology shot in the dark, did he not know how much he was to be blamed ?

" You torment me just the same." You looked at him with stars in your eyes, your light fingers caressed his injured hand's wrist as Anthony raised a brow. He was very amused.

" You don't understand, you never do ! " You almost cried as tears swelled up in your eyes, you hated the way your bones tugged at your skin, Anthony shaked his head as he tried to speak, open his mouth only to close it again.

You watched him desperately as you wanted this torment to end now, no more of this ache that your carried with in your soul.

" My lord....Anthony." you croaked, plea, begging, asking, needing, and somewhere between sinning and wanting, call it what you want, the space between you and him disappeared as his lips found yours and it was as if kissing the sun, it burnt but oh the glea, the feeling that nothing mattered but this, like fireworks bursting in thousand orbs of sparkle and something inside you wavered but Anthony held you, like it would be over, gone and dead between void if he let go of his hold on your waist and you felt the same as you pressed your lips closer and closer, a moment of cosmic love. Anthony knew what he was doing as you flicked your lips to part with his tongue, licking over your lower lip as if it were his religion, so sacred and holy, his hands pulling you closer and it wasn't even possible the way he swooped you in.

" An..thony ! " You half moaned, half yelped as he nipped at your lower lip, not hard to draw blood but hard enough to swell the soft skin, his nose grazed your cheeks, sniffing over the lavender's scent that short circuited his brain.

He tried to tease, to deprive you the taste of his lips as he pulled for a breath but he was too intoxicated and dipped for another passionate kiss that felt like flying too high and just dropping, down, down and down.

" Stop this torment..." You exhaled as his hand pulled your whole body in his lap, another carding through your hair, whispering soft words of praise that shouldn't have the effect it was having own you.

Anthony pulled to look right into your eyes, his eyes were dazed a similar flush bloomed across his beaming skin.

His uninjured hands slowly crept along your thighs as he mouthed with the devilish mouth of his, " I will."

[fayes-fics]

Friends & Family

Friends + Masterpost

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Modern AU

Summary: Anthony has a very important question to ask, but the universe appears to be conspiring against him. Threequel. Set a year after the first fic in this series

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors DNI. Public sexual acts, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, woman on top, back-to-back orgasm. Also, on a non-sexual front, all sorts of emotions and thwarted proposals.

Word Count: 5.4k

Authors Note: This is VERY, VERY belated request fill for the divine @colettebronte. She has had the patience of a saint as I have grappled with this request for many months. I hope this is worth the wait, but to be honest, after this delay, I'm not sure anything could be. Thank you to @sorryallonsy for betaing. Please enjoy <3

I

“Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, what is this??” 

There is an undignified yelp, and a spatula drops to the floor with a loud splat. Apparently, he didn't hear you come in.

“Bloody hell! You scared the shit out of me… And what is the full-name business all about?” he exclaims, spinning around, holding his hands aloft as if in a hostage situation. The sight is made even funnier by the fact he is wearing one of your novelty aprons, complete with floppy bunny ears.

You have walked in from afternoon coffee with old friends to find your kitchen in absolute disarray. Pots, pats on every surface, opened containers, the contents of your spice cupboard all pulled out and haphazardly dotted around. There is a large pile of reusable shopping bags with half-open veggies in and what looks like a sourdough loaf cut open and likely going stale next to the complete wrong knife for the job at hand. There is almost no worktop surface that is left unused or covered in some sticky-looking residue from god knows what. 

“I said yes to you making dinner while I was out; I did not say you could conduct some kind of controlled explosion in my kitchen,” holding your hands up in exasperated resignation. 

Frankly, it’s a mystery why he offered to make dinner in the first place; you have never seen the man so much as boil an egg in all the years you have known him. And certainly not in the twelve months you have loved him. His idea of cooking is usually stopping at Whole Foods to pick up a hot rotisserie chicken.

He walks towards you with that adorable puppy dog expression, his perennial get-out-of-jail-free card. You pick a fleck of what you think is broccoli from his hair as he reaches you.

“Points for effort?” he pouts, a tiny smile toying with the corners of his mouth, seeking forgiveness. You let him pull you into his arms and kiss your cheek. “Do you still love me?” he teases, pulling back to shoot you that perfect-toothed charming grin.

“I’ll love you even more if you tidy all this up,” you counter, raising an eyebrow as he chuckles. “Although I’m intrigued. You have never once made dinner since we’ve been dating; why now?”

“Well, I wanted to do something special…” he says pointedly, pulling away to switch off the hob when there is a slight burning smell in the air.

“What’s so special about today?” You frown.

“Really?” He spins around to look at you, a slight pout as you wrack your brains. “What happened on this date one year ago?”

Ohhh…

You feel bad you had completely not realised it. Exactly one year ago to this day, you got together after many years of combative flirting. Heart melting in your ribcage as you suddenly realise this is him attempting to cook an anniversary dinner for you. 

“You secret romantic, you,” you murmur, contrition and affection burning inside as you can't help but seek his touch.

“Don’t let anyone know,” he jests as he pulls you into his arms again and kisses your temple. “I have a reputation to uphold….”

“Of course…” you giggle, resting your head on his shoulders as you sway together in the bombsite that was your kitchen. “And here was me thinking you would do something far more risqué…”

“Such as..?” he prompts, intrigued by where your thoughts have gone.

“Oh, I don't know….” you run your fingers into his lush hair, pressing into him. “Maybe take me back to that same penthouse your friend owns. Maybe make it to that overpriced sofa this time…” his eyes flash dark and dangerous, licking his lips, and you feel compelled to continue, “Maybe even that enormous bed. And the balcony….”

He groans gently as his mind no doubt fills with the same images as yours. “Fuckkkkkkk….” he rues, “I should have done that. I’m definitely no Gordon Ramsey….”

You laugh and run your hands up his biceps. “Maybe not. But I do have a suggestion…” you offer, dropping your voice a little smokier.

“Tell me…” Anthony rumbles, nudging your cheek until your lips brush, fingers digging into your flesh where he holds you.

“Let's work up an appetite and then order from our usual. Tidying up can wait…” you whisper, mouth ghosting over his, fingers opening the top button of his shirt and toying with the patch of chest hair.

“You’re fucking perfect.”

You squeal gently as he picks you up and strides towards your bedroom. The little navy velvet box burning a hole in his suit jacket pocket can wait for another day. Perhaps.

—

II

During a boring editorial meeting the following morning, your phone buzzes in your lap.

AB: Can you be at mine at 7pm tonight?

Y/N: Yes… but why?

AB: All will be revealed 😉 

AB: Come hungry for delicious protein 

Y/N: Filthy. I like it. 😉😛

AB: OMG NO! Not THAT. Bloody hell…

Y/N: Shame…

AB: Well, okay, maybe a bit of that. Afterwards. 😉

Y/N: *victory dance* 💃 

AB: I love you, you filthy animal 😛😘

—

You walk into Anthony’s kitchen at precisely 7pm that evening to find some very posh-looking man in a bowtie pouring some wine into the good glasses. The ones you are too scared to use. 

“What is all this?” Your curiosity piqued.

“Cooking was a disaster, so this is recompense,” Anthony greets you with a hug and a brief kiss on the lips. 

He looks handsome in his usual crisp shirt, undone just enough at the chest to be distracting, and custom-tailored trousers that cling to him just right. It takes some effort to tear your eyes away from him, but when you do, you now see a smorgasbord of cheese on his expansive, pristine white marble kitchen island, with fruit, crackers and all manner of chutneys.

“Oooh, lovely. Fancy cheese and wine night?” you guess.

“Indeed,” he replies warmly. “Baxter here is a world-renowned expert on such things. He will be taking us on a cheese world tour paired with the very best wines.”

“Sounds lovely. Thank you,” you nod to the man, then crowd into Anthony again. “The anniversary of our first proper date?” you guess, kissing his jaw, enjoying the slight rasp of stubble there.

“The lady is learning…” he ribs genially, taking your hand and pulling you along to take a seat on one of the stools.

Baxter speaks engagingly and knowledgeable, and admittedly, every cheese and wine pairing is exquisite. Just a bite from each, but after 10 countries, you are a little tipsy, leaning into Anthony and shooting him goofy smiles, resting your chin on his shoulder, cheekily grabbing his thigh where the fabric pulls taut right over his quad muscle so temptingly. You want to climb into his lap and wrap around him.

After an hour, the man politely takes his leave, mentioning he has left some more “adventurous” choices in sealed boxes in the fridge. 

“What does adventurous cheese mean?” you tipsily ponder after the man has left. “Do you think it's abseiled down a mountain?”

Anthony laughs accommodatingly at your goofiness, taking your hand and leading you outside onto the balcony. “I assume strong-flavoured maybe. But I’m quite sure it's all bravado,” he assures.

You lean on the railing, looking down upon the Thames below, all of London seeming reflected in its inky depths, a thousand lights twinkling in its choppy waves, like a sea of stars beneath you.

“I could never tire of this view,” you declare wistfully, a warmth behind your ribs as he crowds into your back, placing a light blanket around your shoulders.

“It is yours to enjoy for as long as it is mine,” he breathes into your hair, kissing your temple and wrapping his arms around your waist.

You sway together gently in the breeze, your hands over his, pushing back into his warm body.

“I love you,” you say quietly, turning to nuzzle his cheek.

“I love you too,” he responds immediately, “and I have for so long now; it feels wrong when you are not with me,” his tone ardent, gentle. “Wait here….” he whispers, a waver in his voice that makes you pause.

You wait patiently as he slips back inside, the breeze dancing through your hair as you inhale deeply and soak in the city. Although you are high above street level, the sounds are still there, like a background hum. It’s as energising as the country air at his rural ancestral home in Kent, just in a different way—so vibrant and teeming with life. 

Anthony seems to be gone for a while, so out of intrigue, you wander inside to the fridge, grab one of the containers Baxter left and take it back onto the balcony before he reappears. When you peel it open, you are taken aback by the smell. It's very pungent, even out in the open air. 

“There is an important question I wa…” Anthony freezes mid-sentence. “Dear god, what is that smell?” he exclaims, his face scrunching violently.

“Oh, I think it's the cheese Baxter left.” 

You swing the container around so it's right under his nose and watch him go white as a sheet and then double over to one side, dry heaving.

“That's disgusting!” He gags, quickly putting something small from his hand into his trouser pocket as he coughs roughly, almost bent double.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” you frown, bringing the container back to your own nose, closer than you had it before.

Then, a wave of nausea hits you, too. It smells of decay and bad feet and turns your stomach so violently that you have to grab the balcony railing to stop yourself from stumbling.

“Fuck that's terrible,” you stutter, trying hard to keep down the rich wines and cheeses you have already consumed.

“Throw it!” Anthony blurts, somewhat frantic.

“Where?” you panic, holding it away at arm's length, desperate to stay upwind of it.

“Off the fucking balcony! Fling it in the Thames! I can't even have that shit in my bins….” he yelps before another wretch doubles him over again.

Gripping the container, you fling the contents as hard as you can, watching the blob of cheese sail downwards in an arc for twelve storeys, hitting the river below with a distant but satisfying plop. You both stand there wheezing and gasping as you reseal the container immediately, fearful of any residual scent.

“Dear god, am I going to inadvertently ruin every one of these special evenings?” he grumbles under his breath, sounding more like a rhetorical question than anything.

You have no idea what he could mean, but you don’t have the capacity to ask - you have to run to the cloakroom as the mere olfactory flashback makes you nauseated.

When you reemerge ten minutes later, full of regret and needing toothpaste, you find him in his en suite bathroom in a similar fragile state. You both crawl into his bed feeling delicate, curling up foetal and holding hands across the expanse of the bed, him muttering apologies.

—

III

The following week, Anthony takes you back to the same restaurant where you had your second date, one year to the day later. Seeing the pattern in advance, you wear the beautiful little black dress he bought you recently. And you are pleased to make him temporarily tongue-tied when you slip off your coat to reveal it, whispering coquettishly in his ear that you are happy to skip dinner and return to his.

“Oh, we will,” he rumbles, a promissory note that lights a fire low in your belly.

After perusing the menu, you decide to order the same dish you had last time. You are certain everything is terrific, but you remember it being so delicious it had you making noises only Anthony usually can. Also, you are hoping for a complete repeat of the same night from a year ago. Memorably, it was the first time he managed to give you three orgasms in one night—you are very keen to repeat that. 

But rather strangely, Anthony’s energy seems slightly off, almost nervous. You can only assume it's apprehension that this night does not go as the previous two attempts at anniversary celebrations have. 

While you are sharing a delicious starter, a familiar face over the room at the bar catches your eye.

“Is that Benedict?” you frown, causing Anthony to twist in your booth and look.

“Probably,” he sighs.

You are nonplussed by his reaction, so you take it upon yourself to wave to him, to Anthony’s seeming chagrin.

When Benedict wanders over, you notice his shoulders are hunched, a shuffled gait. Not the usual mister sunshine he is.

“Hey Ben, everything okay?” you check as he pulls up nearby, hovering a little.

“I got dumped,” he exhales. “So I’m drowning my sorrows,” he explains, holding his whiskey tumbler aloft in a rueful toast.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” you grimace, knowing he has been more unlucky in love than not, which seems a shame; he’s a sweet, good-looking man but often gets used, attracted to people who take advantage of his giving nature.

“Anyway, I don’t want to interrupt your dinner…” he placates modestly, glancing at his older brother, who seems to be brooding.

“Don't be silly, you can join us,” you beckon him into the booth.

“No, he can’t,” Anthony interjects.

You frown at him. “Why not? It’s just dinner,” you dispute.

“No, it’s not; it’s our anniversary,” Anthony argues before turning to Benedict. “Brother, I love you and all, but would you kindly fuck off?” Anthony grouses, gritting his teeth.

“Anthony!” You admonish. “Don’t be a dick!” You roll your eyes. “Ignore your grouchy brother, Ben; of course, you can join us,” you offer again, seeing the hesitancy but also the sadness tugging at the corner of his eyes that means you are worried about leaving him alone.

He acquiesces, and as he wanders across to the bar to grab his jacket and join you, you scowl at Anthony. “He’s just been dumped. You could be nicer,”

“I could… just not tonight,” he says, almost harangued.

You decide not to dwell on why he seems unduly hung up on this evening’s plans, being so particular, watching him seem to fiddle with an item in his jacket pocket, then look askance across the restaurant, defeated. 

“Anthony, are you okay?” You check quietly as Benedict walks back over.

“Yeah, I just….” He sighs and finally meets your eye squarely with a tinge of sadness. “I had other plans for us tonight. Not babysitting…”

At one point during the main course, Benedict excuses himself to the bathroom. Anthony has been mostly monosyllabic, almost sulking, and you feel guilty; perhaps he did indeed have other ideas for the evening.

You shuffle around to lean into him and grab his hand, placing it high on your thigh under the table, the message unmistakable.

“We can still have our plans for later…” you whisper hotly into his ear.

He seems to perk up immediately, his hand grasping your flesh in a way that catches your breath. “You always know what to say to make me feel better…” he murmurs, at once playful and reverent.

“Touch me…” you whisper, the need for him an instant, tart taste in your mouth.

“Here, in the restaurant? With my brother coming back to join us any moment?” His tone is incredulous but unmistakably aroused.

“Yes…” you hiss, pushing his hand up higher to the junction of your thighs where you burn molten for him always.

He growls when he realises you have made another style choice, this one scandalous—no underwear.

“I’ll do more than that, you wonderful minx,” he huffs, pulling your thigh over his lap under the tablecloth. He plunges two fingers into your aching pussy and presses his thumb over your clit. You gasp and grip the table hard, just as Benedict reappears.

It certainly does wonders for Anthony’s disposition, like he is a different man now. Chatting amiably to his brother as you subtly try not to look flustered, dripping silently into his palm as he holds still. 

“Whatever you did to put this one in a better mood, thank you,” Benedict jests at one point.

“I just had to give the old grouch a hug and his favourite toy to keep him entertained,” you joke back, him not realising exactly how true that is. Anthony’s fingers flex deep inside you at your cheeky riposte, and you can feel his smirk as you have to cough to hide your moan.

“Well, thank you,” Benedict smiles, “you bring things out in my brother I never thought I would see. So whatever magic trick you are pulling, keep doing it.”

Anthony’s fingers curl hard against your g spot, and you have to laugh loudly to not scream.

“She’s the very best brother,” Anthony replies, lips brushing your temple as he flicks his thumb teasingly over your clit. “I hope one day you find someone as special as she is,” he offers, his first sympathetic noise to his brother of the evening.

“I should be so lucky,” Benedict adds quietly, tone pensive, glancing at his phone as it lights up by his elbow.

Anthony withdraws from your pussy; you whimper mutely, feeling bereft but also relieved, not sure you can act any longer. You watch as he brings those fingers up to his mouth and sucks them decadently as Benedict is distracted by his phone.

“Thank you for dessert, my love,” he thrums into your ear, “and the show,” he adds cheekily, your clit and pussy clenching, denied, so very aroused.

“Take me home right now, Anthony!” Your order is through gritted teeth, quiet but brokering no argument. 

And he does.

—

IV

A tide of relief hits you as the door to his sleek penthouse clicks softly open; tossing aside your umbrella and slipping off your shoes in the fancy hallway. It's been a taxing work day; all you can think about is climbing into the shower, then curling up and watching something mindless until Anthony gets home.

“Y/n…” 

An enticing but distant call in that familiar voice.

“Anthony?” you respond, puzzled. “I thought you would be out late tonight?” you add, wandering forward, trying to find the source.

“Change of plan….” 

You cross the open-plan lounge area with its floor-to-ceiling view across the rooftops of London. It's been more than a year of dating, and still, you aren't entirely used to the sheer scale of his place compared to yours. It feels like it takes ages to get across just his living room.

“Where are you?” you frown, hands on hips. It sounds like he's likely in the bedroom.

“Follow the sound of my voice,” he entices, and yep, it's definitely from that direction.

However, when you wander in, the room is empty, the early evening sun blazing onto the soft, luxurious white duvet on his vast bed.

“Getting warmer,” he offers, quieter now, and you recognise his voice has an echo. He can only be in his en-suite bathroom.

You round the corner into that tastefully masculine room - all slate and birch - to be greeted by a sight that makes your lungs feel too tight.

There, in his sizeable sunken whirlpool tub, is one Anthony Bridgerton. Very naked and very wet. Standing so that the bubbling waterline hugs his hips—acres of toned torso, water droplets meandering down the washboard of his stomach and glistening in the thatch of hair across his chest. You bite your lips without even realising it, shifting your stance as you feel a ripple of excitement over your skin.

“Hello, Ms y/l/n,” he preens, knowing exactly how much the sight before you makes you tongue-tied and aroused.

“Hello…” you stutter back, eyes still feasting. “What is the CEO of Bridgerton Enterprises doing taking a bath at….” you glance down to check your watch, “... 5:25 pm on a Thursday?”

“It's a special occasion…” he smirks, wading towards the edge of the tub closest to you. “I thought a bath would be nice.” 

You can't seem to look away from the wake of waves cresting his Adonis belt as he does so. The sight of something delicious just below the surface is almost hypnotic. 

“My eyes are up here, you know,” he mocks gently, tongue literally in cheek, as you cut your gaze to his triumphant face.

“Wh… what special occasion?” you manage to stumble out.

“Surely you recall what happened on this night exactly twelve months ago?” 

When you look nonplussed - frankly, you can barely remember your own name right now - he mock sighs.

“I surprised you on my way back from the airport?” he prompts.

“Oh!” you suddenly cotton on, “it's been a year since we exchanged keys!”

He nods, and a fetching beam breaks out across his face. “Ahhh, the lady remembereth,” he winks.

“So this is how you’re celebrating?” your eyes again drag covetously down his body. 

“No, this is how WE are celebrating…” he corrects and gestures towards a bottle of champagne chilling in a bucket at one corner of the tub, along with two long-stemmed flutes.

You can't help but match his grin now. “Well, I can’t find fault with that idea,” you admit, taking a step closer until you are at the edge of the tub surround.

“Hmm, I thought not,” he says silkily, closing the gap between you.

Grabbing the back of your neck with a firm hand, he draws you down into a deep, sensual kiss. His mouth claims yours. You shiver as warm water trickles down inside your top from the hand in your hair. He crowds into you, soaking your clothing with the press of his body as you kneel on the sunken tub surround.

“Oh no, this is all wet,” he feigns, tugging lightly at your sleeve, “you will just have to take it off.”

“Hmmm. I rather think that is your doing. How about you take it off?” you challenge, the banter between you never seeming to get old.

“Maybe I’ll just pull you into the water fully clothed?” he posits, raising an eyebrow.

You laugh and take a step back, revelling in his undivided attention as you strip for him, his chest rising and falling rapidly, his expression hungry; the only sounds are his panted breath and the bubbles roiling in the tub. You are down to your underwear, a new matching lacy set, as if you knew, on some subconscious level, it was a special occasion, when he lunges forward and makes you squeal as he effortlessly picks you up and hauls you into the huge tub with him. The warm, effervescent water is a balm and tonic, making your skin tingle. 

“What is the point of celebrating anything if it’s not an excuse to get naked?” he offers silkily, cupping your jaw with both palms, his wet thumbs rubbing over your cheekbones, then his lips are back, plundering, seeking, his tongue tangling with yours as his hands roam your skin, arranging so you are straddling his lap, his cock a solid press against your inner thigh.

This is indeed how you always want to celebrate every milestone of your relationship—with wonderful, sensual intimacy. Anthony pulls back from the kiss, and you stare into his rich eyes, blissfully tracing the lines of his face with fingertips as he easily unhooks your bra and pulls it gently over the rounds of your shoulders. This close-up and soaked, his face is all sharp contours and smooth, lightly tanned skin.

“You are too handsome,” your internal monologue spilling out with a light mewl as his thumbs brush your nipples.

“I love you too,” he chuckles drolly to make a point. 

“Oh yes, that too,” you append with a playful pout. Then, a more sincere “I love you.”

“Wonderful to hear,” he rumbles into your ear as his hands slide underwater to tug down your underwear. 

He pulls you deeper into his lap, your thighs pushed wide around his slender hips. His rigid cock nudges your slit promisingly, and you wait with bated breath for his much-wanted invasion. But he pauses, and you feel the curl of his smile against your cheekbone.

“Champagne?” he teases, holding still.

“Now?!” you splutter. “How about you get inside me first?”

“I thought you'd never ask,” he answers, wry and laconic. 

Any witty riposte you may have dies on your lips as he surges into your body, knowing you need no warm-up, ready for him the minute you rounded the corner of the room. 

“Happy key day,” he murmurs as your eyes flutter closed and you moan loudly, him nudging that spot that makes you so addicted to him.

“Happy key day,” your response is a ragged exhale as you adjust to his deep invasion. 

Every time it still feels like the first, like it's just too good, and you just want to cling to him and be fucked into oblivion or fuck him into oblivion. A potent, heavy feeling inside that makes you crackle with energy and feel sated at the same time.

“Fuck me, Anthony,” you sigh into his wet hair, pushing closer into his embrace, voicing your exact desires.

“With pleasure.”

You squeak as his hands grasp tight around your waist and haul you up until just his tip is still inside you, then slams you back down, a curse falling from your lips as he does. His handling is slightly rough in a way that feels perfect, his teeth glancing your earlobe before he sucks it into his mouth and bites lightly.

Then it's a wondrous carnal dance, your joint noises echoing up the slate tiles as you fuck wantonly. Taking over at one point and gripping the edge of the oversized tub, you ride him for all your worth, chasing that feeling only he, his cock, has ever given you. So addictive ever since that very first night.

“I only ever want to fuck you, always…” the words tumbling from your lips unbidden, no filter between your thoughts and mouth as you spiral higher.

Even in the full throes of passion, his expression softens as you confess it. 

“Forever?” something vulnerable in his panted tone as you rise and fall upon him.

“Forever, Anthony Bridgerton,” you vow, sensing his need to hear it, wrapping your arms tightly around his shoulders, pressing all of your being into him, wanting your bodies to be forged together somehow.

His thumb slips between your legs, and you cry out as he snags your clit perfectly, eyes rolling, feeling like a live wire.

“I need to feel it; please give it to me,” he implores desperately, thumb flicking almost violently over your engorged pearl.

It doesn't take much more, and you are fracturing around him. Crying his name, fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his shoulders as you reach that high, unable to stop slamming upon him as you flutter, your whole body spasming in pleasure but unwilling to stop. Him roaring his approval as you squeeze his cock tight, rippling around him.

“Please don't come,” you plead to him, “I need more, Anthony, more,” a wrecked sob, wanting to orgasm again. He snarls, his teeth on your cheekbone, his grip tightening around your hips, staving off his orgasm as best he can.

You grab his face and babble nonsense, saying you need his cock forever, strung out on the edge, almost a mania in your being, needing everything he can give. He pants harshly into your open-mouthed, sloppy kisses as you keep riding wound so tight like a coiled spring, wanting to be speared open by him always.

“Marry me!” he cries as you both reach that peak together, an explosion in both of your beings, feeling him come inside you harsh and deep, moaning your name like a prayer.

You collapse upon him, the bubbles of the jetted tub tickle your skin as you heave breaths, wracked and sated to your very core. A high like you have never known.

“Did you just…. propose?” you stutter as your brain comes back online, his cock still buried inside you.

“Shit…” he laments. “That was NOT how it was supposed to go! I had it all planned out!” he decries, burying his face into your shoulder where you still sit upon him.

“Anthony….” there are no other words, shock tying your tongue. 

He pulls back and looks contrite. “Please allow me a do-over?” his face so beseeching.

Raw emotion and victory crest hard in your veins, and you can't help but banter with him - as you always have, as you always will, until death do you part now.

“No, Viscount Bridgerton,” you rag, holding his face, “No do-overs. You will just have to live with the fact you proposed to me as we came together….” 

His face is a jumble of warring emotions as you realise you have kept him on tenterhooks about your answer. 

“…And you will just have to accept that I said yes with you still inside me,” you add silkily.

A handsome grin claims his whole face, relief and devotion coursing through him. “We can’t tell anyone,” he whispers as you resurface from another kiss.

“Our little secret,” you smile back as he finally slips from your body.

—

“You know I might be the first-ever Viscountess with a garden flat in Zone 3,” you chuckle, sitting in matching fluffy robes on his balcony, the sky a riot of colour as the sun sets. 

A few minutes before, he had gotten down on one knee and produced a little velvet box. You squealed and said yes again, watching transfixed as he pushed a flawless, elegant three-carat diamond onto your finger.

Anthony frowns deeply. “Err, no. You are moving in here with me,” he asserts loftily.

“I’m not selling my place!” 

“You can rent it out!” he waves dismissively.

“Urgh, tenants. Hassle.” You roll your eyes.

“Okay, fine, then we can just use it to store all of my stuff you hate, alright?” he counters, catching your gaze with a fiery challenge. Your insides ablaze that your trademark flirtatious antagonism will always be there, even once you are married.

“Oh, Viscount Bridgerton, you have a deal…” you whisper coquettish and swing off of your lounger onto his, straddling him and sealing the pact with a kiss.

“I’m just so glad I could finally make it happen.” 

You flip around and settle between his legs, your spine on his chest, lacing your hands together over your robe. “What do you mean?”

He barks a laugh you feel echo into your back. “So this is not the first time I have tried to propose to you. Remember that disastrous cooking? Attempt 1. Cheese night when we almost died? Attempt 2. Benedict interruptus? Attempt 3.” He holds up a hand before you, counting each on his fingers. “I almost gave up.”

You laugh and realise with hindsight how he seemed off kilter on those occasions, a soft ache behind your ribs in empathy. “I’m so glad you didn’t. Give up, that is,” you murmur, running your fingers over his lovingly once he lowers his hand back to your belly.

“I jest; I would never give up trying to make you my wife,” he pledges solemnly into your hair, kissing the shell of your ear. “And I hope you will never give up on me, as terrible of a husband as I will likely be….” he demures.

“I can do that, old friend…” you tease, a callback to that first night you got together.

“Less of the old,” he chides, immediately picking up your invitation, an exact repeat of your words to each other that first night you got together, heart melting as you realise he remembers the conversation word for word, too.

“I've known you my whole life, Anthony,” you continue, that conversation etched into your brain, turning back over in his arms. “You can't lie to me…”

“I never will,” he goes offscript, and you exchange laden looks. Then, a dangerous smirk takes over his face as he leans closer. “But you can handcuff me to our bed anytime,” he adds, a nod to the joke you made that night.

“You wish, you lucky fuck,” you respond, aping his line. 

He grins widely and pulls back, handing you a champagne flute from the nearby lounger table.

“From old friends to new family…” he toasts, sincere and ardent, clinking his glass softly against yours.

“Friends and family…” you smile, your diamond ring afire in the setting sun, as you take a sip and pull him in for a blistering kiss.

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[imthebadguyyy]

enchanted.

pairing • anthony bridgerton x reader

fandom • bridgerton

synopsis • you and anthony don't need words to converse.

an • mildly inspired by my coke studio binging because they're bloody amazing.

maybe it was a gift. or a lucky connection. whatever it was, you were glad it existed.

being married to a viscount meant that society had expectations. graceful, poised, calm, beautiful, intelligent. and sometimes, just sometimes, thinks could get a little overwhelming. it was perhaps your hundredth ball this season. you had decided to assist anthony in his quest to marry daphne off to someone he deemed proper enough to marry his sister. of course, it took some severe looks from you for him to reluctantly agree to let daphne actually dance with interested suitors.

having managed to convince your husband to come away for a dance (something the dowager viscountess had been most grateful for, for it meant her eldest son was away while daphne continued her quest to find a husband)

but of course it would never be that simple.

anthony bridgerton was a very, very attractive man, and every single lady in the ton new it. you'd think that his marriage to another woman would have stopped the batting eyelashes and sultry gazes, but much to your chagrin, they didn't.

if anything, they increased. hushed voices greeted you at every turn, mamas looking at you with contempt and disfavour. you were the woman who had deprived their daughters of the title of viscountess.

you could feel their gazes burning holes in the silky material of your blue dress, matching anthony's waist coat and cravat. his hands rested lightly on your waist, and interlaced with your fingers. he couldnt believe he was married to a woman like you, a woman so sweet and kind and loving and smart.

oblivious to the vicious whispers, he leaned in close to press a kiss to your forehead, watching the way you tensed and your eyebrow creased.

"is everything alright my darling?" he asked, gently squeezing your waist.

a few feet away, lady cowper leaned around to whisper something into another lady's ears, a contemptuous smile playing on her lips, cruel eyes boring into yours.

anthony caught the way your eyes looked down after meeting lady cowper's, and the first glimmer of tears in your eyes.

he hated it.

he hated how even thought he was married to the woman he loved, the ton thought it acceptable to gossip and chatter about his marriage and make his beloved feel like she was worthless.

he was well aware of how much the comments and whispers hurt you, and that in turn hurt him.

gently, he reached up to caress your cheek, looking into your eyes.

your soft gaze met his warm, familiar one. it was safe, familial and homely.

i love you, he said, with the gentle touch of his hands. i adore you, he said, with the soft caress of your cheek. i need you, he said, with the burning passion in his eyes. i care for you, he said, with the grip on the blue silk that adorned your body.

i am yours, he said, when his lips descended upon your temple, tracing up to your forehead and then down to your nose, before pressing against the corner of your lips.

a public display of affection was a rarity for anyone, especially if it was a viscount. but anthony didn't care.

he was yours and you were his.

and if it took kissing you (something he enjoyed very much) to convince the vile ladies that he was truly enamoured with his amore, then he would gladly do it.

and so he pressed his lips to yours, sweet and plump, ignoring the sharp intake of breath from the old couple next to the both of you.

relaxing, you leaned into his touch ever so slightly before pulling back.

thank you, you said to him with the glimmer in your eyes. i love you, you said to him with the gentle pattern you were tracing on his cufflinks.

you didn't need to tell anthony what was troubling you.

he always knew.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

HI OMG IM SO SORRY FOR NOT WRITING FOR SO LONG SO HERES JUST A TEENSY TINY LITTLE SNEAK PEAK OF A FIC IM GONNA POST SOON THAT ALSO WORKS AS A BLURB and I'm so sorry for being MIA for so long 😭

any feedback, comments, reblogs and likes are appreciated ♥️ much love and happy reading!!

TAGS -:

bridgerton - @freyathehuntress

everything - @roslastyles420

to be added to the taglist send me an ask or a dm 🥰

[writtenfangirl]

Dancing

A short one this time! I just wanted to write a really fluffy piece without drama although, yes there is a very small conflict if you squint hard enough. I wanted to write another fic that made me feel good just cause life's been extra hard lately.

Although I have a ton of ideas for this one so a sequel if people really enjoy this. I briefly wondered making Y/N be Lady Whistledown and pairing her up with my favorite Bridgerton brother to see what would happen.

TW: People being mean. Gossiping mamas. Cressida Cowper mention.

The ball, as most balls tended to be as the night waned, had grown stale and boring. The dancing had ceased despite the wonderful string quartet that played their music and people had broken off to their own parties. As the guests become accustomed to the taste of alcohol, words began to flow with reckless abandon. 

“Did you hear? Viscount Dotsfield has a bastard with a scullery maid!”

“The Earl of Blackfield is said to engage in… relationships with Sir Lockling.”

“There are rumors going around that one of the Colton daughters has a French paramour whose name is Ravilli. An ambassador of sorts…”

Gossip is what fueled the ton, the very lifeblood that had men and women of varying ages coming to these balls in the first place. No one in the ton wanted to be caught unaware and one could never be too careful of the rumors that could be fabricated about you. According to Y/N’s mama, the only people who didn’t come to balls and to the gatherings hosted by members of the ton were those of them whose reputations were in ruins. You were either gossiping or you were the one being gossiped about. 

So she came and endured even if she was bored out of her mind. 

It wasn’t anything she wasn’t use to anyway. She was a woman and women were seen and not heard. Not only that, but she was a wallflower. Wallflowers were hardly seen at all.

“Lady Y/L/N.”

She knew that familiar voice, smooth and deep yet somehow still bright. If sunsets could speak, Y/N imagined they would have his voice.

“Mister Bridgerton,” Y/N said as she spun around, hiding her smile behind her bejeweled fan. “I half expected you to have taken your leave by now.”

“Under usual circumstances, I might have. But I have yet to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” Benedict said with a crooked smile. “And my mother has always told me that dancing is one of men’s greatest assets to encourage affection.”

“There’s hardly anyone dancing,” Y/N said bashfully.

“All the better reason to do so.”

Y/N wasn’t naive. She knew Benedict was only speaking to her because his mother asked him too. She’d always rather liked Lady Bridgerton and she had a penchant for forcing her sons to dance with the wallflowers. At every ball Y/N attends, her dance card, though usually empty, always had three names: Anthony Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton. Colin Bridgerton. 

And there was no man who made he heart beat faster than Benedict Bridgerton himself. Because it was Benedict who offered to fill up all of the other spaces in her dance cards even though he didn’t have to.

All the Bridgerton brothers were kind to her but Benedict was more than that. Anthony and Colin were polite but Benedict laughed with her and conversation flowed between them like water from a fountain. And though she knew Benedict was unlikely to return her feelings, she occasionally let her delusions run wild. She often spent her days imagining what their future would look like. Would their children have his eyes or hers? Their hair would probably be different too. And their noses—

“Y/N?”

Blast! What a bloody idiot! She shouldn’t have let her mind wander like that! And now Benedict was looking at her expectantly with those luminous blue eyes and she couldn’t focus her mind to remember what it is he’d asked of her.

“Yes?” She asked, fighting to stop herself from sounding so breathy.

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned with an outstretched hand. 

The dance. She’d forgotten about the dance!

She briefly wondered if she could find a way out of it. Getting on that dance floor would shift everyone’s focus on to them and she already knew what people would say. 

“The Bridgerton charity case.”

“Of all of the young ladies, he chose her?”

“He deserves better.”

She glanced around nervously. Everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any heed but those conversations would instantly stop the moment she and Benedict stepped on the dance floor alone. 

And she knew that if she were to reject Benedict’s advances, her mother would kill her. Though Anthony was but a Viscount, his fortune was considerable large. His father before him had managed their estate well and Anthony was known to make cunning investments that grew their already large fortune, a fortune that would also provide cushy lives for the rest of his brothers. Perhaps not the large estate of a Duke but certainly nothing to scoff at. And Y/N didn’t doubt for one second that the rest of the Bridgerton brothers weren’t as smart as Anthony was when it came to their finances. 

It’s why Y/N had constantly heard her mother’s say, “you will marry a Duke or a Bridgerton. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Luckily for Y/N, her mother wasn’t around to see her reject Benedict. 

Still, with the way Benedict looked at her, it was hard to say no. 

“Just one dance,” Y/N ceded with a sigh, slipping her gloved hand onto his. 

His smile widened considerably. “You mustn’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Y/N huffed. “You look perfect everywhere you go.”

“Oh?”

Damn. Damn damn damn. Damn the world. Damn herself. And damn Benedict Bridgerton. 

“You think I look perfect?” He asked, cocking a brow in question. 

“U-uh, I m-mean, that is to say, I don’t—“

“You truly must calm your nerves, my lady,” Benedict said with a chuckle as he pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. “I am only teasing.” 

Y/N could hear the stream of gossip stop as members of the ton watched them. There was a pregnant pause and then the chatter began once again. She couldn’t hear the full conversations but she heard enough. 

“…fat…”

“…ugly…undeserving…”

“…he is too kind…”

It made Y/N want to curl up into a ball so that the earth may open up and swallow her whole. 

“Pay them no heed,” Benedict muttered as he pulled her close, his hand resting on the small of her back as his other hand found hers. “Focus only on us. And tonight, you look beautiful.”

“Only tonight?” Y/N joked in a bid to ease the coil of tension tightening around her core. 

“Every night.” Benedict’s tone was too serious to be called teasing. 

Soon the new music started, washing away the ton’s horrible words. She could still feel their watchful eyes on her skin, felt the way they judged her. 

“Focus on me,” Benedict muttered before he began their dance by swaying them back and fort.

She let the music fill her, weaving through the muscles in her body. Their dance was a complicated one and though she wasn’t an accomplished dancer by any sense of the word, with Benedict leading it was hard to fail. 

In and out, push and pull, with complicated lifts and turns yet somehow always finding their way back to each other. It was as if their bodies were magnetized, attracted only to the other. As the music swelled, she forgot all about the gossiping ton and their prying eyes. Instead she only felt Benedict’s body heat, the hard chords of muscles hidden beneath his jacket, his hands steady around her waist. 

His gaze on her felt soft, like staring at the afterglow of of dusk. She was never much of a drinker but Benedict always had the ability to make her feel drunk, as though each of her inhibitions left her the moment his luminous blue eyes landed on her. 

When the last notes of the song echoed between them and Y/N and Benedict detached from each other to curtsy and bow at one another, the entire ballroom erupted into applause. 

A soft gasp left Y/N’s lips. She’d completely forgotten about the ton watching them with Benedict commanding all of her attention. 

She raised her head, meeting Benedict’s eyes once more. 

“You were marvelous,” Benedict muttered with a grin as he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss against it before leading her out of dance floor. The ton’s eyes had grown less hostile and more appreciative on and, for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt exhilarated. 

“I would like to call on you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N.” Benedict said, letting his voice be carried throughout the ballroom. His words brought on another wave of whispers. “If you would let me?”

Y/N was absolutely sure she would be the center of gossip tomorrow. Perhaps until the end of the season if Benedict’s intentions are what she thought them to be. 

To call on her would mean Benedict would like to get to know her better, to suss out if she would make a good wife or not. And with him a Bridgerton and her a lowly Y/L/N, they would make waves with the ton. She could practically feel Cressida Cowper glaring daggers at her back.

But she didn’t care about that right now. She was still riding the high of their beautiful dance. She was no great beauty, that much was true. But with Benedict, she felt beautiful. And his opinion mattered to her more than the Queen’s and the whole ton’s combined.

“Of course you may call on me, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said graciously, ignoring her fast beating heart. “I’ll have the cook prepare that raspberry marmalade you enjoy so much.”

Benedict grinned. “I am much obliged. I shall see you tomorrow. I hope you have a good evening.” He took her hand again, placing another gentle kiss on her knuckles before he straightened and walked away.

[stangalina]

Jaskier is teaching at Oxenfurt over the winter and for the whole season he's consistently ill. Not bedridden, but woozy, a little stuffy. Slightly sickly but not enough to be any form of concerning, except for maybe how long it's been going on. Occasionally the symptoms ramp up, or change slightly, but it never renders him unable to function.

THEN, near the end of the winter, someone catches one of the "new hires" sneaking poison into Jaskiers food!

They arrest them for, you know, trying to poison a fucking viscount, but the attempted assassin isn't scared or silent when brought in for interrogation. They're LIVID.

They have been trying ALL BLOODY WINTER to poison this one guy. They have tried every single fucking poison under the goddamn sun and this man has just had the SNIFFLES as a result. They couldn't resort to attacking because that would leave a trace, so they just kept trying poison after poison in higher and higher dosages while getting more and more frustrated that this one flouncy drama queen refuses to die!

They demand answers from Jaskier. They know they're going to be sentenced to death, so they at the very least want to know how the FUCK he did it.

And Jaskier has no idea. Not a clue. Nada. Nothing. Genuinely clueless as to how he's apparently immune to every single poison in an assassins arsenal.

And then, suddenly while trying to fall asleep, it hits him.

He's immune to every single poison in an assassins arsenal.

The only way to become immune to poison is via repeated exposure. Small doses. Working your way up decimal by decimal. He hasn't been doing that.

So who has? Who in his life has access to his food, alchemic knowledge, and poison readily on hand? Who in his life cares enough to spend years slowly making him immune to every single type of poison that an assassin could possibly give him? Who has taken the effort and the time to sew this extra layer of protection into his bones without even telling him they were doing it?

Oh Geralt you sneaky bastard. You do care.

[aphroditelovesu]

The Bloody Viscount - I

— summary: You had fallen in love with Viscount Bridgerton and he had fallen in love with you. The marriage seemed perfect, but then why did Anthony Bridgerton always come home late and bloodstained?

— gender: yandere, dark!au.

— warnings: obsessive and possessive behavior, murder, kidnapping, angst, fluffy, dub-con (?), possibly smut.

— pairing: yandere!anthony bridgerton x female!reader.

— word count: +1,634.

— tag list: @will-delete-this-later-probably, @cayt0123, @flowercrowns-goodvibes, @czarinera

— prologue; chapter 2;

Chapter 1

''Dear and gentle readers,

Another social season begins and the bustle of the city returns with new marriage opportunities. Mothers desperate to find a good match for their daughters and singles looking for a suitable bride.

It is indeed a confusion, but one that will become more so after information has reached this author that Viscount Bridgerton is looking for a wife. Who will be the young woman who will hold this rake's attention?''

Chronicles of the Society of Lady Whistledown, April 26, 1813.

You threw the flyer on the floor when your mom came into the room. She frowned at you and you gave a guilty smile.

''(Y/N) you know I hate it when you read those gossip flyers.'' Your mother scolded you as she sat next to you on the couch.

''Sorry Mom, I just... I was curious.'' You muttered under your breath, aware of the scolding looks she was sending you.

''I've told you countless times, a lady shouldn't read too much.'' You watched your mother pick a biscuit from the plate and eat it with grace. You shrugged your shoulders at that sight. Your mother had always been a graceful woman even though she had low status, she acted like a real lady and that bothered you.

It bothered you because you knew you would never be as perfect as she was.

''I know! It's just...'' You thought quickly, ''Did you know that Viscount Brigderton is looking for a wife?'' Your mother's eyes brightened immediately.

You regretted her words the moment they left your mouth.

''Oh really? This is wonderful!'' Your mother's normally cold eyes turned gentle and warm. That wasn't a good sign, it was never a good sign.

You frowned and picked up the gossip pamphlet, wanting to get back to your reading. Your mother looked at you with disdain and took it from your hand.

''Mom!'' You protested.

''Silence! I'm reading.'' She grumbled, looking at you reproachfully. You huffed and sank down onto the couch, crossing your arms and sighing.

You didn't say another word to your parents until the next day. Not even at dinner which was always a hostile and uncomfortable moment where you felt more judged than ever.

You would never get used to Lady Danbury's balls.

You didn't have many certainties in your life at the moment, but you knew you'd never get used to how well planned they were.

You looked around and smiled weakly. The whole hall was decorated according to the tastes of its owner, ornate flowers, musicians, drinks and all dressed in impeccable ways. And, to make everything fancy, there was the Queen present. Looking at everyone with judgments and maybe looking for her diamond.

The ladies wore graceful and beautiful dresses, some more fortunate ones used jewels in their dresses. Jewels adorned them, you didn't fail to notice Lady Cressida Cowper showing off her neck adorned with a ruby necklace given to her by the new Lord Featherington.

And the gentlemen were dressed alike, you noticed. Or almost. Stylish suits and what complemented them very well.

And there was you. You looked pretty, that's what you'd been told and what you'd seen in the mirror, but you were wearing something more modest. Without much adornment, small and discreet earrings, a diamond necklace that had belonged to your grandmother and your hair done in a simple hairstyle but that left your features visible.

You thought you were pretty and you thought you looked pretty, but seeing the other ladies, you can't help but feel a little insecure.

Your fingers tightened on the hem of your dress, and if you hadn't been wearing gloves, you might have seen them turn white. You took a deep breath and looked around, amusement passed through your body when you noticed a group of young people and their mothers surrounding some poor man.

But when you realized who the poor man was your breath got deeper. As if you were desperate for air.

Viscount Bridgerton.

Your eyes met Viscount Brigderton's and you felt your face heat up as you felt the intensity he was staring at you.

He was an attractive man, you had to confess. And it wasn't the way he looked, sure, he was handsome, but the look in his eyes was what stunned you. The passion they conveyed put you to shame.

And the fact that eyes were thrown in his direction made you even more cornered. Looking away to a random spot on the ball, you smiled as you watched the couples dancing and people chatting and gossiping.

You turned to your mother, who was watching all the men at the party carefully, sizing them up. You mentally rolled your eyes at that, she was so determined to find you a husband that she didn't even ask you what you wanted.

It's not that you didn't want to get married, you wanted and would like to have a family one day, but... You didn't know how to deal with all that. This was his first season and your mother, Lady (L/N), seemed very committed to getting a good match for you.

And it wasn't for your happiness, you noticed.

It was to raise your family's social status. As the only child, it was your responsibility to improve your parents' lives. It was your duty and something you'd been raised to do since birth.

Raised to become a proper wife.

Your education, your tastes, everything that was taught to you should correspond to the tastes of your future husband. And your mother had been pretty strict about it. Your dad was more relaxed, but he always made his expectations of you clear.

Your mother's eyes turned to the Viscount and you felt like hiding. She looked him up and down, he was talking to an older woman, who you assumed was Lady Violet Bridgerton. His mother.

You watched your mother straighten her posture and start walking across the room, towards the Viscount. Your face got even redder because you knew what your mother would do.

What she always did. She would start babbling about you and your skills and what she thought you liked. How good and sweet you were, how motherly you were.

You mentally sneered and frowned when you saw your mother coming, accompanied by Lady and Viscount Bridgerton. You looked away quickly and turned so you could flee, when the Viscount's deep, sensual voice called out to you.

''Lady (Y/N) (L/N)?''

A shiver ran down your spine at the tone that had your name coming out of his mouth and you mentally scolded yourself. You straightened your posture and turned to face him.

You bowed slightly, lowering your head in submission, as your mother had taught you, and looked into his dark eyes.

''Lord Bridgerton.'' You smiled weakly, ''It's a pleasure to meet you, milord.''

You could have sworn you saw him wince at the title and his eyes darken even further.

Lord Bridgerton took your gloved left hand and pressed a kiss to it. Your body involuntarily shuddered at the touch, you bit your lower lip discreetly and felt your cheeks redden with the shame you felt.

''The pleasure is all mine.'' He released your hand gently. ''Would you do me the honor of a dance?''

You could have sworn your heart stopped at that moment.

And that you had heard a sound like a scream come out of your mother's throat.

But you smiled at him and bowed, ''Of course.''

You extended your hand to him and he took it. Lord Bridgerton guided you to the center of the dance floor. You stopped facing each other and when the music started, he started leading you in a classical dance.

You were uncomfortable with the intensity he was staring at you, but you tried to push it aside and focus on his footsteps.

''Nervous?'' He asked and you quickly denied it. He laughed a little and for a moment you thought he was laughing at you.

Amused, he continued to talk to you as you danced, ''I've never seen you at any of Lady Danbury's balls…''

''It's my first season.'' You replied, looking into his eyes.

''I see.'' Lord Bridgerton whirled you around and brought you into his strong arms again. ''You must be looking forward to getting married then.'' It wasn't a question but you answered it like one anyway.

''I am...''

''Anyone in mind?''

You blinked in surprise and answered uncomfortably, ''No... I don't think so.''

''Would you like to have children? When and how many?''

''Yes I would like. Not sure when and how many, but considerable time after the wedding and an amount that pleases both me and my husband would be well received.''

The Viscount hummed and you continued to dance in silence. When the song came to an end, you pulled apart and you bowed to him and he did the same.

''Thank you for the dance, milord.'' You lowered your head and waved at him.

''I thank you, Lady (Y/N)(L/N).'' Lord Bridgerton kissed your hand once more and smiled lovingly. He whispered inaudibly, ''I hope to see you again.''

You blushed at the tone and what it meant. Perhaps you had just captivated a Viscount.

You wanted to say something else, but he had already left. You looked around and saw your mother talking animatedly to Lady Violet. You sighed and were about to go to her when the Queen's voice rang out.

She would finally announce who would be her diamond.

You noticed all the young ladies looking anxious, as well as the gentlemen.

''My choice for this season's diamond is...'' The Queen made a cliffhanger and everyone held their breath, she smiled and looked in her direction, ''Lady (Y/N)(L/N).''

You could have passed out at that point.

— lady l: and the news came out that the world didn't believe!! I'm really sorry for the delay of the chapter! I had it ready for weeks but I couldn't post it because of my computer and because of other projects, however, I'll try to update this fanfic weekly! I promise to try :). I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! ❤️

[newtonsheffield]

As much as I truly loved the absolutely devastating yearning from their season, I'm so happy to get these behind the scenes photos.

My happiness probably shouldn't be so affected by Kate live-laugh-loving, but here we are.

I want to see Kate live-laugh-loving always.

I am being so serious when I say that I want to see Anthony fetching lemonade like a little packhorse. I want to see her dance card with just Anthony, Viscount Bridgerton scrawled sideways across the spaces. I want to see Anthony glowering at anyone who so much as looks at his wife unkindly.

I want to see Kate thriving in her new role as Viscountess

I also would like to see one little clip of Newton doing something ridiculous in the background like dragging one of Anthony’s shirts downstairs. Just imagine Anthony seriously trying to admonish Benedict who can’t seem to stop laughing.

“Was that Newton destroying my slippers again?”

“It might have been, brother.”

“Bloody dog!” Anthony muttered, “I should insist he lives outside.”

Benedict chuckled, “Are you planning to tell Kate no? We’ll have to jot it down, first time in history. A momentous occasion.”

“I tell her no all the time!” Anthony called to his brother’s retreating back. “She just doesn’t listen!”

[savedbythedrafts]

I have many thoughts about Bridgerton.

Was it the perfect season? Absolutely no.

But it quite honestly is my favorite season so far because it made me realise how the enemies-to-lovers trope has rotten my brain when this is what I want to see. Gentle love, best friends becoming partners.

Things that I absolutely loved this season:

-Pen's arc: In the book she gives up whistledown to become a romance author which is nice, but now we have a legitimate journalist in the house who has proved her accuracy at such a young age. People who are worried about how she's gonna get her info now that people are guarded? Um her main sources were always the maids and footmen and she is observant enough to run a column. Plus now that everyone knows who she is, people might anonymously send her reports (as happens in journalism) which gives her SO MUCH POWER. I am a journalist and I can't stress enough how incredible that is. I know book fans expected the last speech by Colin but imo her taking full control of her decisions and willingness to face the consequences makes it so much better.

-Eloise and Pen patch up: Both of them going to each other for comfort and support when the shit hit the fan made my heart warm. When Eloise comes back, I hope she knows herself a bit better and actually brings her grand ideas to reality.

-Benedict going about his viscount duties in absence of Anthony without the rage of responsibility whilst discovering his sexuality 10/10. Man was also fully involved in all of his siblings feuds, mainly whatever the fuck Gregory and Hyacinth were upto. CUTE. Actually shoutout to all the Bridgertons, they were so perfectly chaotic.

-THe FEATHERINGTONS OMG: I am the youngest daughter of my family as well as the black sheep- so unpredictable, unconventional that no one in my family gets me. That's why I relate to Pen so much and I'll defend her to death. To see the sisters and Portia realise Pen's worth made me sob. Phillipa saying I hope my daughter becomes a writer? Cherry on cake. But Portia opening up to Pen and being vulnerable and proud at the same time was so bloody well done.

-Polin: Fans being livid about the lack of spice in part 2 (minus the incredible sex scene in ep 5) is understandable but I blame the marketing for it, not the showrunners. Over the course of part 1, we saw Colin's relationship with intimacy change drastically. His want for connection becomes a necessity and if they just jumped into angry sex without actually resolving anything, it would have ruined his character development. I think it's the incredible chemistry between Nic and Luke in general and the heavy emphasis on the horniness during the press tour left the fans understandably wanting for more. But in general, their romance felt quite authentic. The Pride and Prejudice 'dancing in the room alone' callback, goofing around in the church, Colin coming to terms with what Whistledown meant to the ton and himself, Penelope's newfound confidence thanks to Colin's frequent words of affirmation, it was all good.

Things I would change to make this season better (this is turning into a full article now but read ahead if you have been here so far):

-The bloody editing: Pardon my french but why the fuck Benedict's prolonged threesome scenes not edited out? He has a whole season coming up so I don't understand so much focus on that weirdly edited scene amidst the drama. Just one shot of establishing his pansexuality (or bi but I am hoping it's pan) would have been enough? I love Ben, he is my favorite brother but this gave me the ick. To think these 3-4 minutes could have been used to extend the last Polin intimate scene. We could have had a good 5 minutes of Pen topping Colin after the BIG REVEAL but noooo. Even the subplots should have been kept short and sweet. Unlike some fans, I am not completely against the inclusion of the Mondrich family, Cressida's back story, the build up to Benedict's and Fran's actual stories, and more. But I believe too much footage was given to these even though the show clearly focuses on one couple per season. Get your shit together Shonda, this is not 20 episode Grey's anatomy, we can't focus on EVERYONE.

-Colin's anger after the wedding: Now I understand why he didn't want to have the wedding night given the stressful circumstances but him being angry till Francesca's wedding made no sense. How I would have written the resolution would have been something like this- In the hours before Rae leaves the house at night, Colin would have been reading the letters, figuring out how Pen is so whistledown at core (like he actually does the very next day but in absence of Pen). And instead of coming into the room to get a blanket, he could have brought in his own manuscript, asking her to read it as promised and taking up her offer to let her edit. This scene was literally in the book and was so easy to adapt. I would give my left kidney to see Colin sitting near Penelope, watching her powerful writing in action. Again, no spice required, just this. This would have made Pen's 'just love me' speech to Colin so good, but alas!

-Cressida: This is the arc I am most pissed off about. Eloise's reconciliation with Pen was great but completely abandoning Cressida to misery was so outta pocket. I realise Eloise is still not a fully realised character and is barely 20 (she's just a girl) but she was always kind. If I was writing Cressida's arc, I would have had Eloise come to her rescue at the end by borrowing some money from Pen and helping Cressida escape to Vienna or better Scotland. I highly doubt Pen would have minded if she knew how similar both of their circumstances were. I detested Cressida in the books because I'll be honest the books were pretty two dimensional with no real character development and just grand gestures (I'll understand if you come for me but this is how I feel, sorry). But the show made me care for her and I wished she could have found some happiness in life.

Overall, I'll rewatch it because the tiny details were so good this season I believe I can relish those till the next season. And I'll miss Polin immensely. But Shonda please, you can do better.

[hiddenpxpercuts]

@wvsteria​ (Anyone)

“hey, did you see the guy that just ran past here?” the viscount asked, frowning slightly. “i was trying to catch him for stealing but you know, i give up. he ran to damn fast. the woman’s purse is just gone. she’ll have to deal with it.”

[sneakyblinders]

a ring & a viscountess.

A/N: you wanted it so here it is! the engagement story/a story of Tommy & the Mrs early days together! I still am undecided on giving her an official name don't hate me! warnings: sexual themes, language, alluding to smut but no smut. not canon. a part of my tommy & his darling wife au. I take no credit for the GIF! 3.4k words.

The phone at Watery Lane rang early one Friday morning. Thomas had just left for Charlie’s Yard, and you were alone for the first time that day. Your brow furrowed, curious as to who it could be. 

“Hello?” you answered the phone, trying to shake the grogginess from your voice. Thomas had kept you up rather late the night before. 

“Ah, bloody hell,” a voice from the other line cursed. “Good morning, my darling! I’ve just had a phone installed at the estate and I’m trying to figure it out–” there was some scuffling on the other end. “That’ll be all, thank you,” you could hear her say to some butler in the background. “And I figured this was as good a time as any to call you and demand you bring that gangster you’ve found yourself infatuated with to dinner at the Estate.” 

It was your great grandmother, the dowager viscountess of the Pearson Estate. “Mimzy,” you start. 

“No! I will have none of that. My dear, I am dying, over ninety now, and I must meet this man you deem worthy of your affections.” she tells you. 

“You’re not dying, Mim,” you chide, rolling your eyes. 

A pause on the other end of the line, feeble breathing. “But I am, dear. The doctors did not give me good news last week. Please, come see me.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat. “Alright, I will discuss it with Thomas when I see him this evening.” you promise her.

“Phone me when you know you’re coming so I can have the rooms ready.” she tells you. 

Your stomach was in knots when Thomas returned home to the Shelby family home on Watery Lane that evening. “Evening, darling.” he says, pressing a small kiss to your cheek before heading straight for the stove, starving after a long day. 

You’d made stew and potatoes, two of his favorites. “Hello,” you say quietly, nervously fiddling with your hands as he scoops his bowl full. 

“Are you alright?” he asks, eyeing you warily. 

“Thomas, there’s something I have to tell you,” you say as he sits down at the table. His heart begins to beat faster, unsure of where this conversation was going. “Something about my family I’ve never shared.” 

“Alright,” he says, angling his body towards you. “Tell me, darling.” 

“My mothers grandfather was a viscount,” you begin slowly as his eyes widen. “But due to–circumstances, the title and fortune has been disrupted from the family line,” you continue, Thomas’ brow furrowing in confusion at your vagueness. “But my great grandmother still holds the title and the estate until her death, and she called this morning and asked that you and I go to see her. She is dying, and would like to meet you.” 

Tommy sat back in his chair, eyes looking past you, processing this large amount of information you’d just dropped in his lap. “Alright, we’ll go.” 

“We will?” you ask in shock. 

“Of course, but,” he stops, leaning in towards you and taking your hands. “Tell me the story.” he smiles at you, a knowing smile. A smile of: tell me what you didn’t want to say when you first dropped this on me, my love.

You smiled before launching into your story. “My great grandfather, the viscount, was forced to marry my great grandmother. They had a loveless marriage. So loveless, that my grandmother brought a footman who she was undoubtedly in love with from her parents home in Kent to the Estate. They had a lifelong affair and it was never really known if my grandfather’s father was the viscount or the footman,” Tommy’s eyes widened as he ate his dinner. “My great grandfather had many affairs with the maids. And so, my grandfather, seeing the turmoil that his mother endured from being forced to marry someone who she was not in love with, vowed he would only marry for love. And he did. He married my grandmother, and they were married for forty years before she passed away, and he made sure every one of his children married someone they loved. Now in doing that, of course, the estate is no longer destined to be in our family line, it will go to some cousin or something, but my mother says she doesn’t care. She would rather have happiness than the whole estate. And I agree.” 

Tommy set his spoon down in his now empty bowl and leaned towards you. “So what you’re telling me is–” he takes your hands in his. “If we get married, it’s because you’re madly in love with me?”

You smile. “Yes, Thomas.” 

“Good,” he tells you, reaching down to the bottom of your chair and pulling you closer to him. “Because my darling, I am madly in love with you.” he takes your face in his hands and kisses you deeply. 

The next Friday, you and Thomas set out for the Estate. You had phoned Mimzy, who was elated that you were coming. She said the rooms would be ready by the afternoon and requested that you both join her for dinner that evening. And she specifically requested a meeting with Tommy alone before dinner. Tea, to be exact. 

“Thomas, she can be rather harsh,” you warned him. 

“I can handle it, darling, I can,” he promised, squeezing your hand, refocusing on the winding country roads in front of him. 

An hour later, the Pearson Estate came into view. A large, red brick building, surrounded by gardens in the front, rear and sides. Your heart quickened. It had been years since you had been here. The last few times you’d seen Mimzy, she had made the trip to London to see you and your family. 

Nigel, one of the few butlers who remained, assisted you in getting out of Tommy’s car. “It is wonderful to see you again, m'lady,” he said. 

“Nigel,” you said softly, looking the older man in the eyes. “I’m so glad you’re still with Mimzy.” 

“I am fortunate she has allowed me the honor of residing here still.” he said, flashing you a small smile. 

“Thomas,” you called out to Tommy, who was looking up at the building, squinting into the sun. “Thomas, this is Nigel, the head butler. He has been with Mimzy for decades,” you gush. “Nigel, this is Thomas Shelby, my uh–” you stammer at what title to give him. Love interest is too sterile, boyfriend is too childish, and fiance undetermined. 

“I’m her fiance.” Tommy said, offering his hand to Nigel to shake. Your eyes widen in shock. Not so undetermined. 

“Pleased to meet you, Mr. Shelby. Right this way, I will show you to your rooms.” Nigel said, leading the way through the hallways. 

Tommy observed everything with wide eyes, hands clasped behind his back. “How will I remember how to get around?” he joked, a faint smile on his lips. 

You smile. “I’ll help you.” 

“M’lady, your room, as it always has been.” Nigel said, opening the door to what was always your room when you came to stay at the Estate. It looked untouched, which was typical of Mimzy. Never ruining a good thing, is how she liked to think of it. “Mr. Shelby, your room is down the hall a ways, please follow me.” 

“Thomas,” you call to him gently. “I’m going to rest for a little while, I’ll see you at dinner?”

“Yes, my love.” he tells you, pressing a chaste kiss to your lips before following Nigel down the hallway to his room. 

Tommy had a few minutes to freshen up before he was to meet the dowager viscountess for tea. He shaved, combed his hair, reapplied aftershave and cologne and ensured his shoes were cleaned from driving. 

Nigel appeared at his door a few minutes before his appointment to lead him to the tea room. 

“This way, Mr. Shelby,” Nigel said, escorting Tommy once more through the halls of this grand estate. Nigel knocked on a set of double doors, waiting to hear a response before opening them. “M’Lady, Mr. Thomas Shelby.” 

Tommy walked through the doors apprehensively, met with a small and frail old woman. “Thomas,” she said, almost in a sigh. She stood up. “It is a pleasure to meet you, please, come.” 

He approached her, kissing her hand as she held it out to him. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am.” he said genuinely. 

“My Bee speaks very highly of you,” she said, narrowing her eyes at her. 

“Bee?” he asked curiously, the pet name you’d introduced yourself to him with making his heart swell.  

“Aah yes, a–a pet name of sorts I gave to her when she was just a little girl. She used to love to go out with her grandfather, my son, to the beehives. It just sort of stuck I suppose.” the older woman rambled on. 

“She never told me of the hives.” Thomas said, making a mental note to tease you about it later–and to chide you for never telling him the origin of your nickname. 

The viscountess let out a disgruntled “Hmph,” before sitting back down. 

The ladies maid, who he had heard Nigel call Hilda, poured them each a cup of tea before excusing herself out of the room.

“Thank you for your invitation,” Tommy said, the awkwardness settling in. 

“Well, as I am sure my Bee told you, I am dying,” 

“Yes, she did, I am very sorry to hear it, Ma’am.” Tommy said sincerely.

“Please, call me Opal.” she waved him off. 

“Yes, Opal.” Tommy smiled at her. 

“But yes, Thomas, I am dying, and I wanted to see for myself this man who has entranced my youngest great-grandchild. She is my favorite. But don’t tell the others in the event you see them before I die.” she rolled her eyes. “I hear you’re a businessman of sorts.” 

“Yes, I am.” he responded proudly. 

“And I hear your business involves some dark activities.” she said, eyes clouding over with darkness. 

“It is the nature of all business at one point or another, is it not?” he responded. 

“Let me see here,” she said, picking up her glasses and a piece of paper. “Bookmaker, racketeer, gambler, gangster, gang leader, smuggler, vandal, and decorated veteran of the British Army,” Tommy shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “Does that sum it up, Mr. Shelby?”

Tommy looked Opal in the eyes before saying confidently, “It does, Ma’am.” 

She slammed her piece of paper down on the table next to her, sitting forward in her chair. “And you have the gall to disrupt her simple, successful life and bring her to ruin for what reason, Mr. Shelby?” Thomas started to open his mouth, but was cut off. “She is a good girl, a good, honest, smart girl who would make any normal man very happy. She is beautiful and her spirit is a good one and I will not see that spirit ruined and tainted by the darkness you allow and welcome into your life. You put her at risk every day that you are with her, and I am not fond of you inviting her to live with you prior to even a formal proposal, it’s terribly improper,” the dowager viscountess was trembling, anger coursing through her veins. “I will ask you, Mr. Shelby, and you have one opportunity to answer this question, and one opportunity alone. Why would you risk ruining her life?”

Tommy swallowed the lump in his throat. “It is because I love her very deeply, Ma’am. For all the reasons you said yourself. She is bright and beautiful and the happiest woman I know,” he chuckled to himself. “She makes me a better man and my life has been far richer with her in it. I do not deserve her, but she is everything to me.”

Opal sat back in her seat, struck with Tommy’s words. “That is one of the most romantic and thoughtful things I have heard a man say in a long time, Mr. Shelby,” she said, eyes softening. “But I still think it’s improper that she is sleeping in your room with you.” 

“It’s uh–more cost efficient than her keeping her flat.” he said, bringing his tea cup to his lips to prevent the viscountess from seeing the smirk on his face. 

“I suppose it is but doesn’t the proper order of a courtship matter in this day and age?” she asked. “And I may be old but I am not stupid, I know if she is sleeping in your home, you have laid with her, so I certainly hope you plan to make her your wife.” 

Tommy nearly spat his tea out at the older woman's frankness. “I do, Opal. I plan to make her my wife soon, actually.” he said, bringing a small blue velvet box out of his pocket. He opened it, revealing a large and beautifully cut diamond on a gold band. The viscountess smiled. 

“Well done, Thomas,” tears came to her eyes. “I am glad that my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren can marry for love.” 

“That is due to your sacrifice, and I thank you.” Tommy told her, putting the ring safely back in his pocket. 

She looked away from him, towards a small photo on the table to her right. It was an old, old photo of a young man. “This was my Phillip,” she said, a faraway tone to her voice. “That,” she pointed to an oil painting behind Thomas, “Was the viscount. Witford. Phillip was a footman that my parents employed at their estate in Kent. We fell in love as teenagers, and I could not bear the thought of not being near him. So, when my parents married me off to the viscount, I insisted that as a gift to my new household, I brought the best footman in our home. My parents reluctantly conceded, and I was forever grateful. Oftentimes I would pretend in my own mind that Phillip was the viscount and all of this was ours. He worked here until he died, a few years after the viscount did. I have never felt more lonely in my life.” Questions whirred in Tommy’s mind. “And to answer the question I know is in your mind, I do believe my son was Phillips' son. They are built alike, and far too similar in nature for it to be a coincidence.” 

They continued to speak until the dinner bell rang, and you descended down the stairs for dinner. You were wearing a pale yellow dress, one Tommy hadn’t seen you in. He took your hand as you reached the end of the stairs, eyes softening as he smiled at you. “You look beautiful.” he told you, causing a flush to break out across your face and neck. 

“Thank you,” you say quietly, eyeing him nervously. “How did tea go?”

“It went well.” he smiled softly, the ring burning a hole in his pocket. 

Dinner went well, Thomas following the brief rules that you had told him about fine dining manners on the car ride. 

“My Dearest Bee,” Mimzy said, when she stood up to retire for the evening. “This is a fine young man you have found and I like him very much. Goodnight to the both of you.” she smiled slightly before she walked out of the dining room towards her quarters. 

“I’m not tired yet, can we go for a walk?” Tommy asked you, coming up behind you from where you stood at the window, his hands on your hips, lips on the side of your neck.

“That would be nice,” you say, eyeing the night lights that Mimzy had installed outside in one of the gardens. “Come with me.”

You lead him through various hallways that all looked the same to him, and out a side door that led to a garden. It was illuminated by small lights leading to a swing by one of the small ponds on the property. The frogs were croaking, bugs buzzing. It felt like a true spring evening from childhood. 

He walked in silence next to you, nerves building. You finally sat down on the swing and Tommy picked up a couple of stones, skipping them across the surface of the pond. You giggled. “I never could manage to learn how to do that.” 

He chuckled. “John would always get so mad because I could get mine to go farther than his.” 

You settled back into a comfortable silence before you thought to ask, “What did Mimzy want to talk to you about?” 

Tommy dug his hands in his pockets. “She wanted to ask– wanted to ask why I would risk ruining your life.” 

Your brow furrowed. “What do you mean?” 

He turned around to face you. “She wanted to know what a gangster like me,” he walked towards you. “Wants with a smart, beautiful girl like you,” He dropped to one knee in front of you, pulling your hands into his. “And I told her that I love you deeply, so deeply that I want to spend the rest of my days with you,” he pulled the box out of his pocket, willing his hands not to shake. “My Darling, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?” 

Your hands flew to your mouth, covering the shock that spread across your features. “Thomas!” you exclaimed. “Thomas, yes! Yes!” you held out a shaking hand and he slid the ring on your finger. He stood up, and you stood up with him, wrapping your arms around his neck and kissing him. 

When he pulled away, he looked into your eyes and told you that he loved you. Tears pricked at your eyes and you couldn’t help but kiss him again. 

The next morning, you woke up with Tommy in your bed, smoking a cigarette, eyeing you lovingly as you came to consciousness. You’d brought him back to your room last night, Mimzy’s rules be damned, and ridden him until you both were exhausted from the day and from pleasure. 

Your legs ached as you stretched for the morning, the sunlight threatening to stream in through the curtains. “Good morning,” he rasped, stubbing out the last of his cigarette and rolling in towards you, pulling your body into his. 

“Good morning, Mr. Shelby,” you giggled, his cold hands on your sides. “You’re cold.” 

“Always cold, Dearest.” he said, pressing a kiss to your shoulder, his hands dipping between your legs.

“Thomas,” you stifled a moan. “The servants will be awake, we can’t risk them hearing,” you chide. 

“I once heard that they were paid to not hear things, as well.” he drawled low in your ear, turning you on your back and crawling atop you. 

“Thomas, did you bribe the staff?” you ask, hands on his chest. 

“I may have given them a few extra pounds to let us sleep past nine,” he smirked before disappearing beneath the blankets. 

You were certain some things were heard, there was no way they weren’t. With the way Thomas pleasured you, it was nearly impossible to keep quiet. You’d known no other lover in your life but you were certain you were ruined for the prospect of any other lover not living up to these standards that Thomas had set. 

You smiled to yourself at the thought. Tommy caught you smiling and asked, “What are you thinking about?” as he tied his tie. 

“Just that I’m certain you’ve ruined me for any other man.” you smiled. 

He smirked. “Then I guess it’s a good thing we’re getting married because you’ve ruined me for all other women,” he tucked his tie into his waistcoat. Thoughts of you beneath him, above him, kneeling in front of him whirred in his mind. He willed those thoughts away, needing to ensure he had a clear head to meet the viscountess for breakfast this morning. 

You smiled at him as he pulled his jacket on, coming up behind him and smoothing the fabric down over his shoulders. “You’re very handsome, Thomas.” You looked at your reflection in the mirror. A minor flush crept across his cheeks. “Are you embarrassed by my compliment, Thomas?” you ask, standing in front of him, blocking his view of the mirror. 

He cleared his throat. “No,” he looked at you, hands on your hips. “Just not used to hearing things like that is all.” 

You smile softly at him, cupping his cheek with your hand. “Well get used to hearing it, Thomas, because I’ll tell you for the rest of our lives.” 

And tell him, you would.