Anthony Bridgerton Fic - Tumblr Posts

ONE | temperamental children and eavesdroppers

anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | the social season of 1808 brought forth a very unexpected union, to the members of both families. and yet there was never any doubt in a certain mother’s mind that it would be a marriage full of love and happiness. And to her, it did happen... well until that fateful night where she just so happened to stumble into her children standing in front of a door. (3.2k)

a/n: i edited it a little bit from the original post at my old blog (infeffablename / daydream-hoe). for those who have read and liked this already, i would appreciate if y’all liked it again :)) + the gif is made by @stevenrogered from this gifset. anyways, if you're returning or new, i hope u enjoy this and thank you for stopping by <333

THE SOCIAL SEASON OF 1808 | (part one) (part two) (part three)

Unlike all of the meals eaten together by the Bridgerton Family for the past decades, last night’s dinner was a quiet affair. Violet Bridgerton, who was the most accustomed to the chatter and noise brought by her eight children, found it odd. Although perhaps it was the events that unfolded before the dinner that caused it…

The day started with a dull breakfast, Daphne arriving soon after. She asked for assistance in the upcoming ball that she and Simon were to host— the first of many, Eloise remarked. Daphne had informed them that Simon would be joining them for dinner and to Violet’s delight, Anthony and his family were to arrive after lunch and stay for dinner too. (Maybe she could get them to stay the night— and that she did.)

Anthony and his family.

Violet beamed at those four words.

She never expected it to happen so early due to her son’s rakish ways yet it did. Though it did not begin in the most suitable fashion as getting seen whilst unchaperoned is outright scandalous, Violet found peace in how much love that the two had developed. From the utter longing in their eyes as they looked at each other to peaceful looks in their faces with just the presence of the other.

From the start, with Y/N’s supportive smile and encouraging spirit, she saw a sturdy foundation that could be built. And with Anthony’s attentiveness and honor, she knew the most beautiful home would rise.

And how beautiful it is— was— is.

And the proof—

“Gramma.” Soft and small hands were placed on Violet’s cheeks and her face was moved to fixate on that of the same eyes of her late husband. Same eyes, same smile, same name. “Why are you thinking of the ocean?”

The serene expression on her face faded to a confused one as she asked her concerned three-year-old grandson, “An ocean? Why do you think I’m thinking of the ocean, dearest?”

“Mama looks like that most of the time and she told me that she is thinking of matters as deep as the ocean!” Teddy, as they would affectionately call him, extends his arms sidewards in exaggeration. Violet chuckled at his antics, though slightly worried at her daughter-in-law for what could she possibly ponder on often that even a child would notice.

All of a sudden, Teddy frowned, taking his grandmother by surprise. He was often a lively young lad— oh, the irony with how his father’s favorite hobby is brooding and glowering. He then situated himself on Violet’s lap, his hands moving to rest on her shoulders as he lay his head on her chest. “But mama never smiles like that…”

Before Violet could question the statement, the morning newspaper hit her right in the face and a frustrated wail erupted.

Francesca stopped playing the pianoforte. Eloise put down the latest release of the infamous scandal sheet. Benedict, Colin, Daphne, and Y/N ceased in conversing about Colin’s upcoming tour. Gregory and Hyacinth halted their debate on who was the better uncle/aunt.

And Anthony?

Violet turned to look at the culprit and she saw her son with a look of bewilderment, his eyebrows raised as he stared at his one-and-a-quarter-year-old.

Little James Bridgerton was red in the face, tears streaming down his face and his arms pushing his father who attempted to calm him down. “No! No! No! No!” He screamed, and it was as if everyone in the room forgot how to care for a child as they stared, frozen.

You were quick to stand up as James kept slapping Anthony with his hands. Violet noted the fearful look on your face and the tears that were so close to dropping. From your eyes and Anthony’s.

“Sweetheart…” You whispered, nearing him and once he heard you, his head whipped so fast in your direction and he outstretched his little arms, babbling “Ma” over and over again, slightly hiccupping. You held him close to you, his arms wrapped tightly around your neck and you gently rocked him, mumbling comforting words in his ear, his head nodding. (Daphne watched with her heart clenching— she was the first to look away.)

You set yourself down on Anthony’s lap once James was somewhat calmed down, his arms wrapping themselves around the two of you and his chin rested on one of your shoulders. “Papa, Jamie. It’s Papa…” You whisper as you maneuvered your son to sit on your lap, his face wet from his crying as his eyes shifted from you and Anthony.

Everyone followed Daphne in looking away and resumed their previous activities, partly due to not wanting to interrupt such an intimate moment between the three. Violet couldn’t help but see how tense your shoulders were and the slight hesitation before sitting on—

“All that boy does is cry,” Teddy mumbled, shaking his head at his brother.

Come to think of it, maybe. Maybe James crying was the reason dinner was quiet.

But how come Violet couldn’t sleep that night?

Something was knocking on the back of her mind, a thought she most likely put in there to think about later. Sadly, later came and she had forgotten what it was. Maybe a glass of warm milk could help, she whispered into the emptiness of her room.

So, she stood and went to fetch some warm milk, thank goodness she learned how to prepare some a few years past. But just as she was to turn to enter the kitchen, there was the most peculiar sight.

Benedict, Colin, Daphne, Eloise, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth, Violet counted her children thrice and even rubbed her eyes, in case it was just a hallucination of hers. And it was not. There. There in front of her eldest son’s study, all her other children had their ears pressed on the door, hushing each other when one produced even the slightest noise.

“What are you seven doing there?!” Her seven children simultaneously faced her, extended their index finger in front of their lips and shushed her. Violet raised a brow and walked over to them quietly. The look in her children’s eyes almost made her shudder. Once close, she questioned, “Now, what are y-we doing here?”

The seven exchanged glances and it looked like they were conversing with their minds, debating who was to tell her of the reason. Eloise, exasperated, sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, I’ll tell her… We all could not sleep and somehow, we all thought of getting milk to drink but we heard mumbling and… we were curious!” Eloise whisper-yelled at her mother’s accusing gaze.

“Eavesdropping is still an invasion of privac—"

“Y/N asked Anthony where he had been the past few days, she said that the reason James threw a tantrum was because he did not recognize him. It seems that he has not been in their lodgings as frequently as what he informs us of,” Daphne blurted out, cutting her mother off, the words hastily came out of her mouth and Violet’s eyes widened. She then mimicked her children’s previous position, ears stuck on her son’s door. The seven followed suit.

“Are you accusing me of being a bad father?” She heard Anthony’s voice say, low as if daring her to answer.

“I am only asking you of your whereabouts these past few days! I think I do have that right, seeing as I am your wife and it is interfering with how our sons are behaving.”

“I have told you repeatedly that I have been here! My study is located here—"

“Something I have told you is inconvenient. And we both know that is not true!”

“— and I have plenty of business to work on—”

“And yet when Daphne was still unmarried, you made time—”

“— and you do too, as a Viscountess, and yet you—”

“— you even managed our schedule, without my permission, might I add—”

“— hold on, you reassured me that you were fine with the changes—”

“—just so we could— You had finalized them already, what would my complaint do?!” (Similar to their eavesdropping audience, you had also grown frustrated at how your conversation with your husband had gone. You only hoped for him to be honest and still…) “WOULD YOU SHUT IT?!”

Anthony’s mouth indeed quieted after that.

“Stop with all that nonsense! I would just like to know where my husband spends his nights because it is most certainly not with his family nor with his wife and children!” A blur. That was all Violet could see, tears fogging her eyes, and all she could hear was ringing.

She knew that her son must’ve caught on. All her children must have.

His family.

His wife and children.

Violet was not ignorant in the loveless or crumbled marriages in society. She knew that there were instances that hearts were apart, children were neglected, and families were separate. But she had always been reassured that theirs were not separate, only different. She knew that her family, the one she built with Edmund, was different from the one that Anthony’s, the one he had started with Y/N. From the comfort and love given to the environment surrounded, it was different yet beautiful all the same.

She knew their marriage was beautiful but how could she… how could she…

Say so easily that they were not considered family?

How were her righteous Anthony, brilliant Y/N, lively Teddy, and endearing Jamie not a family?

“What are you implying, my dear wife?” Anthony asked, strained emphasis on calling you his wife.

“You know what it is and you are aware of its truth. Do not evade my question once again and tell me where you have been?!” Your voice was slightly shaking when you first started, it rose until it was back to the level of frustration you displayed just minutes ago.

Violet could not hear anything for a moment, thinking they had begun to whisper or maybe they had thought to resolve it with actions only occurring betwee— wait, why was she letting Hyacinth and Gregory listen again?

“You have been on the other side of town?” You said, Violet concluded that it was simply a momentary silence. She gulped at what you had said, she knew that it was true. Violet had confronted her son early into the season about how he keeps a place far from where his family were retiring at night. He had said that it was just where he crashes when he spends too much time at White’s as he did not want to face your wrath. But now… with the underlying tone of sadness and accusation in your words, she knew what you were to insinuate.

No response.

“He must have nodded,” Eloise deduced. Violet turned to look at her and her daughter’s brows were furrowed and she looked concerned. She took time to look at the rest of her snooping children and they all mirrored that look.

It took a minute and when you spoke again, it was clear that your voice was thick with emotion. Unlike the confidence your anger gave you earlier, you were now stumbling over your words and you stuttered, “A-are you hav-ha-having an a… Are you being unfa—”

“How could you accuse me of that?!” Anthony must have stood, with that amount of indignation in his voice, he must have.

There was no response from you this time.

“Y/N! Answe—” You inhaled deeply, then a shaky exhale and Violet was sure you were crying… Or was about to. “Y/N…”

“What… is this life that we have condemned ourselves to live?”

“W-what?” Anthony was taken aback by your statement. He stuttered, when was the last time Violet had heard her eldest stutter?

“You do not love me…” If it weren’t for Violet’s sharp hearing, she would not have caught what you said. (“Eloise, what did she say?” she could hear Hyacinth whisper and of course, Eloise answered, shushing her quickly after.) She was perplexed… she knew that her son loved you, she could see it. Even a blind man could.

“I—"

“You love our children, your love for them runs deeper than what you have ever felt before. And I completely understand that because I feel the same but you do not love me…”

“I’m—"

“You did not love me then, you do not love me now, and I have been utterly foolish in thinking that you could still grow to love me…” Your voice shook as you spoke and it broke in the end, leaving the sound of heartbreak to resonate. It was unclear as to who you were talking to. It seemed to be directed towards the both of you, more to you, Violet guessed, eyes glistening.

Again, there was no response.

Violet was utterly tempted to open the door and hit his son with something to make him say or do something. Anything.

“O-oh…” You said, slight disappointment at how he did not respond. “V-very well then… the boys and I shall take our leave for Aubrey Hall tomorrow.”

What? The eight shared a look of shock and confusion.

“I wish to save us both the pain of seeing each other. You deserve to sleep in your bed and not somewhere else and I deserve t-the space. We shall need to talk about where we see our lives headed… but let us give ourselves the time to think before we do.” Your statement and your tone left no room for judgement. “I-I hope you have a good night's sleep.”

Colin quickly blew out the candle that Violet had put aside and he ushered the group to the side, hidden in the dark corner of the hallway, opposite the direction Y/N would walk towards. Everyone stilled after covering their mouths.

Instead of a slam of the study’s door that the snooping members of the family expected, you closed it as soft as you could, sighing. They all watched as you pressed your back on the very door with your eyes shut, your body sliding down with no hint of emotion on your face.

Anthony could easily attempt to open the door and find her there, Violet thought. And even with no light to let her see the faces of her children, she knew that the same thing was on their minds.

The first tear fell, or it seemed like it did. The lack of light was starting to get on her nerves, she couldn’t see what was happening. But somehow, she knew.

Then, the second. And then the third.

You bit your lip as you tried to blink back the tears but that only made them continue to slip down your cheeks. Your hands were shaking, Violet saw the visible tremble as you lifted your hand to wipe the wetness on your face.

You stared at them, your shaking hands, for a while, the pain in your chest amplifying with every second that passed. The whole conversation plays like a broken record in your mind. The deep breathing you had accustomed yourself to do stopped. A deeper inhale and then, you doubled over. You sobbed uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking with each wave of the tsunami that were your tears.

The hall reverberated with anguish and pain.

It was impossible that Anthony could not hear you, it was impossible, Violet thought…

And that was when she realized, with her daughter-in-law drowning in distressed…

This was not the first time that this happened

And in those previous instances, Anthony never tried to fix the reoccurring hammer that gradually caused each crumble in his family.

Morning came early for Violet.

Perhaps it was due to the cries of her daughter-in-law, haunting her mind even when she slept.

Perhaps it was the confusion brought by the statements of unreciprocated love that were said in her son’s study.

Perhaps it was the revelation that her son chose to sleep at nights with the frustration sprung from an argument in his mind and, Violet hoped, the guilt of not resolving it with his wife.

It was probably all of it, Violet thought as she entered their dining room for breakfast.

And the area was once again quiet, a tender mix of silence and apprehension present.

“Oh! Mama, you have arrived, we can finally eat,” Daphne exclaimed with an uncomfortable smile, attempting to cut the tension. (All night, her thoughts were of how much luck she had that although he lied about his capability to have children, Simon was in love with her. At least they had that, well, she’d like to think they still do.)

“I’m surprised that you haven’t even begun,” Violet said, her eyes glancing at Colin as she hoped he would say something to aid them. He did not. (All night, his thoughts were filled with his brother’s and his sister-in-law’s reactions to his former engagement with Marina. Anthony told him he was too young and you asked him if he was even sure that it was truly love.)

Violet took her seat at one end of the table, opposite Anthony. The expected chatter commenced as everyone simply tried to ignore the elephant in the room. (Unbeknownst to Anthony and Y/N, what was on their minds were also on their family’s.)

She clocked an eyebrow and observed her son closely. The bags under Anthony’s eyes were prominent, his hair disheveled and he kept looking at you. Thankfully, the usual glower on his face was gone and replaced with a soft smile as James happily babbled with the flapping of his tiny arms. Your laugh was strained as you struggled to feed him. Your whole disposition was scaring the matriarch. Your eyes were less bright, your body was stiff and you kept avoiding Anthony’s gaze.

Meanwhile, the missing glower was being sported by Teddy. His lips pressed together as Hyacinth and Gregory strove to make him laugh. He did not.

Even when you asked him why he was not eating and if he was feeling well. He just held his spoon and began eating. You also tried to converse with him but he only grunted in response to what you said. Everyone peered at him every once in a while, concern written on their faces.

And then you cleared your throat midway through breakfast and Violet turned to you, wondering what you were to say. “The boys and I shall leave soon after breakfast, we are to head back to Aubrey Hall.” Everyone attempted to act surprised with Hyacinth even gasping dramatically. “M-Mama is arriving early for the preparations for Teddy’s birthd—”

A clatter.

Teddy pushed away his plate and stormed out of the room, the glower now a full pledged glare as he stomped with his arms crossed. Eyes wide, everyone stared, astonished.

You stood immediately, similar to yesterday, ready to follow your child but Anthony reached for your arm as you were about to leave the room. “Let me handle it,” Anthony said, his eyes pleading for you to sit down. Violet noticed the unease reflected on your eyes… your shoulders did not even relax with the thought of your husband calming down your children.

Once Anthony left, the only sound that echoed within the room was James’ soft babbling of a lullaby you frequently sing, blissfully ignorant of his surroundings.

TWO | fools, meddlers, and maids

anthony bridgerton x fem!reader | the social season of 1808 was a time when another mother only hoped for her daughter to be sensible and to find love and companionship within a society where marriage was a woman's only option. And to her, she had found it even if it was a bit mysterious how. (3.5k)

a/n: also edited a little bit compared to the original post in my prev writing blog (infeffablename/daydream-hoe). jane l/n is y/n's mother in this story just to make the pov chapter flow better. The gif is made by @ladycolinbridgerton from this gifset. hope u guys enjoy :)))

THE SOCIAL SEASON OF 1808 | (part one) (part two) (part three)

Marrying into the L/N family, Jane thought she had seen the most foolish people in her whole life. She loved them, yes, but they all acted foolishly. Her husband’s father was a wealthy landowner and he, himself, had inherited a generous amount despite being a second son. He was quite sensible back then, he bought a quaint and cozy cottage in the country, near his brother’s estate, and then he married her.

She was the governess of his younger cousins and she knew he was a fool the moment they met. He lost to a child of eight years in a game of chess and he humiliated himself in front of numerous people during a ball. And yet, she fell in love with him, quickly and deeply. They married, enveloped in passion and lovers’ bliss, and soon enough, they were blessed with a healthy and beautiful child.

A lively girl who had a habit of scrunching up her face whenever seeing her parents show even the slightest bit of affection towards each other. With that expression, they knew when you were to vomit as a baby, they could easily predict all your upcoming actions, and most particularly, they could sense your dislike or disapproval of any person. You were a good judge of character while growing up, Jane smiled as she remembered all of your kind and hilarious antics. Actions that were passed unto your beautiful children.

You were all that they could ever ask for, their hearts were full with just the smile on your face.

But along the years, Jane forgot about her first impression of her husband being a fool. The smiles in your faces were gone the moment your father had gambled most of your money. Jane could still feel the slight pain in her palm brought by disappointment of her husband. You were only eight but you were smart, you knew that your future was not as promising as it once was.

Jane saw the realization dawning on you at such a young age. She saw the light and hope in your eyes diminish. She saw you begin to settle with the thought of working diligently for the rest of your days. She knew from the moment you asked if you could sell your dolls or tutors some kids nearby, she knew.

And she wanted to curse her husband each day for it. But still, she loved him, and she continued to love him regardless of his idiotic mistakes and flaws. She loved that he overcame his pride and asked his brother for some kind of employment. She loved how he supported her choice to go back to being a governess.

She loved him, fool and all.

She wanted that love for you too, but with a sensible man fit for her slightly sensible daughter. She wanted you to relish in the beauty and serenity brought by love and all its intertwined emotions.

And so, she wrote some letters.

She was never the one to meddle often and act like an ambitious mother but you never liked any boy or man in the country, you had not even tried to get to know them deeply enough to form a connection. Thus, there was another place left where she could get you to socialize…

Her sister-in-law, the wife of her husband’s brother, had been the daughter of an Earl, presented into society and went through the social season. That meant that she was eligible to present you in front of the queen— and that she did.

Not that it went well. Jane would grimace every time the memory resurfaced. You walked forward, the queen’s eyes uninterested as usual and yours mirroring it too. You were clumsy and you even scoffed, quiet but heard, when Her Majesty nodded briefly as a sign of approval.

A debutante with a small four figure dowry and an unrefined character, the scandal sheets wrote. None of them named who but everyone knew it was you.

Jane could still see your tight smile in Lady Cowper’s ballroom as you spoke with a baron, around you were numerous mamas whispering about you to their friends. Your eyes pleading for help and while she knew you had to put yourself out there to have at least one called the next day, she relented.

“Excuse me Lord Fletcher, but I noticed that my daughter had been quite pale and she felt ill this morning…” Jane intervened and Lord Fletcher’s eyebrows knitted in worry.

“Oh… well, I must apologize that I had not noticed, Mrs. L/N, Miss Y/N,” he said and the two of you smiled at him. “I would not mind if you were to leave before we get the chance to dance, your wellbeing must come first and there are more balls in the season.”

“Thank you, my Lord. And I, too, must apologize. I hope to see you soon,” you responded and then, you bid him farewell. Jane called her sister-in-law and informed her of what occurred, leading to the three of you in a carriage home that night.

You were the first to speak up, thanking your mother and aunt for letting you leave early. You spoke of the hideous gowns, ridiculous gossiping, and dull men that you encountered in less than a few hours. Your aunt was amused but Jane knew what you were up to. You had promised not to do it but here you were, doing it.

You were telling them that there was no one of interest that caught your eye, no one you could see yourself enjoying the presence of. And while that may have been true that night— many men of the ton are truly dull— Jane knew that you were not even going to try in finding a husband. A long courtship could be granted for love to develop but you needed to try at least for that chance to be presented. There should not be just one person putting effort into it.

Whether that one person was her or any other gentleman.

“We are to have dinners with the Bridgertons tomorrow. They are a lovely famil—” Jane informed her daughter, your eyes narrowed at her and at your aunt who had nodded innocently. Jane had been acquainted with the lovely Violet Bridgerton earlier and found out that she had two sons older than Y/N and one slightly younger, though the second and third were still in Oxford and Eton respectively.

Jane did not even have to direct their conversation into the topic of a potential courtship— the Bridgerton matriarch graciously offered an invitation to her home which she could not help but accept.

“I thought you were not to meddle?”

“And I thought you were to try?” You pouted, caught, and crossed your arms, not meeting your mother’s eyes. Jane rolled hers. “Guess we both lied then.”

Jane regretted nothing as you sat next to Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca beside her, during dinner. You conversed easily with the elder as the other only added into the discussion from time to time. Daphne, the eldest daughter, sat in front of Francesca, next to Anthony who was at the head of the table. Little Gregory and Hyacinth next to her as Jane sat next to you and her sister-in-law in front of her.

Jane kept nudging you subtly, glancing at the Viscount after you turned to look at her. Talk to him, her eyes begged but all you did was raise your brow and shake your head.

She did not know what your problem was. The Viscount was lovely from what she gathered. He was handsome, almost four-and-twenty, and a graduate from Oxford. Jane wanted to smack your head for how foolish you were acting. You seemed like you were summoning it from your father, Jane noted to write to him, maybe he could persuade you.

“And you are all named alphabetically? That is very orderly with the knowledge that there are eight of you, I applaud your parents at the method,” you told Eloise, a girl of twelve years, who was one of the most opinionated and spirited girls Jane had ever encountered. Your voice was drowned by the chattering but Jane used her proximity to her advantage.

It was wrong, she should not meddle with her daughter’s life… But she was her daughter and it was better to meddle than for her to waste her life away, alone and unloved.

“Yes, we are. Anthony is first, or course, he has always been in his study since he graduated— not with a first but he studied history and some literature. Then, Benedict and Colin who are both away, studying, how blessed they must be to be born male and be given that opportunity, Then, came, Daphne, me, Francesca, Gregory, and Hyacinth. Honestly, it is utterly unfair that only men can attend university when they are not even smart enough,” Eloise answered, lowering her voice when it came to her highly unpopular opinion. She talked so fast that Jane wondered how you managed to catch what she said as you nodded in response.

“I concur, and the expectations of a woman having numerous “accomplishments” is also disappointing,” you scoffed at the thought of watercolors and embroidery. Eloise agreed with you but before she could speak, Anthony spoke up— shocking everyone since he had been silent all evening.

There was a certain glint in his eyes as he looked at you, Jane noticed, and it was the same with you. She wondered if the two of you had met prior to that night.

“But since you are out in our society, Miss Y/N, what are your accomplishments?” He asked and your face scrunched up at the question, indicating your clear distaste towards the Viscount. Jane once again noted the edge in his voice as he said your name. What had occurred?

“Brother! What type of question is that when Y/N said that—” Eloise was cut off and Jane wanted to bury her face in her hands with how she knew her daughter was to act.

“What an ignorant thing to say and thus, I shall not answer, my Lord, and give you the satisfaction of knowing whether I conformed to fit those expectations of plenty, including you, who I do not need the validation from.” Your nose flared as you glared at him which he returned with a glower.

Another possible match destroyed, Jane had thought until the next morning came and to everyone’s surprise, Anthony Bridgerton called on you with a bouquet of flowers in hand. Jane eyed the daisies in his hand, they were your favorite flowers…

“I believe you have certain appointments with the hairdresser, my dear aunt. And mother, were you not to accompany her?” You asked them before they could ask about the flowers. Anthony was sitting politely in front of you as a maid offered a biscuit which he took.

Jane’s sister-in-law’s eyes widened as she recalled it and soon enough, they left the two of you with only a few maids to chaperone.

Of course, those maids were not exactly tight-lipped about what happened. Jane asked and they spilled everything. You and the Viscount were whispering at first so they had not heard much but then the harsh whispers soon became loud statements. They argued, they said, there was not much context since that had been discussed quietly but there were words such as 'conscience' and ‘liar’ that were thrown.

They have met before, Jane concludwd. Perhaps it was days before the season when you were simply settling in.

There was also laughter, the maids giggled. The two laughed about a joke no one understood. And then there was the kitchen fiasco. The two of you entered the kitchen, the cook was present of course, and the next thing the maids knew, you came out with soot and flour covering your faces.

Peculiar it was, and it was not only Jane who thought so. Scandal sheets spoke of an unlikely courtship that blossomed. The presence of daisies never left her sister-in-law’s drawing room as the Viscount sent them almost every day like he was trying to make a greenhouse of the home. You danced with him during balls too and promenaded with him at almost every social event. Dinners with the Bridgertons also became common for the family, they were more bearable now that the two of you were not ignoring each other. Although Jane could not help but laugh at the times when Violet would imply marriage.

She wondered about it too, hopefully it was not a mere dalliance as it could ruin your reputation that was already being tarnished by the awful gossip-mongers and scandal sheets— Jane had never seen a more toxic community than that of the ton.

The day came when Jane asked what was to become of your time together with the Viscount, you responded, “Why does anything have to happen? We are only enjoying each other’s company.”

You spoke too soon, Jane thought and she wanted to laugh, and she would have, if not for the stronger feeling of disappointment and horror weighing deeper than the amusement and irony.

Only minutes before, she was walking with the Queen, Lady Danbury, Lady Bridgerton, and her sister-in-law. Only minutes before, they were enjoying the beauty of the paintings in Somerset. Only minutes before, they turned to where the Queen had said held a painting of Lady Danbury’s father.

They did turn and what they saw had all their eyes wide and jaws dropped.

The position of the painting in the house was secluded from others and not many frequented to see it and apparently, it was a good enough reason for her daughter to be up against the wall, pressed against Anthony Bridgerton in the most scandalous of ways.

The Viscount murmured something unintelligibly against her daughter’s lips, his hands hiking up your skirt as your hands were tangled in his hair, giggling softly at the word.

Lady Danbury hit the floor with her cane twice, before the two of you could show even more indecency.

He pulled away in shock, the two of you appeared disheveled, eyes also wide like deer spotted at night. “Uh-uh—” you stuttered, your eyes dropping down to the floor once you spotted Her Majesty. Jane could see that your eyes glistened before that, though she did not know why.

Was it because you knew what the scandal would bring? More ruin to our family, Jane sighed. Of all the people, why did she even think of walking with the Queen and Lady Danbury, a wonderful companion but also very talkative and assertive.

“I certainly hope to be invited to the wedding then,” The Queen said, curt, and she smiled at the young couple, leaving all of them agape with the exception of Lady Danbury who was smirking at the incident.

They should be thankful that the season was unexciting that the Queen was thrilled at their actions, Lady Danbury had told them in the Bridgerton House as they all left Somerset as quickly as possible. Jane was shocked to find out that your relationship with Anthony was the only thing that the Queen enjoyed that season.

And they were to take advantage of that. The Queen easily got bored so to prevent her causing a scandal that would ruin both families, the two got married in three days.

Thankfully, Jane’s husband, your father, was able to arrive before the nuptials so that he could give you away. And it had been a small ceremony with the Queen in attendance, of course. Your smile was forced, that much was obvious, as you walked to your husband. Jane thought that the two of you would fall in love, of course you would, it was obvious in how you two looked at each other when no one else bothered to observe or be perspicacious for once in their simple-minded lives.

Although what made Jane wonder for years was that she never knew exactly what had occurred between you and the Viscount. No one truly knew the events that led to the two of you in that position in Somerset and it seemed that the two of you made sure that no one ever will.

For a time, Jane did not care. Her only daughter was married and she built a family with someone she came to love. Your children, Edmund and James, were the sweetest kids Jane has ever encountered. And that meant a lot as she did spend a great time in her life teaching the young. (Although she was truly a bit biased given that they are her grandsons.)

But now, as she sat in Aubrey Hall, having tea with her daughter as their eyes followed the boys who were outside, playing with the toys that her husband had bought them from Wales.

The bags under your eyes were deep, your hair resembled that of when you were younger and messier, your smile was small, and your head was not in England.

She wanted to ask what happened, but you never answered her properly. Jane liked to ask herself when you had begun to drift from her but you were never quite open with other people. They always had to rely on your facial expressions to know what you were thinking. Jane even depended on the maids to find out what was happening in your household.

Mornings are always full of happiness and laughter, a maid would tell her when she visits.

They would enter Lord Anthony and Lady Y/N’s bedroom early in the morning even before anyone was awake, the maid would add. From outside of the door, they would hear your laughter as your husband and children tickled you. Adorable giggles would fill the room and once it died down, the maids would knock. They would collect the children as they had prepared their bath and you and your husband would be left alone.

You never asked them to help you with dressing and Jane thought that was a good sign. A sign that you and your husband loved spending mornings with each other, the sun shining through your windows as you would show your love to each oth—

“He spent nights in another woman’s bed while we were in the same city,” you whispered and Jane noticed that you were not looking at her. Your eyes were following the children as they laughed, “Well, I think he did… He did not deny it and he was defensive when I asked.”

There was an ache in her heart with how your voice was so broken and hurt. She did not know if it were true, she wished it wasn’t. Cruel may her thoughts be but she rather wishes it to happen to her worst enemy than to you, her only child, the first person she ever loved so greatly that nothing will ever surpass it. “Darling, you should not assume—”

“He was not going home to his family or to us. He had an apartment on the other side of town. He never tried to assure me he wasn’t when we left.” Your hands shook as you put down your cup. Your eyes were glossy and when a tear fell, you wiped it away quickly.

“Y/N, you still should not assume such things. He loves you. I know he does.”

“Does he? Do you?” you questioned with a sardonic smile on your face, finally facing her, the tears must have blurred your vision then though you did nothing. “He warned me, told me years ago that he would not love me, that he could not… and I accepted it. Continued receiving daisies— do you know I cannot even stomach the sight of them anymore? Continued dancing in balls that I hated with every fiber of my being. C-continued laughing with him, smiling with him… loving him.”

Jane always prided herself in knowing almost everything with her family. She put them above everything else which was why she asked and which was why she resorted to meddling at times but this… She didn’t know.

Who could have known? Who could have known that two people who appeared utterly in love with each other were not? Who could have known the heartache that both, or one, experienced? Who could have?

“Sweethe—”

“I’m a fool, aren’t I?” The tears were falling now and she could not help but gather you into her arms, providing the warmth a mother could bring. She whispered words of comfort, of love, disagreeing with her statements. A sob tore at your throat and Jane could feel her heart crumbling at the sound. “I am! A stupid, stupid, stupid fool whose values and morals disappear every time he fucking smiles at me.”

Indeed, Jane had thought she had seen the most foolish people in the face of her husband and her daughter but at that moment, as you, her daughter, clutched to her for comfort, repeating how you were a stupid fool, she thought Anthony Bridgerton the greatest fool of all.

Tell me again [ AB ]

Pairing ~ Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Plot ~ after a long day at work, Anthony tells you how much he missed his wife <3

Warning: pregnant!reader, little teasing, shy!reader

Words : 0.8k

My other fic

Anthony bridgerton angst

" I thought you would be asleep..." Anthony murmured, words soft as melody spelled in the dark, hands crossed around his chest, his cuffs rolled up like usual after every tired night in his office, he smiled at you, a glint in his eyes.

" Why would I ? " I would wait for you at the worlds end, You turned to look at your husband, after a hard day, his eyes looked so tired and yet, they were sparkling, always when it was you.

" Oh my dearest wife." He moaned as he crossed the distance in two long strides, wrapping his hands around your waist all the while dropping to his knees,

"I missed you so much baby." He said, kissing your baby bump gently as he looked up with stars in his eyes.

" You didn't miss me Anthony ?! " You fake gasped, watching the slow chuckle make its way through the rings of his cartilage as he plucked the book you were holding.

" Oh you have no idea ! " He growled, taking both your hands in his and guiding them to his face, his eyes shutting as your fingers traced the face you adored so much, he hummed in response, kissing the soft skin of your wrist as watched you, one knuckle at a time, eyes never leaving yours.

" you think I haven't missed you ? " His asked, almost blazing, " you? " He said again, " There wasn't a moment when my soul didn't want to crawl and come to you, not a moment when i wanted to be anywhere but in your arms love." He squeezed your hand gently as you smiled, because you knew, knew how much he loved you.

" Have i told you how much I love your hands ? " He traced the lightening like green nerves that made it ways across your skin, he loved every bit of you, body, soul, mind and heart.

" You haven't," you replied, feeling your breath knocked out, heart punching against your ribs.

Anthony's lip quirked at your dazed eyes, he loved every and each version of you but he so much adored when you made your needs known, how much Anthony loved giving you what you wanted, you just have to say it for me, my sweet love, he had told you.

" This," Anthony said, his lips grazing at the slight raise of vein of your wrist, following it upto the crook of your arm, smiling in triumph as a strangled noise made it's way out of your throat.

" You like it ? " He tilted his head, brows raised in question, " mmm" you hummed softly but being the Viscount and smug bastard lord bridgerton was, he smirked.

" Say it in words my lady." He gazed up, you gave him one eye roll but opened your mouth anyway, " I do." You said ans Anthony resumed his venturing.

" And I have told you how much I love your collarbones ? " He hummed, planting open mouthed kisses all way to to dip of your neck, his breath lingered like a tattooed kiss, you dropped your head back on the couch as Anthony nipped at the raw skin of your neck.

You felt his smile the way his teeth tore into your flesh, his hand soothing your belly in circular patterns, the other cupping your breast and kneading it with all the time in the world, " You aren't telling me." He complaint, mouth fixed several inches away from yours as he looked deeply into yours eyes, your breath were uneven as you whined at the lack of lips on you, he understood and caressed your cheeks, leaning until a thread of wind was between you, you waited for touch to burn you, waited for his lips to crash into yours but alas!

" An..thony " you whimpered and he shaked his head, mouthing a small, No.

" You haven't " you whispered, closing the inches as his mouth pressed against yours in warm fuzzy music, like everything the poets talked about, Anthony smiled as pulled for a second away, his eyes peicring yours, mischief dangling through the corners and oh, how much you loved this man.

" I think I have..." He trailed, nose nuzzling at the dark reds and blues of your neck, he loved his little vicious games, loved to tease you, loved to drive you crazy.

" You have." You told him, " Tell me again."

That was all Anthony needed to you tell you again, and again and again, how much he loved you.

Rigel's note🪩: This has been in my drafts for so long<3

Victory indeed || A.B

Pairing: Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader

Plot : You are on your way to steal the mallet of death but Anthony gets there first, change in plans— romancing lord Viscount.

Warning: NSFW content ahead!

Rigel's note🪩 : This is inspired from happily ever after, there's quite blood shed for mallet of death. Yeah Colin is love <3

The last bits of doubt left as you shifted Anthony's arm off your waist, slowly pushing your body down and further till you were out from his grip, he almost looked innocent, sleeping and bed soft, his mouth curled in a dream like smile but you knew better than that. last time Anthony, like lord Viscount he was, stole the pallet from your wardrobe.

And the year prior, Daphne showed her Bridgerton colors, involving the Duke himself in her malice plans.

You couldn't help but smile, thinking your bridgerton were showing up too, the floor was frozen underneath your step but you thought about the victory tommorow, the look on Anthony's face would be priceless, wrapping your cloak around yourself and closing the door soundlessly as you ventured out in the corridor, the moon was high and the air was chill. If inside the Aubrey hall was cold then you weren't up for the chill outside, a shiver ran down your spine as you stepped out in the moonlight, taking the back route, just in case. The shed stood there in the bleak light. You fiddled for keys and it didn't make sense when the wooden door was unlocked, maybe Johnny forgot to lock it, anyway, all more easy. The door creaked in the silence and you couldn't care less, there was nothing between you and your victory black mallet and—

Your breath was knocked out of you as if your lungs were punctured, a gasp of white mist left your mouth at the sight of your husband, leaning idly against the wall.

" I... Anthony?! " You blinked and unblinked and he was still there, smiling.

" What are you doing here wifey ? " He cooed and it didn't help the terror that seized you.

" You knew ! " You hoped it wasn't as shaking like it felt in your throat, Anthony ran a hand through his hair and it all made sense, damn his dreamlike smile, damn you lord Viscount.

" You wound me baby, do you want me to tie you until the game tommorow, tell me, would you like that ? " He smiled all the while, faking a frown as he narrowed his eyes to your silhouette in dark.

" So you would guard the mallet all night ? " You wouldn't let Anthony win this time, it was coming on your pride now, also the love making that followed where he called you all those petty names. The last he called you runner up. No, you would win this time.

" Or I could tie you up, I like that better." Anthony suggested smugly, propping on top of the desk and flashing an erotic display of thigh, change of plans.

" My lord..." You whsipered, all seduction placed in one basket and all smugness was dropped when Anthony's lips parted.

" Do.not." he shuddered but you hit the nerve, moving slowly in your shaking steps, cloak dangling behind you.

" Anthony, these games are absurd. " You stiffled the laugh that burnt your chest, heart heaving and thudding inside your ribs.

It almost didn't work the last time you caught him stealing the mallet, Mrs.Wilson came at a very wrong time.

" It's not working." He assured, to himself mostly but his hand reached for your body all the same, betraying every word he said as he pulled you closer, face mere inches away.

He wrapped his big arms around your waist and cocked your head sideways.

" What about..." You paused, bumping your nose to his cheeks as he sniffed the moon shadow out of you, his lips tried to claim yours but you liked playing games. The ones you could win.

" About what ? " He asked breathless, his long slender fingers undoing the knot in frantic rushed movements. It was no use.

" I was thinking about...we don't have a daughter." You hoped nothing was drowned in the moan that left when Anthony bit at the junction of your neck and shoulder, he looked up with a glint, it was the most sincere set of eyes you had ever seen, also the lustiest.

Anthony could do both, have you screaming his name and worship you all the same.

" Take the mallet...take everything baby. " He kissed you, hard and crashing, like he couldn't get enough, you couldn't get enough and it became too restless for games and victory. Your body oozed with goosebumps and every single thought evaporated like mist and memories.

Anthony dropped the knot and pulled the cloak up from your head and you easily gave in, throwing your hands up as the satin fabric fell on the floor. Anthony hummed in desire.

You felt the cold air circling your body but as soon as Anthony's mouth kissed the exposed skin of you breast, it was gone, nothing mattered than him and his filthy demanding mouth.

" How beautiful you would look with our baby in your belly." He whispered against your skin and you shivered at the sensation.

His palm gripped your hips and lifted you on the desk, turning the dynamics and you cursed under your breath when his unholy fingers pinched your nipple, hard and raw.

" You like that ? " He breathed, undoing buttons of your nightdress like he was made for it, he was merciless sometimes, taking pleasure when you screamed his name and teasing you later, " so needy for me baby ? "

" An.. Anthony." You hoped he heard the plea, his thumb made circles in your inner thigh but never touching where you wanted him the most, " baby.." you buried your face in the crook of his neck and even so, you could hear the smile that crossed him, cocky and devilish.

" Say it wifey, say it nicely with your sweet mouth." He grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you back to face him, eyes locked as his head leaned down, his darted his tongue, pink and wet, the wonders he could did with that, he licked your one nipple while the other was tucked between his two fingers, pressing them together and you screamed, almost embarrassed but Anthony liked that, he always did.

" What's the word ? " He looked up smugly, pressing the tip of his nose to your nip, a smile quirking up. Fuck you Anthony!

Your brain short circuited as he tickled more and more and it became too much to bear.

" Plea... please baby, please, please —" he heard the plea and his mouth opened, taking in your soft flesh and humming in delight, kneading the other so it didn't miss his attention. He wasn't biased when it came to your body, giving everything his full attention and torment. You threw your head back at the sensation that vibratated in your body.

You grabbed his hand that glided on your bare thigh to guide him to touch you where you needed him the most, his teeth nibbed, not harder but enough to make your eyes watery as he slapped your hand away.

" You get the mallet, I get what I want, win win Viscountess." He kissed your cheek open mouthed and his desire was pressing hard against you.

" Fuck me." You said, flushed and dazed and Anthony eye's widened before he was back to play all lord and smug.

" You always order me so." He bit his lower lip but you had enough, fuck pall mall, fuck Anthony bridgerton, yes fuck him. Now.

" Fuck me Anthony! " You almost cried, Anthony leaned further, his forehead touching yours as he whispered,

" I wouldn't be able to sto—" don't stop, then.

You kissed him hard and soft, like fireworks wrecking your brain and you tongue traced his lower lip, intoxication wasted you.

He moaned and a strangled noise that you trapped in your mouth escaped, right from his throat.

His length was pressed against your thigh and it was warm and vibrating. You swallowed like a Virgin damsel.

Anthony looked at you, not breaking the fire that was blazing between your souls as he pulled it out his erection and there, angry red tip, sticky with pre cum was buzzing to be touched and loved and he looked up in delight when your eyes widened, all of the times, it didn't matter, it baffled you just the same.

You touched the tip and he shivered at the contact, his cock gave a twist and lurked fir more.

" Do you see ? " He was panting, shaking with his words as if he would fall if he didn't hold his breath, " see it ?! How much I burn for you, how much I want you ? " He shaked his head and touched his tip to your belly, soft and burning.

" No." He laughed humourlessly, his hand pushing your body to lie down on your back and you followed, taking a huge breath as Anthony grabbed your dangling ankle in a yank, bringing it around his neck.

He then kissed your knuckles softly, whsipering sweet nothings tenderly in your bones.

" I would give you anything my sweet love, you just have to ask...mallet ? I would give you my soul if you had asked. Anything for my baby love " He said, you felt your body tremor as he teased his tip at your insides, Anthony inhaled sharply as he entered you, warm and slick as oil. he entwined your fingers together.

" So good...so good for me baby." He moaned as he soft thrusted once, twice and until you were numb for anything, his words were halo in the dark, beaming silvery glow and then came one hard push and you arched your back as the pain waved in pleasure.

" Anthony..." You moaned, " oh god ! " Your words mingled in blasphemy and Anthony smiled in victory, pushing harder and harder as your hips rocked and roll.

" Say my name...say it." He demanded, your nails gripping at his shoulder so hard that it would scar, he liked it.

" Anthony...oh lord... Anthony." You screamed and chanted and you believed he heard the worship, the fate you had in him, and it didn't matter if anyone listened, let them, you thought, Anthony was a force to be reckoned with, a storm you never minded to be wrecked in. A beak of sweat glided from his forehead and dropped on your belly.

He was still pushing in a angle that had you seeing stars and cosmic love, he bend down, licking it, tongue gliding across your skin, and sniffing, taking in everything your offered.

He wanted all of you.

" I will fill you up with our baby, next time don't go hunting for mallet in midnight...it's so cold Darling, i would have to tie you up," He kissed your stomach bump, " and would carry you around everywhere." He said in dreamily haze that soon took over your lids.

The only sounds were erotic slapping of skin against skin and shuddering breaths, and he fastened his movements as a war cry took him over like a devil.

You head was thrown back as everything collapsed and grew again, bit by bit. Your eyelids drooped and a muffled cry came from you and then it was Anthony as he came in warm fizzy juice. Your felt the knot inside you uncoil and something loose inside you, uncorked as your juices mingled like your souls.

He pushed one more time, he always did that and then he collapsed next to you, satisfied, kissing your already bruised neck sweetly.

" Wouldn't you like that mama ? " He chorused and you laughed like a drunk, you would, a daughter with Anthony's eyes and smile, you smiled at the thought.

" Let's clean you up and take you to bed my lady." Anthony picked you, kissing you again as you giggled, he then grabbed the cloak and covered your body against the cold, you were dazed but not quite forgotten, you eyes searched for the war prize. Your mouth fell open, second time in a very same night.

" Where's the mallet ? " You narrowed your eyes at the stock of pink and blue and yellow but the black wasn't there, perhaps a trick of light.

Anthony followed your eyes and went closer, your arms wrapped around his shoulder and there, beneath the shadows was a parchment, rich and fresh.

Anthony picked it up with one hand, the other keeping you steady in his arms.

You saw the lanky words that belonged to none other than Mr. Bridgerton.

" Damn you Colin! " You growled as the mockful apology was scribbled for stealing the black mallet.

Anthony perched his lips at the heist but smiled when your whining eyes met his.

" I am going to whoop his ass and get you the mallet baby." He said, and you knew he will.

Victory indeed.

_________________________________________

Uhm Benedict bridgerton next ? Send in request ladies <3

I’m so glad you take requests for Anthony bridgerton. I’ve been in the mood to read angst with happy endings for so looong😫 so could I request Anthony bridgerton x wife angst where they have an argument/fight because he is stressed so he takes his anger out on her so she ends up giving him the silent treatment while he basically begs for her forgiveness

Say nothing then || A.B

Pairing: Anthony bridgerton x wife!reader

Warning: hurt/angst, superstitious thoughts, Anthony doesn't think he could outlive his father. ( Happy ending and little comfort, i promise.)

Rigel's note 🪩 : Thankyou so much for requesting, absolutely heart breaking to write this one, I took inspo from book, Anthony denying love because he saw his mother going in depression when his father died and taylor swift's lyric I said, "I love you" (I said, "I love you") You say nothin' back . I hope i did justice with this one sweetheart <3

That's the way you loved Anthony, truly and completely and sometimes it was so hard to keep it in, it slipped through your lips everytime you kissed him. Pressing down in his skin and tickling his heart that was yours.

It gazed at him, dusk or dawn, ever so lovely, it scribbled down in your ink, leaving your love trailing down behind him.

When Anthony told you he would give you anything, you believed him, when he said he just wouldn't love you, you didn't.

That's not how it goes, perhaps you were naive and blinded but that, it was love that glinted in his eyes everytime he looked at you. When he would smile and reveal the book you yearned to read, hidden behind his back. When he danced more than any husband did with his wife so you didn't believe when Anthony said he wouldn't love you, that was only a matter of time.

However, there's difference between wouldn't and couldn't, Anthony was scared to love, for he knew it's a force and he would be damned if you were to be left heartbroken just like his mother, he would curse himself if he didn't wake when you would call out for him when he was dea Because Anthony was sure, he bloody knew he wouldn't be able to live past his father and in no universe he would want to see you begging, crying and slowly drifting away. Lost and sad, no.

So he wouldn't love you and he would save you from the greater grief, of getting left behind while the other is gone.

But love became too much sometimes, held too much of your heart and body and soul that it demanded to fly and then one such night, all the chains tattered and it was bleeding raw and fresh—

" I love you." You said, like you did every passing moment but oops you had said it now, in words and sound as Anthony kissed the back of your ear, it was the first time the words ever experienced by the nature, no doubt you had said it with every kiss, every touch, every gesture but this was new.

Anthony freezed above you, hands dropping whatever mischief they had in tow.

He pulled away from you in a blink of your eye and it took you a moment to realise what went wrong.

" Anthony ? Are you..you are okay honey ? " You whsipered, he didn't look at you, staring at his hands as he could see a story you couldn't.

" I.. Anthony ? " You said again because it scared you, Anthony wasn't the one to look away, all the things that scared you was nothing against the terror, the sinking gut wrenching feeling you felt when Anthony fliched at your touch and you shivered in ache. No, don't leave me. Please, please.

It was another pain to see Anthony like a stranger, like he didn't know you. He would, he promised he would know you anywhere but this, it was threatening.

" What did you say ? " You almost thought it was the voices in your head, the agony that coated the words could never be from him.

Never to you, he was drifting away with each heavy moment and the person who was at the edge of your bed, in your shared chamber, smelling like you, wasn't the person you knew.

" Anthony—" you tried, you couldn't help the choking of your throat as those eyes were fuming in rage, maybe there was love, hiding somewhere but you couldn't find it and it broke your heart. Anthony couldn't be right.

" You don't mean that ! " He was screaming, his whole body shaking as his fist slammed the mattress in fit of rage.

A strangled hiccup escaped your throat when Anthony gripped your shoulder, hard but not bruising, like he wanted to shake you out of this feeling. He couldn't.

" You don't understand, love, love, love—" he almost cried, his nose reddening, his whole face was burning.

" —its stupid ! Means nothing, does nothing, it takes away everything..." His voice tore down deep inside you, like breaking membranes and dropping vases, it could never be the same.

" You don't understand... don't say it ! You stupid woman ! " He bellowed when you worked your jaw to say something, Don't say it, I love you—

I love you, please, please, let me love you—

But just as he said it, it wasn't Anthony, it was like your mama reminding you how stupid you were, stupid, stupid girl, she would say.

Stupid woman, he had said and everything else was slowly fading, it was starting to slow down, like watching it from away, in different bodies, like you were the doorknob or the painting on the wall because you were crumbling under his touch.

Anthony mere few inches away and you wondered what he would do if you kissed him just then, would he stop this torment?

Would he pull away, back then he didn't when they were your silent ' I love you's ' instead he drank them in, tasted your love raw and wild and now refused them in sound and wave.

" What should I say Anthony ? " You were sure they never made it out, lost somewhere in void, perhaps still coiling around your cartilage but the shocked silence that echoed between the little space between you reminded you how words crawled out after all. Even those meant to be quiet. I love you.

" Say nothing then." His voice is so small that barely register and before you could, he's inhaling large gulps of air, drifting back and back and his eyes not quite meeting yours until he turned his back to you.

He was gone for the night.

Say nothing then.

He wasn't there for the breakfast.

Say nothing then.

He wasn't there the next day.

Say nothing then.

And the day next, and one that followed—

Until you reasiled you haven't said anything in days, it wasn't so bad afterall, it was, very, very bad and lonely but it was okay, as long as Anthony would come back, it should be.

It was very quiet when Anthony stumbled back, his steps shaking and vision dizzy.

He was terribly pissed. You turned the page you only half read and focused hard on the words, Anthony stripped his clothes as he climbed the bed next to you, in an attempt to kiss your forehead like he did every night.

He wasn't there to do it for days and you didn't sleep, it could surely go on, you pulled away.

Something hurt flashed through his eyes and he looked down at the sheets, chest heaving with untaken breaths.

" Good night Viscountess." He whsipered softly and You said nothing back.

Say nothing then.

You weren't sure how you did it but you managed to untangle yourself from Anthony by dawn, you slept for the first time in days and it was over with a series of dreams, each ended with you saying I love you and Anthony saying nothing back.

Silence was louder than words, it was also harsher than words.

Watching Anthony sleep was like playing we're good with him , you weren't sure if you could cry anymore than you had already.

It felt like nothing happened and it could go back to be like before, you could press your love to his skin and it wouldn't burn and leave scars.

But you didn't want that, that was something it had became unbearable, when love bled through you, it was unstoppable and you realised how you will love him enough to make it up for both of you but he wouldn't let you. He wouldn't love you either.

The hurt was visible when his hand trembled, he tried hard to catch your eye, you focused at the honey, so sweet. Anthony didn't know but it hurt you all the same. How much burden you felt in your bones when you couldn't tell him all the things you woke up with, to tell him about your dreams — nightmares now, to tell him that you hate him so much, to kiss him until he couldn't breathe and tear everything wrenched out of him, but you couldn't.

All the more heartache when Anthony brought out the third part of your beloved novel and when the smile never came on your lips, only tears that blurred your gaze so much that you turned away from him, Anthony was shattered.

It was the second day, you hadn't said anything at all, inside screaming didn't count as one. You watched ahead as the far, far away trace of green rolling grass from your balcony. It occurred to you how horizon was made, where earth met the sky and here you were, with souls of something same, whatever they were made of, and yet you and Anthony couldn't mingle.

" Isn't it beautiful ? " He looked at you like you would answer him, he hoped too much.

Say nothing then—

" Huh.." he tried to smile, it was so small.

You stared ahead because looking at Anthony only added salt to your wound, it was aggravating.

It was after some slipped moments when he spoke in a strained small voice, hurt and broken and it shivered you.

" I was so scared...still am," he said and his voice broke, a muffled cry escaped him and you looked at him, really. You wanted to wrap your arms around him and shush away every cry, every pain, every sadness.

Say nothing—

" I thought...I thought i could just keep it away, keep you safe..from me, from love—" and he was crying, not sobbing, not whimpering but crying as big warm tears steamed down his face and he dropped to his knees in front of you, hands reaching for you like moth reaching flame and you took him, held him.

Say—

" I..I..I thought.. could—" he sniffed," couldn't, i can't pretend anymore, I don't want to leave you in pain... don't want to leave you in hurt... can't can't can't keep it in." He cried more and more and more matter how much you wiped his tears, but more fell and it was then you realised, they were yours. You were crying too.

" I am sorry, I am so, so sorry for ever hurting your my sweet love—" he swallowed hard.

" Anthony.. it's okay.. it's alright." You assured him, maybe you and him could go with your love only pressed between silence and gestures and eyes and it would be enough.

But you couldn't watch him break, wouldn't and couldn't.

" I love you." He said, voice not shaking, eyes sincere behind the gleaming tears, " I love you, always had, always would." He brought your knuckles to kiss, love pressing down in your skin. It was golden in the last rays of sun.

" Anthony you don't have to say it." You understood, atleast you did. He shaked his head and smiled through his wet face.

" No, no...let me, " he exclaimed, " I love you my baby, my lady." He smiled and it reached his eyes, you giggled softly when he pressed open mouthed kisses on your hands.

" I love you, I love you and I love you." He said, " I am a fool for ever denying it, I am a fool for you my Viscountess." He inhaled, breathing after a very long time.

" I am sorry, I love you so much baby." His lip trembled and you wanted to steady them so bad.

" I love you too Anthony, truly and completely." You kissed his forehead and he melted in your touch, and you didn't know how much time ticked away with loud and whispered and blessed I love you's and that's the way he loved you, truly and completely.

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Rigel's note 🪩 ( again) : I hope this was good, I am such a angst sucker myself<3 request through my ask box :) and can you reblog ? Please, please.

Hey Rigel I love ur work like so much 💓 can I request Anthony bridgerton where he is getting married and realises his love his y/n or smth similar with him getting jealous and angry when y/n and Benedict or colin fake date like tht or anything if this doesn't make sense 😭

Enchanted | A.B x you

Pairing: Anthony bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict x fem!reader x colin ( platonic) wc - 3.8k

Synopsis: When Aubreyton's CEO strikes a match with Miss Edwina sharma, because she's nice and kind and witty, ofcourse nothing could go wrong, except you have feelings for Anthony.

Warning :CEO! Anthony x assistant! reader, Asshole! Anthony, Benedict x sophie, Polin, bridgerton's chaotic dynamic, reader and Benedict share one brain cell that's mostly with you, alcohol, fake marriage( Anthony and reader), social media au, office au, modern setting, forced proximity, jealousy jealousy, mutual pinning, fluffy fluff, bit angst, arranged marriage, bit Collen Hoover bashing but it's a joke ( maybe not ) no Edwina bashing, scary Kate sharma, yes!!! ( Might add more later )

" Your brother is an idiot." You said, gritting your teeth as your mail blew with applicants, beautiful young ladies with peculiar yet remarkable talents.

" That." Benedict catched the grape midair with his mouth," we know of." He added with a cocky grin.

" Read another ! " Colin peppered, stealing your cookies which you ignored, sighing as you opened another mail.

" Tiana Young, twenty-one, I like to read, write and sing, my favourite author is Collen Hoover—" Benedict snorted, " —I like children and hope to be a mother, I am very soft spoken and good natured, my neighbours call me Ti, because I am a tea kinda person—"

" What's a tea kinda person ? " Colin bited the smuggled cookie, Benedict pulled the remaining to his side hastily, you felt your appetite long gone.

" It's like...they are like tea..." Benedict said, more in doubt as he looked for affirmation.

" Like milk tea or another tea ? " You asked, perhaps tea could takeaway your headache.

" What's an another tea ? " Colin's hand began to pull the tray, Benedict frowned but said nothing, taking one hurriedly and breaking it into two parts, offering you the bigger one.

" No thank-you, let me fix this Tiana's appointment." You exhaled, copy pasting a paragraph how (un) grateful you were to her for reaching out, she would soon have her appointment date and bla bla bla.

" I knew my brother was workholic but this wife hunting thingy is so exhausting." Benedict wiggled his eyebrows, you knew he was being kind but he wasn't helping at all.

" It would have been over if his requirements weren't so high, like he's not looking for a wife but some utopian woman god has yet to create ! " You were ranting, you knew, but this was the only way you could stop yourself from punching Anthony for putting you into this misery.

" Why can't he just fall in love ? " Colin looked at you and Benedict seriously, his mouth covered in crumbs, " Come on, love is like...like a force to be reckoned with ! " He beamed, ofcourse it was a force, didn't Penelope wrote something smiliary in her latest book, you somehow felt your heart shuddering, what would happen if Anthony were to be in love, some intelligent, beautiful woman, some utopian goddess of his, you didn't like the idea one bit, so you laughed it off.

" Brother in love ? " Benedict was in stitches, banging his palm on the table, shaking few very important papers that laid without any significance. They will be probably used as napkin if you weren't there.

" It's not funny." Colin got up, taking his coat, he rolled his eyes when Benedict refused to stop laughing, you shaked your head helplessly as another mail popped up, Jasmine had written a essay about global peace and increasing capatilism, you groaned, damn you Anthony bridgerton!

_

" Good evening Anthony." You tapped save on your screen as Anthony entered the office, a beak of sweat trickling down his neck line, okay, someone got either fired or roasted down to their very existence, you preferred the former.

" Good evening y/n." He looked up at you, he worried his jaw to say more but decided against it as he settled on his chair, it was very comfy and very big, years of working with him but you couldn't fathom the courage to ever have a taste, perhaps Benedict would help, maybe then.

" There are twelve appointments I have scheduled for tomorrow, Miss Becka—"

" Cancel them."

" What ?! " You almost shouted, you didn't waste your whole day to adjust and fit these pretty woman according to the time and weather and place and Anthony's mood so nothing went wrong, did he just said cancel them like it was nothing, this—

" We are going out Tommorow, it might take all day so cancel them." Anthony ran a hand through his hair as he exhaled sharply, your brain short circuited at the words more and more made some meaning, we ?! Did he, for heaven's sake said we ?

" You and me ? " You blurted and lowered your gaze when his eyes snapped to you, a deep color blazed your nose as you fiddled with your skirt.

" Yes, me and you." He confirmed and you could swore, that was a smile, a small, thin, almost unrecognisable on his always stern face, but that was a smile.

" Why ? " You closed your laptop, tucking the strands of your hair that usually came out after a long day, behind you ear.

Anthony pressed a key and it beeped, he shifted his face to you, thinking that he was almost frowning and finally, he said with a neutral face.

" I have found a match." His face gave nothing away, " Miss Edwina will be most suitable for marriage." He said it like it wasn't his marriage he was talking about, " she's very graceful and witty and would make a amiable wife and a kind loving mot—"

" Right." You snapped mid course, his mouth was hanging open with words lost in void, you knew very well Miss Edwina was a fine young lady, she was beautiful and kind and sharp at wits, ofcourse this ended your torment or perhaps began another, but not now, you needed to think.

" I..I promised Benedict for dinner. " You muttered, feeling your whole body numb as you stumbled out of your seat, Anthony watched, something glazed in his eyes but you couldn't place it, you might if you looked longer but you had no courage left now. You were almost at the glassy door, he was watching you intently and you felt his gaze burn at your back.

" You like my brother quite very much." He startled you, you paused, heart beats echoing through your throat. It was like he was accusing you, almost jabbing his finger on your chest. What does that mean ?

" What could I say ? He's very amiable." You turned to smile at him, it trembled on your lips and Anthony scoffed slightly, mouth curving in disdain but it was gone as soon as it crossed his face. Damn you !

" Have a nice day sir." You closed the door behind you, covering your face as a muffled scream cut through your cartilage.

_

" Miss Edwina ?! " Benedict almost screamed as you narrowed your eye sternly at him, he lowered his voice in a whisper, ducking his head down towards you, " sorry but Miss Edwina ?! "

" I know, I know." You swigged another gulp of the dizzy bubbling liquid that will give you a terrible headache tommorow but right now, you just wanted this uneasiness feeling to go away.

" Didn't her scary sister vowed to ruin him or something like that ? " Benedict licked his thumb, eye's watering at the spice, you loved this place's Chole bhature very much, last time Benedict cried when he accidentally bited the green masala filled chilly.

" Yeah, she refused to take ahead the Mayfair deal, or something like that, not that it would ruin anything and—" You sighed, leaning back your head as the soft music tickled your senses.

" What ? " You heard his faint murmur.

" Well Anthony was right, as soon as our team announced his engagement, ofcourse not revealing the bride, he's well trending—"

" He's always trending." Benedict groaned, chugging water as his lips were swollen with spiced heat.

" Yes, but not for thirsty things, i meant that Aubreyton is trending and our shares are touching the sky and it's a whole profitable season ahead." You ended breathlessly, you stared at him for full second before both your eye's crinkled with smiles and laughter that came from your hearts, it lightened the air somehow as well as your heart.

" You do remember I am part of the executive board ? " Benedict tilted his head with a warm smile and you shaked your head, feeling tipsy.

" Like you do anything except torment me and poor Colin ! " You pouted, feeling your cheeks flush as Benedict threw his head back and laughed.

" Poor Colin ? " He cooed, " he's probably getting laid tonight." He added with a wink, you slapped his shoulder nervously.

" Penelope replied ? "

" Ofcourse, my dear little brother wrote a whole ass three page message, with a picture of all her books that too hardcover and first editions."

" Wow." You said, impressed, Colin was head over heels, it was only a matter of time since the dazzling author knew.

" And what of Miss Beckett ? " You wiggled your eyebrows like Benedict did when he teased you, he turned a beetroot red as he fumbled with the last contents of his glass.

" She refused for a live in relationship." He said, his face grew sad and you mentally winced for putting him there.

" Oh." You nodded, Sophia lived with her evil mother who liked to see her suffer and she was, afterall, too good of a girl.

" Benedict..." You whispered when he closed his eyes softly, hiding his face behind his palms.

" I am not crying." He was. He sniffed as a few heads turned towards the pair of you, many with sympathy, probably thinking you had refused to marry him or something.

" Hey, hey, hey..." You pulled yourself as you dizzily tripped over to his side, wrapping your arms around him as he melted in your embrace.

" She doesn't understand..." He said it so muffled that it was unable to make out what he said, but you understood it anyway.

" She will, she loves you so much." You kissed his head and he nodded, tears streaking your shirt as he finally emerged with red, sticky face and puppy bright eyes.

" I think i drank too much." He admitted, you nodded, feeling yourself floating too.

" Let's call a cab, we shouldn't drive." You suggested, fiddling with cash as you payed the bill, leaving good tip for the teenager waiter, who smiled kindly at every inner joke Benedict shot.

" Uh huh." He focused hard on his phone, sticking his tongue out like he did when he was really, really drunk and or just really, felt the need to, or he was about to do something stupid, which he did.

Twelve minutes later, Anthony bridgerton was standing outside the restaurant with a heavy frown and it was strange to see him in normal clothes, like that grey t-shirt felt odd yet gorgeous and those sweatpants, you were way too drunk, you realised.

" You'll make a fine gentleman." Anthony curted his mouth, his words dripped with sarcasm that you and Benedict were too drunk to catch on.

" Thankyou, the cab idea was mine." He said smugly, ducking out when you smacked his ass with your purse, Anthony watched with wide eyes.

" Liar." You jabbed at him, he started to giggle and stumbled, taking you along before Anthony grabbed you by the waist and pulled you away from him, Benedict winked at you when Anthony closed his eyes, frustration or whatever that dazed him, his touch was electrifying, like current jostling in water.

Anthony pulled away his arms from you, his eyes strained like it pained him just the same it hurt you.

" You are wasting my time brother, get in the car." He glared, " come." He said to you, his gaze softened but that could be alcohol, you weren't reliable narrator especially when it was Anthony bridgerton.

" Well you could have refused." Benedict ran and sprawled inside like a bear, covering the whole back seat with his wasted body.

" Yes well, I didn't come for y—" he clamped his mouth in a thin line, nerve twitching on his forehead as he breathed hard, eyeing you as you ran after Benedict's seat thievery, you opened the door and his head almost snapped when he looked up you, it was a nauseous enough to make you vomit.

" Move." You pulled his hair, in no hell you will sit in the front seat, not like you haven't, but you were drunk and you were angry and you hated Anthony and you wished so much to just, to just, just once, once just, kiss him hard, that's alcohol, bloody alcohol.

" Leave this idiot." Anthony was suddenly behind you, he touched your elbow with same electric touch, guiding you to the empty front seat as he opened the door, you could feel Benedict wiggling his eye, you will deal with this bastard later.

" I was thinking—" Benedict started, once Anthony started driving, he was shut real quick when Anthony glared with words.

" Stop thinking." Anthony rolled the steering wheel and you looked away, those veins taunted and lured you, it was maddening and the streets were much dull and undistracting.

Benedict giggled at something he probably said in his head, you chuckled when he burped, he did too, only Anthony didn't.

" Don't you have a date tommorow with Mr. Dorset ? " Benedict craned his neck to get a view of you, two Bridgerton's eyes were too much to take as you thought hard, well yes a date, with Mr. Dorset, yes, you did remember.

" Ofcourse." You said, Anthony drifted a turn that jerked your head forward and you would have got a concussion if it wasn't his big palm that came for rescue.

" Are you okay ? " He asked, slowing down the car as his fingers pushed you back until the back of your head was pressed against the seat.

" Yeah." You confirmed, nothing was more threatening than his touch. He should bloody know that.

" Are you okay ? " Benedict mimicked and you realised he was down there, squashed on the car floor, his face hidden somewhere.

Anthony ignored him as his expressions hardened, he was breathing hard as he worried his lips, thinking and thinking.

" You do know it might take all day." Anthony finally said and you cocked your head to his side, you were drunk and well, sleepy too.

" What ? Well, it's a dinner date." You assured, Mr. Dorset wasn't letting go and a Thai curry wouldn't hurt anyway.

" Yes well, it might be very late." He was frowning now, his eyes were on the road but he would glance between nano seconds.

" Really ? " You pouted, you were way too gone now, it didn't matter, Anthony's eyes stopped at your lips and when he looked up, something changed, like it must have changed a long ago but it's colours were only visible now, like moon hiding behind the clouds, beaming but not seen and when it's finally high, hanging at sky, you blinked, expecting it to be gone, like everything, but when you opened your eyes, it was still there, as clear as ever, shimmering at you. That's alcohol, bloody alcohol.

" Yes.." Anthony gulped hard, pulling at Benedict's apartment, how much he wanted sophie to built a home with him, soon, you thought, soon.

" Oi y/n, I think I found your lipstick." Benedict hopped up, his face had lines where because he didn't bother to get up once he had fallen, with a shade that you never used in your whole lifetime, Anthony looked away when you tried to catch his eyes.

" That's not mine." You said, feeling anger creep up your neck, not knowing why, it's not that you were the only one who sat in his car and ofcourse you weren't his girlfriend, you weren't his friend even, he was your boss, you were his assistant, that's it, that's fucking it, you really wanted to punch his face, that's bloody alcohol, you would never drink again.

" Benedict, my brother." Anthony took the lipstick away which Benedict was trying to apply on himself, " get the fuck out."

" Goodbye to you too brother." He leaned to smooch Anthony when he hastily pulled away, growling.

" Bye bye sweetheart." Benedict smooched your cheek then and his lips only touched your warm skin before Anthony pushed him back in the back seat, it was, kinda rough.

" You are drunk." He told Benedict who shrugged, blinking heavily.

"He always kissed me goodbye." You glared at Anthony, this freaking bastard, chew on your lipstick, Idiot. You leaned down to kiss Benedict's cheek and he giggled softly, eyes locked with Anthony, his wide bastard grin flashing, glittering as Anthony eye rolled.

When Benedict was dropped, it was your turn, Anthony stared ahead like a statue, you were suffering in your own head.

The silence became heavy in air as the music was either tragic or too loud for your head and Anthony sensed the discomfort, turning it off altogether.

" What are we going to do actually? Venue deciding or something." You finally spoke, remembering how much you stared and stared when the article popped up, Anthony bridgerton looking for a wife !! You remembered the qualification list, should be well spoken, should be linguistic, should want kids, should be family loving, should be this, should be that, should have good enough hips to bear a child like what ?!

You remembered days and days when he would have his appointments, yes appointments, most of times he was out within five minutes, a frown on his face.

" She doesn't know algebra." He said one time when he came out within two minutes and you shrugged, well algebra was hard afterall.

And now Miss Edwina had ended all your miseries and torture, no lists, no more algebra's and Collen Hoover's, nothing of that anymore, Anthony would be a husband soon and perhaps he would love her, or already love her, he was so determined even when Kate sharma threatened to cut deals with Aubreyton if didn't stop sending flowers, well that was your doing, sending flowers because it was your idea, but well, it didn't matter.

" Well not the venue, but wedding ring and wedding dresses, Mother say we match and cake tasting and flowers—" we.

" When's the wedding ? " You looked at him scornfully, Anthony's eyes lowered at you as he stopped the car.

" Next week." Fuck you Anthony!

" Shouldn't you decide that with Miss Edwina herself ? " You were glad, but you had this feeling that he would be taken away from you, once married, he might not be yours, he was never yours, but still, why not start now ?

He frowned like it wasn't the most sensible and obvious thing.

" I..." He hesitated, " Miss Edwina might not want to go, since the wedding is too near and also, to keep it a private engagement."

" Oh." You didn't get a thing, your mind wasn't working as Anthony leaned down to open your door, you freezed, only your heart thudded loudly, could he hear ? What he did to you, well it wouldn't surprise you if he knew and still chose to torture your poor soul. " Why not state it publicly ? "

" I can't deal with the fanfictions." He said in matter of factly way. " And paparazzi giving Edwina trouble." Don't say her name, don't.

" Fanfictions ?! " You laughed so loud that he actually stopped thinking whatever he was, and just looked at you, as if taking in every detail, savouring them, drinking every bit of you in, he looked like he was mesmerized but that was just alcohol, just your silly heart, just you, who had read all those one shots, about you and him, ofcourse you weren't going to admit it and ofcourse you would be quite dammed if you ever saw Anthony getting shipped with Edwina Sharma, they are getting married in a week idiot, yes, but not today, not now, later, when it was time, please, not now. Later, now he was yours.

" You have a good choice either way." He was, for no reason, walking you to your door, you remembered how Benedict was practically kicked out earlier, he would tease you so much if you were to ever tell him.

" Oh please." You chuckled, rubbing your hands together in the chilly air, " I gifted Benedict onesies on his birthday."

Anthony smiled, it didn't leave his face until he caught you staring and you noticed how different he looked, when those lines were of joy instead of worry, he looked young and his boyishness made your heart do cartwheels.

" That was just a joke." He amused, " wasn't it ? " His smile faltered when you shaked your head in a no, fumbling for you keys.

" It wasn't so bad." Anthony said, somewhat traumatised, " Benedict wore them anyway."

" It had penguins ! " You cringed at the memory, a drunkish Polaroid like, blurred and saturated, it was vivid but just like yesterday, Anthony didn't dance until you were both so drunk, perhaps he smiled back than too, and looked just as dazzling.

" You are good y/n." Anthony said sincerely, " stop being mean to yourself." You opened the door but your hands freezed at the doornob, why Anthony had to cut the right wires, why he had to upside down your whole world ?

" Well, same to you Anthony." You said, he lingered on the doorway more than he should, it was alcohol, it really, really was but no amount of gaslighting could blur the memory away, you always remembered how brave you were that night when you leaned down, one step not much, and placed a small, chaste kiss, just a brush of your lips against his blazing skin. A touch to his soul, it sparkled and rose and busted into a thousand orbs and sprinkled like glitters on you and him.

" Good night." You whispered, Anthony stared, too stunned to say anything, then he smiled, small and enchanting.

" Good night y/n." His smile stayed.

speak now

"i hear the preacher say, ‘speak now or forever hold your peace’" "there's the silence, there's my last chance" "i stand up with shaky hands, all eyes on me" "horrified looks from everyone in the room" "but i'm only looking at you"

pairings: anthony bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings/tags: angst with fluff at the end. you fell first, anthony fell harder. the reader is daphne’s best friend.

summary: anthony comes to a realization the night before your wedding— the wedding where you’re supposed to be marrying someone else.

the moonlight cast a soft glow over the elegant drawing-room of bridgerton house. anthony stood by the window, lost in thought, as daphne entered the room. she had just returned to london, bringing with her news that had unsettled him to the core.

"why have i not heard of this in lady whistledown’s columns?" he had demanded, pacing the room.

"it was kept private," daphne replied, her voice calm but tinged with sadness. "y/n did not wish for any undue attention. the wedding is tomorrow, anthony."

"tomorrow?" he stopped in his tracks, a look of determination hardening his features. without another word, he grabbed his coat and left the house, ignoring daphne’s calls after him.

the night was deep when anthony arrived at your family home. the world around him was silent, the only sound his hurried footsteps on the cobblestone path. he knocked on the door with a sense of urgency, his heart pounding in his chest. when you opened the door, your eyes widened in surprise and confusion.

"anthony? what are you doing here?" you whispered urgently, glancing around to ensure no one else saw. "it is improper for you to be here at this hour."

"i had to see you," he replied, his voice a fervent plea. "you cannot marry him."

you shook her head, "anthony, this is madness. you should not be here. think of our families’ reputations.”

“i do not care about reputations," he insisted, stepping closer. "i care about you, y/n. i cannot stand by and watch you marry a man you do not love."

your eyes filled with tears, but you quickly blinked them away. "you do not love me, anthony. you only say this because i am soon to be wed. please, leave before someone sees you."

his heart ached at your words, but he pressed on. "y/n, i have always loved you. even when you were merely daphne’s bothersome friend. my feelings are not sudden. they have always been there, growing stronger with each passing day."

you shook your head again, more vehemently this time. "no, anthony. this is not right. you must go."

with that, you turned and fled up the stairs, leaving him standing in the dimly lit hallway, the weight of his confession hanging heavily in the air.

returning to bridgerton house, anthony found daphne waiting for him, a knowing look in her eyes. "where have you been?" she asked, though it was clear she already knew the answer.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. "i went to see y/n. i professed my love to her, but she does not believe me."

daphne’s expression softened. "anthony, she has loved you since the moment she stepped into our home. you must show her that your feelings are genuine. if you truly love her, you must fight for her."

her words resonated deeply with him, and he resolved to do whatever it took to prevent the marriage.

the morning of the wedding dawned bright and clear, the air filled with a sense of anticipation. the church was adorned with flowers, the pews filled with friends and family. anthony took his seat, his heart heavy with the knowledge of what he was about to do. as the ceremony commenced, he watched you walk down the aisle, your face a mask of composure. when the bishop inquired if there were any objections, anthony rose to his feet.

"i do," he declared, his voice ringing out in the silence.

gasps echoed through the congregation. your parents exchanged shocked glances, and the groom’s face darkened with anger.

his mother, seated next to him, grasped his arm with urgency.

"anthony, what in heaven’s name are you doing?” she whispered, her voice filled with concern.

ignoring her, anthony kept his gaze fixed on you, your face had turned pale with shock. he moved his arm away from his mother’s touch, his resolve unshaken.

"i cannot let this happen," he said, his eyes never leaving yours.

your eyes were wide with a mix of emotions. without a word, you fled the church, the weight of anthony’s declaration heavy on your heart. you ran to the one place where you could find solace—the apple tree in your family’s garden.

you stood beneath the apple tree, your breaths coming in ragged bursts. the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the garden as anthony approached you. your eyes, still red from crying, met his with a mix of curiosity and frustration.

"go away, anthony," you whispered, turning away from him. "you have humiliated me enough. no man will want to marry me now."

"how did you even find me?" you asked, your voice trembling slightly.

anthony, catching his breath, gave a soft, sad smile. "i have seen you come here before. when the demands of society became too much at the balls held at your family home, you would retreat here to find solace."

your brow furrowed in surprise, you turned to face him. "you have been watching me?"

he nodded, his gaze tender. "i have always kept an eye on you, even if you did not know it. i wanted to ensure that you were safe and that you had a place to escape when you needed it."

your heart ached with the realization of his quiet vigilance. "you knew?"

"yes," anthony replied softly. "i knew. and i could not let you marry someone who did not see you as you truly are. you deserve to be loved fully, and i have always felt that love for you."

he knelt beside you, gently taking your hands. reluctantly, you met his gaze, and in his eyes, you saw an intensity you had never witnessed before. "i am terribly sorry for ruining your ceremony, but i simply could not bear to see you marry another. alas, i am a gentleman. if you do not feel the same, i will leave and never bother you again."

your heart ached with the depth of your feelings. "i desire no one else. i have always wanted you, but i never believed you could feel the same. i think you have ruined me for everyone else."

anthony’s grip on your hands tightened. "it is you who have ruined me, y/n. my heart is so full of you that i can hardly call it my own."

with a sob, you threw your arms around him, pressing your lips to his in a kiss filled with years of longing and unspoken love.

anthony held you close, your heart swelling with joy and relief. "i am yours, y/n. nothing will ever change that."

in the quiet of the garden, beneath the shade of the apple tree, your love found its voice, a love that had always been destined to be.

kiss me (Anthony Bridgerton)

pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Lady [y/n]

+18 (sexual content, please do not read it if you are a minor)

summary: Lady [y/n] is promised to marry a French man, but she feels unprepared for her nuptial night.

notes: my first smut/sexual writing, so please be patient and leave a comment if you liked it! I'd really like to know!

words: +7.900

She shouldn’t be about to do what her heart desired — either way, there she was, grasping at her yellow and pink dress, stressing out her nerves with anxiety dripping from her face. Allowing one last glance around before coming into the Bridgerton mansion, [y/n] sighed, hoping one last deep breath would be enough to give her the right amount of courage she’d need.

The house was full, but not as full as it could be. In a corner next to the garden, sitting around a marble table filled with sweets and tea, Lady Bridgerton, Eloise, Anthony, Benedict, and Penelope could be found. That was more people than [y/n] meant to meet, but she supposed it could happen, being that the person she longed to talk to was a Bridgerton.

“Good afternoon, Lady Bridgerton, Lord Bridgerton,” [y/n] started to salute. “Benedict, Eloise and Penelope, pleased to see you all.”

They all smiled and replied, and Penelope dragged in closer against Eloise, offering the butler that accompanied [y/n] an empty space to place a chair. The visit couldn’t reckon whether she should be thankful for being placed closer to the person she wanted to talk to or not.

“What are you doing here today, dear?” asked Lady Bridgerton, with a motherly smile. Any other person in town asking that question would be considered rude, but since it was Violet, [y/n] had no thought of her being unmannered. “I thought you should be preparing for your wedding day.”

She should, by the way. Violet Bridgerton had a good point, but then what she was there to do could also be deemed as preparing for the ceremonial occasion.

“Or at least be preparing for tonight’s ball, huh?” added Penelope, noticing [y/n] had widened her eyes and seemed to be in a shocking state.

[y/n] smiled at the girl, what she supposed could be viewed as a “thank you”.

“I do have much preparing to do, for both occasions — that is correct.” She had no idea where she was going to end her sentence, “But I felt like stopping by to visit the family I love most in the world.”

Lady Bridgerton couldn’t help but tilt her head in a happy expression. She’d seen [y/n] grow up to be a beautiful lady, and in one day she’d be wed. Violet could only hope one day all of her children would’ve passed through the same process too.

“Lady [y/n] probably wants the girls’ opinions towards flowers and dresses,” suggested Benedict, speaking up. He couldn’t be farther from the truth, though. [y/n] wasn’t there for the girls, especially because Eloise was the only Bridgerton girl around, and she did not like wedding and party planning.

Lady [y/n] was there for Anthony Bridgerton.

For remarkably private and personal reasons.

“Oh, I suppose I could help as well,” said Lady Bridgeton, leaning in over the table. “I don’t suppose I’m overly out of fashion.”

“Oh, Lady Bridgerton!” exclaimed both girls that were not Bridgerton. Eloise just looked bored.

The men looked rather lost in the conversation, and they seemed to be looking for an excuse to get out of there the moment the ladies started discussing garments for that evening’s ball. Unfortunately for the men, a servant appeared with a plate filled with cookies, and so they had to wait a little longer to get out.

“So, Lady [y/n],” started saying Eloise, but [y/n] interrupted her.

“Please, call me [y/n] only,” she said, “I suppose we are very much family by now.”

Eloise smiled and rephrased: “[y/n], will your husband-to-be make an appearance tonight at the ball?”

Penelope stared at [y/n], curious, too.

No, he wouldn’t be coming along, because he was going to be merely able to arrive in London on the wedding day, more often than not just in time. None of the Bridgerton had met Lord Jean Blanc yet — and neither had Lady [y/n]. It was an arranged matrimony, a desire of a father that most longed for his only daughter not only to marry well but to marry a French gentleman, as it was his dying mother's last wish. The old lady had a thing for the French, and she had planned her granddaughter’s whole life based on her own conception. Even though [y/n] had no recollection of the old woman whatsoever, her father did everything in his power for his mother’s wish to come true.

Lady [y/n] had never objected to espousing Lord Blanc, and she was very happy to accept a destiny chosen to her instead of one she’d have to make on her own. That was until last night, when her dear mother told her what to expect for the wedding night. Oh, [y/n] was not expecting that!

She knew a simple version of what her mother had told her — she would lay in bed with her lovely husband and, magically, she supposed, she would give birth to a baby nine months later. It was that, in a way, but, Lord, there was so much more!

And her mother, deciding upon doing differently from what was done to her very self, let [y/n] on everything. All the details and positions, and she even added the father’s own personal preferences, supposing it could be the same with Lord Blanc.

Needless to say, [y/n] did not sleep. She laid awake, turning around in bed, trying not to visualize the sexual positions, trying not to feel the pain beforehand. However, her eyes could not help but wonder how Lord Blanc would look like and if he would be hairless like her father (her mother’s words).

[y/n] was in despair. She couldn’t do those things with Jean, poor man. A maid added, before breakfast upon her questions, that the French were much more sexual beings than the British, and [y/n] could not allow herself embarrassment or pain. But how could she manage that? She was going to marry a sex machine, and she was a bloody virgin!

She knew, however, a man of gossip, and that the chitchat surrounding him suggested he was as sexual as a French man. [y/n] had only one choice: talk to Anthony Bridgerton.

They were friends. They were very, very close. Yes, when [y/n] got older, being a Lady didn’t allow her much fun as being a Lord allowed Anthony, but they still talked and confabbed together almost every ball. She could ask him those things, right?

I mean, it wasn’t very “ladylike” but [y/n] supposed the whole wedding night talk was not ladylike at all, but she had already heard it. She was already in the conversation. The least she could do was ask lord Bridgerton a favour.

She tried to picture herself in front of a man she barely knew, naked with all her insecurities and stretch marks and having to do all the things her mother instructed her to do: open legs, spread arms and so on; but she just couldn’t. Saying it wasn't the same as showing — but not in any universe would she ask her mother to show her how to… make babies.

So her only option was to find a man she trusted as deeply as herself, but much more experienced in lovemaking than herself.

“…had no idea what he could possibly be wanting of me…”

“Oh, Eloise, dear! He was courting you!”

“He was not!”

Eloise Bridgerton’s shout was the phrase capable of bringing Lady [y/n] back to reality. Her courage was totally fading as time passed. She looked around, noticing Anthony and Benedict were already up and about to be gone. [y/n] didn’t even notice when they excused themselves.

“Hm, I’m sorry, girls, Lady Bridgerton, but I do need to ask Lord Bridgerton something if you…”

Mama Bridgerton interrupted with a smile and a wave of a hand.

“No worries, go. I noticed you're pensive,” she said. Lady [y/n] smiled, and with a bow, she walked away, jogging a little to catch up to Anthony.

The three left ladies exchanged glances, but Eloise was soon back talking about her last ball and the troublesome gentleman she had met. Pen and Violet kept a knowing look on their faces, as if they had tasted something in the air before anybody else.

“Benedict, huh, sorry, Lord Benedict,” [y/n] said, rambling and gasping for air, “where can I find your older brother?”

Benedict grimaced but thought it was better to simply answer than to make conversation by correcting her and allowing her to call him just by his given name.

“He’s in his office, [y/n],” he said. “Want me to escort you?”

“No need,” she replied. “I am quite certain I know this house as well as my own.”

They both tilted their heads forward, a silent goodbye, and [y/n] kept walking towards Lord Bridgerton’s office. She knew he wasn’t living at that residence anymore, allowing his younger siblings and mom privacy — or better said, allowing himself some peace and quiet.

She knocked twice on the door, afraid her emotions were talking the best of her.

“Come on in,” said a deep voice from inside.

Lady [y/n] gasped for air, a deep breath and walked in.

“[y/n], hello,” said Anthony, looking up from his papers. “What can I help you with? Is my brother gone, and you require a chaperone to walk you back home?” he asked, getting up promptly.

They were friends, but as much as a female and a male could be friends in British society, therefore it was very rare when [y/n] needed to talk to Anthony in such private places and situations.

“Oh, no, milord, nothing of that source,” she replied, grasping her dress. “I simply, huh…”

Anthony waited as she tried finding the right words.

“I wanted to ask you for a favour.”

He only kept staring.

“Yes, a favour,” she repeated, mostly to herself, as if approving of the word. “I suppose by now you are the only one that can help me. My marriage is just around the corner.”

“Tomorrow, I know,” he said, because he did, indeed, know. It was marked on his notebook, it was all his mother could talk about. And even Colin, one of his younger brothers, had written about it in his last letter. Anthony had no idea why his family wanted so desperately to remind him that his best friend was getting married tomorrow — he had already bought two excellent presents in the name of the family.

“Do you need me for something concerning your matrimony?” he asked, noticing [y/n] had grown silent.

“Precisely,” she nodded.

“Is it borrowing a carriage? We do have fine ones,” he said. “Or do you need me to walk you down the aisle? Isn’t your father supposed to?” Anthony really didn’t want her to ask for him to walk her down the aisle. He wouldn’t be able to. He’d very much rather borrow the carriage.

It wasn’t like it would hurt him to do so if asked. He liked [y/n] extremely, which could be exactly the issue. They had grown up together, he thought that was the problem. He wouldn’t want his sisters to be married to someone he didn’t know, so why would he like it when it was happening to his very best friend?

Except when he thought about marrying his sisters, he wanted to vomit and die. Now, when he thought about marrying [y/n], his heart would hurt so badly as if it wanted to jump out of his chest and go right in her hand — because it was where it belonged.

But he always knew [y/n] wouldn’t marry him, so why, why did it hurt?

“No, I don’t need you for any of those things, I’m afraid,” she said, bringing him back to the factual thing happening. She stared at his beautiful and oblivious eyes. She had to speak up. “Last night, my mama told me some things I should expect in my marriage…”

Anthony swallowed hard.

“… especially on my wedding night. I didn’t know — I don’t know — what to do about it, Anthony,” [y/n] stepped closer to him.

The viscount was finding it very difficult to breathe.

“I suppose a lady such as myself and a lord such as you should not be discussing what I’m about to say, but I… I have no one else, and I will not allow myself to walk in my nuptial night knowing nothing of what is about to happen.”

“Lady [y/n], are you… what are you asking of me?” Anthony managed to ask, gulping. He wasn’t always formal, and he didn’t call her lady when they were alone, but he just needed to put up some walls between them. Even if they were invisible because [y/n] just kept coming closer.

“I don’t want Lorde Jean Blanc to be the first man I lay in bed with. I want it to be you,” she said, all in one breath.

She grasped her dress again, and lowered her eyes to his hands, so she could not visualize what she predicted would be a disappointment on Anthony’s face. How could she? No lady would ask a gentleman to bed her. Oh, god, not ask. She had begged.

“I want it to be someone I know, and like, and trust. Because I can’t bear the idea of allowing my body for use of a French man I barely know and having to just sit still because I have no idea of what he is going to do!”

Anthony Bridgerton desperately wished he had been sitting before listening to Lady [y/n]’s declaration. Not of love. Of necessity. She needed him.

He supposed she didn’t understand what she was asking, but he did it for her. No lady walks in and promptly asks a man to bed her, not unless she sees it can be her last opportunity to do so. And even then, she must desperately desire the required man, otherwise, she wouldn’t do it.

Anthony knew quite a bit about women and their first times. He generally wasn’t up for it — the tenderness and the passion, the waiting — it all scared him very much, but there was nothing [y/n] could ask him with her hearty eyes that he wouldn’t say yes.

But how could he say yes now? How could he make love with the woman of his heart and then walk away to see her marrying someone else?

Anthony reached for her chin and leaned it up, so he could stare her dead in the eyes. She tried ducking once again, but he didn’t allow it.

“[y/n], have you ever even kissed a man before?”

She denied it with her head. “I haven’t met Lord Blanc in person yet, and I’ve always thought that being him the one I’m going to marry, it would be unfair to any other man.”

Anthony nodded.

He then held her chin tightly, firmly, and with his other hand, he grasped her waist, bringing her closer. It was simply natural to do what he did next.

His lips encountered hers, gently, almost like a singular touch of a gloved hand, just allowing Lady [y/n] the space she needed in case she wanted to press her hands to his chest and push him away. She ended up putting her hands there, but not to move him away — she just wanted to be firm, press herself against Anthony and not force him away. He was much taller than she was, which gave her a certain instability in such feminine heels.

[y/n] never expected a first kiss to be so welcoming.

Anthony took advantage of the girl’s leaning towards him and took her by the neck, bringing her closer and closer and making her belong to him with a soft opening of his mouth and an exploration with his tongue. He entered her calmly, allowing her to savour the new sensation, and then he devoured her, tongue and lips, and tightened his grip on her arms, clutching her waist. He was marking her as his, for he knew, or at least assumed, that she would walk away altogether after that.

Neither of them had noticed time passing, minutes felt like seconds, and without [y/n] observation, she was leaned against the bookshelf Viscountess Bridgerton kept full of new books.

That was enough to light her up.

“Huh, Anthony…” she whispered, not noticing her voice would be different after minutes of kissing. “Should we be doing it here? In your mother’s home?”

Her words confused Anthony, and he was not up to letting go of kissing her neck. “Doing what?”

“Deflowering me,” she said, nonchalantly.

Anthony immediately stopped. His hands were still on her skirt, keeping one of her knees up and open for his touches, while his head, bent into the crook of her neck, found a way to face her. The word choice scared the hell out of him.

“I’m sorry, did I do something wrong? Should I not have asked?” she did not keep her questions to herself. “Were you in complete control while kissing me?”

He gulped.

“That was more than just kissing.” And he had, in fact, lost control back there, but he was not about to admit it.

“What would you have called it?”

“We canoodled with each other,” he said. “And I recall some social parcels of London calling it ‘make out’ but it seems unfit.”

“Why?” she asked, lowering her knee and adjusting her skirt.

“Because I didn’t make you. I destroyed you.”

She was positive he was right. What she didn’t know was that she had destroyed him too.

He ran his fingers through his hair, waiting for her to disappear, regretful and resentful towards him, but she did none of the sorts.

“Do you have a mirror here?”

“What?”

“A mirror. A looking glass. Do you have it?”

Anthony held in the urge to smile. “No, I suppose not here.”

She pressed her lips together as if thinking what she could do. To save herself? Anthony thought, but did not ask. He so desperately wanted to ravish her right there and then. Maybe even deflower her, as she put it, but then he would need a safer space than his office in his mother’s residence.

“Well, then you’ll have to be my looking glass. Step closer,” she demanded while combing her hair with her fingers, trying to pin the left out parts.

“How’s that going to work?”

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

Anthony gulped, getting suddenly nervous.

“With my appearance,” she added, noticing his jitteriness.

“You have, hm… you have something on the corner of your mouth,” he said, nervously.

“Where?” she tried to clean it, presuming it was her makeup blurred, but Anthony’s expression appeared to be that she wasn’t cleaning it at all.

He decided to clean it himself upon her request.

Terrible idea.

“Hm, [y/n],” he uttered.

“Yes, Anthony.”

“Why me? Why ask me to…?” he wasn’t able to say the words. “Are you sure of this?” he asked lastly, thinking that maybe he wouldn’t want to hear her saying she didn’t prefer him much more than he was her only option. Or it could’ve been Benedict, but Anthony was very glad she picked him.

She seemed to think before answering. “I picked you because it was only natural. And I am certain of this because I cannot face my husband unaware of what he’ll do to me.”

Anthony shook his head, still helping her adjust her visual aspect.

“Besides, I heard the French dislike oblivious and non-sexual girls.”

That was enough for Anthony.

“Then why, honestly, why are you marrying him?” Marry me! he wanted to add.

She shrugged. “Because he’s there. He wants me. Father sends him paintings of me all the time, and he still wants to marry me after seeing how I am. I know paintings are not the same, but well, people here in London are seeing me for who I am, and they are still not picking me.”

“Perhaps because they know you are engaged?” suggested Anthony, because that was his very reason.

“That’s not it. If they wanted to be with me, they would’ve come forward. An arranged betrothal with a French lord wouldn’t have stopped someone who truly desired me.”

“And would you have said yes?”

She did not answer that. She did not know.

If any other lord had come forward and asked her to be his wife, would she have gone against her father’s wishes and done it? Would she have done it if Colin for example asked for her hand in marriage?

No.

Regardless, if Anthony had proposed…

Anthony disliked the silence that echoed after his question, so he decided upon a lighter tone when he spoke again. “I will teach you if that’s what you truly desire. I’ll bed you, and I’ll be patient, and I’ll show you what a man like, but also teach you what you can like.”

She looked at his eyes, expectantly.

“But only if you ask me, only if you assure me that it is what you want,” he said. “Please only ask for it, however, if you truly want it and won’t regret it.”

“I won’t regret it.”

Anthony and [y/n] exchanged a look. They knew they were doomed, even though they didn’t want to admit it.

“Tonight then. When everyone’s at the ball, say you don’t wish to go because your wedding is coming, and you want to rest. I’ll send a carriage for you as soon as your mother and father have left your house.”

[y/n] gulped, suddenly anxious for more of those kisses, for more canoodling, as he had put it.

“I’ll be waiting,” she said. “Thank you, Anthony.”

He closed his eyes tightly, mashing them as if he wished he hadn't heard her.

“Don't thank me.”

Anthony Bridgerton was waiting for the most surprising guest of his life.

It wasn’t every day he would receive a lady friend in his small but only his house, but this one was a very special lady.

Actually, that night, she was no lady at all.

Lady [y/n] had picked the most sensual of her dresses, the one she only had worn once before. That was because when she did, Anthony almost passed out seeing her in a crowded ball and wearing that red tight thing that put all her natural beauties in place and upfront for any man to stare at. In fact, he had made sure she would only dance with him and her father that night because he decided no one else was allowed that privilege.

She decided it was only fit to wear it once again, for this time it was her ultimate goal to provoke Anthony.

Hah! She had always pondered over it, but never allowed herself to think too much because Anthony was not the man in her future. He still wasn’t, but it felt natural to close her eyes towards her future just for one night and enjoy having Anthony, being Anthony’s.

He was waiting for her in his empty house (he had dismissed the servants), holding a glass of wine in each hand. When she arrived, he offered her one, knowing it would help her nervousness. It was supposed to be helping him too, but as a man used to alcohol, he would need something much stronger.

“How are we going to do this?” she asked, feeling unquiet. The dress was affecting Anthony, she noticed it, but that simply wasn’t enough for her enquiring mind, who wanted to know every step of the way.

“Slowly,” he answered, drinking more wine. “Think of me as your husband after the wedding. How would you let the scene play?”

Oh, he liked to see her imagining him as her husband. After all, it was part of his little plan. He wanted to bed her, to love her for the whole night as long as she could, so she would be addicted and too scared to risk loving another man that can never be the same as Anthony.

“Well, not slowly,” she said. “I’m not a very patient girl.”

Anthony let his brows go up.

“So show me. I’m here to learn, too.”

Drinking in a quick sip of all the left wine in her glass, [y/n] got up and walked towards Anthony, only to sit down over his lap. That was the boost of courage Anthony needed, the confirmation that she was there as much as he was.

“Kiss me.”

And he obeyed.

They didn’t start out calmly, as the first kiss had been. [y/n] didn’t allow Anthony to be slow or tender. She didn’t want affection. She would soon be a wife, she hoped the affection would come with time, from her true husband. At that moment, she was a lover, a concubine, slipping away in the dead of night to find her great, seductive love.

And how big and seductive it was!

She could feel all his power through her dress and his clothing because the position made it all so easy. It was almost like the perfect fit. Anthony bit his lip, knowing he could very well hurt her if he did the wrong thing.

As they kissed, Anthony allowed her hands to explore him, get to know him, and she was grateful for the opportunity. He seized the instant and concentrated on undoing the beautiful hairstyle she wore, pulling out the bobby pins carefully so as not to hurt her and positioning them beside their abandoned wine glasses. Anthony enjoyed being able to see her hair completely down and was delighted to see that it was still the same beauty as when they were children.

Anthony wished he had the gift of painting that his brother Benedict had, so he could paint her in the dim candlelight of his living room, with her hair down and her dress falling apart on his lap. The skirt lifted, allowing for more friction, and her full breasts were desperate to pop out. God, he would burn that dress that night, for he would never consent her to wear it in the presence of the damn French lord.

Why didn’t she claim to be his, and they put an end to this farce? It was evident from the way she writhed in pleasure as he played with the skin of her leg that she was his. She was Anthony’s and would never be anyone else’s. Both came from good-class families, and Anthony was a viscount! A much better position than the Baron, and he was in London, where [y/n] would remain with her family. So why didn’t she confess everything?

He would make her concede.

Grabbing her hips, he rose with her clutched to his chest, and carried her upstairs to his room. He would need a bed to convince her.

He sprawled her out on his bed, happy with the image he saw. If he allowed himself to daydream, she could be there because she was his wife, ring and all.

“Anthony, tell me what to do.”

The words were intoxicating.

“Let your breasts come out. Let me see them. Play with them,” please, he wanted to add, but chose not to say. She was the one who should be begging tonight, not him.

She did as she was asked, carefully lowering the neckline of her dress and showing her breasts. Anthony let his head fall to the side in pleasure as a wave of heat washed over him. He well remembered the day he’d realized that Lady [y/n] had grown breasts. He was pretty sure the day got written down somewhere in his teenage writings. And now, seeing them in their full beauty, with no clothes to separate them, drove him insane.

Leaping over her on the bed, he lay his hand over hers on her right breast and stared at her left for just half a second before biting into her pert nipple.

She felt a surge of pleasure and squirmed, kicking off her shoes with only the rubbing of the edge of the wooden bed. Anthony was golden when he heard the clatter of shoes falling to the floor.

“Are you enjoying it?”

She didn’t answer, just squirmed once more.

“I need you to say it, love.”

“I am enjoying it,” she never admitted how much ‘love’ had affected her, even more than the tender touch of his on her breasts.

“Good, I’m enjoying it too,” he said, moving from one breast to the other. “I love how full they are.”

She moaned something he was unable to understand.

“Use your words, love.”

She bit her bottom lip, meeting his gaze. “I like that my bosoms please you.”

He smirked and pulled her by the arms so that she sat on the bed. She sat up, confused, and he got to his feet. “I want you not to be tense. I’m going to take my clothes off.”

“Want me to take mine off too?” she asked, tilting her head.

“No, I’ll do it,” he said, holding his pants by the waist belt. He hadn’t worn a suit since [y/n]’s arrival, but he still had his vest over his shirt. “I want you to watch me.”

And watched him, she did, completely fascinated by the view.

She was stunned to discover muscle under all the tailored clothing Anthony was always wearing, but that wasn’t all that left her with her mouth hanging open. When his underclothing fell to the floor, Anthony allowed her to see his long, hard cock. [y/n] looked down, imagining and remembering what she had under her skirt.

Her mother had informed her that his and hers would be different, but she never imagined that his would be so…big. That would never fit.

“What is it, love?” he asked, kneeling in front of her, positioning his chin in her lap. His eyes showed concern, and he was right to feel that way, thought [y/n], after all, he should have known he had an anomaly between his legs.

“It’s big,” she whispered.

He smiled with pleasure, holding back a laugh. “Yes, it is.”

“It’s very big.”

He had to lower his face into her skirt, so she wouldn't see him laughing. Of course, her reaction was to be expected, being a virgin, but, God, what wouldn’t he give her, so she could repeat that in front of his brothers. Or rather, all of London.

“You can take it,” he said when his laughter vanished. He rose again and asked for her hand. “Get up, let me undress you.”

She did as asked, and he went to see her buttons on the back, one by one. She felt his fingers play with her soft skin, and she felt exposed but in a good way. [y/n] had presumed she would feel ashamed, but she felt alive and hot.

“Are all men like that? Is Lord Blanc going to be as big as yours?”

Anthony snorted, and he stopped being careful and just tore the dress away.

“No, Blanc’s cock is not half as big as mine,” he supposed she couldn’t understand, not yet, how that was a bad thing for Lord Blanc.

Before she could comprehend, her dress was on the floor, all torn apart, thanks to the Viscount little jealous fit. Later she’d worry how could she leave the house with a rubbish gown, but at that very second, she only felt hot and alive and desirable. The dress had worked its magic on Anthony.

She was desperate to cover some part of her, knowing her two hands were not enough to cover it all. At least, the candlelight is not as bright as it could be, she thought, holding her belly.

Anthony noticed the sudden blush, and hurried to grasp her hands and let her body completely open to his view. “Don’t be ashamed,” he whispered, closer to her ear, “you are so very beautiful. The most gorgeous miss I have ever seen.”

[y/n] couldn’t help but blush again.

How long had she waited to hear a man, a proper man of London society, to say that to her? To compliment her naked body even though it was evident she was just another wallflower?

And to have Anthony to do so, oh my! The most handsome of the British men — she was more than sure now, that she could stare at him defenseless, with all his glory.

He held her left hand and squeezed it a little.

“Are you still sure of this?” he hated himself for asking, for if she answered no, he would die right there and then. His member was in so much bloody pain, throbbing non-stop with desire.

She nodded. “Yes, Anthony. I do, very much, want it.”

Now more than ever, she thought.

She could sense he was smiling in the dim light. “Come,” he whispered, taking her to bed once again, this time slowly, as if scared she could break when naked.

She laid, spread, and he, positioned on top, started kissing her, lips and neck, and his hands wandered all over her body. Her breast felt hurtful with his touch, but it was a different kind of pain because it emanated to the centre of her very core, and when Anthony fingers found her entrance, she let out a soft moan.

The Viscount couldn’t help but smirk, and while one hand stayed there, playing around her core, the other went to her face, as he played with her hair.

“Describe how you’re feeling,” he demanded.

“I can’t,” she said between groans, “I don’t know how.”

“Just tell me, love,” he kept demanding, “when I do this,” he said as he let his tip of the finger play with the mouth of her arousal, “what do you feel?”

She bit her lip. “Anticipation.”

“How so?”

“It feels good, but it also feels like there is more.”

Anthony smirk widened. “Do you want more?”

“Yes, milord,” she nodded, feeling a little pleasure when he started using two fingers to wander around. “Sorry, I meant Anthony.”

He stopped his fingers. “Keep the milord. I like it,” he said, coolly.

It was her chance to smile. She reached for his hand at her entrance and pulled it forward, with more of a firm grip.

“I like it when you call me love, as well,” she let out, feeling a sudden wave of blush.

With the help of her hand, Anthony allowed himself to get in more deeply, to really feel her, and when he played with her clit, he felt like he could die in peace.

“You are so wet for me, my love,” he whispered, desperately to taste her. He knew it could be weird for a first time, though, so he only kept playing with her clitoris, wondering about her taste as she moaned loudly.

Thank God they were alone.

“I feel… I feel like…”

“Like bursting?” Anthony suggested, looking forward to facing her as he knew she was about to come.

He teased and slither, and she just kept trembling and moaning, until a sudden wave of absolute pleasure took over her, and [y/n] like she was at Paradise, the rise of relaxation stronger than she ever felt.

“Anthony, that was…”

“I know,” he said, before pulling his fingers and finally allowing himself some taste of her, even though it was not how he planned. He wanted to really taste her, core and everything, but the wetness on his finger would have to be enough.

He let her breath hard for a whole minute, while he just kept teasing and kissing her belly, shoulders and sucking her finger — he found it a very nice thing to do.

“Is it now you are going to… penetrate me?”

My God, gasped Anthony Bridgerton, shocked Lady [y/n] had said those words. “I guess you did learn to use your words,” he whispered, playfully.

She blushed. “Well, the finger thing felt very, very good, but I’m quite sure it isn’t the thing that gets me pregnant.”

Anthony rose from her belly to kiss her lips. “You do know quite a lot, huh.”

“I did my reser…” but [y/n] never finished her sentence, for she remembered the consequences of making love. “Am I going to be pregnant with your baby?”

Oh, Anthony liked that idea. He kissed her again, again.

“Probably not,” he replied after a while.

“That is not very sure.”

“Nothing ever is,” he said, smirking.

She nudged his arm. “Anthony!”

“You came to me, love, what do you want me to do?”

“Not get me pregnant,” she replied.

“I can’t make promises,” he said, letting his smirk fade away, “but I’ll try my best.”

She breathed out, relieved.

“But, anyway, you are getting married tomorrow so… no one would figure it out,” he added, only to mess with her.

“I don’t know how Lord Blanc is. What if he’s your opposite? How am I expected to explain?”

“By marrying me,” he answered before he could hold his tongue. Lady [y/n] froze at his touch. “Don’t worry,” he quickly added, “you are not going to be pregnant on your first try.”

Noticing her brows were down again, Anthony took the opportunity to kiss her body once again, and she came alive at full speed. He touched her core.

“You are ready,” he said, and with the help of his elbows, he got a little up on her, only to adjust himself over her entrance.

She bit her lip, expecting, waiting. She needed that. Not only that, but she was desperate to know how it would feel to have all of him inside her. And he wasn’t strong enough to wait any longer.

Holding his tip with one hand and massaging her entrance with another, he said: “This might hurt a bit. But I’ll give you time to get used to it.”

Anthony allowed his member to slither in her core, and waited so she could feel more comfortable.

She held her breath when she felt the tip of him enter, but managed to settle down when she breathed again. Anthony let some more of him into her, and she sighed.

“Does it hurt?”

“I just need… I want a moment,” she said.

“Wait,” then he thrust deeper into her, startling her. She widened her eyes and grabbed him in his forearms, feeling a slight discomfort, like the pressure of something breaking. “You better get used to it now that I’m all inside you.”

And inside her, he was, because she could feel him through her pussy, something hard, nudging her. He held on tight, waiting for her to adjust. Meanwhile, Anthony avoided looking her in the eye, as it would be too much for him, and he imagined if he could get her pregnant.

He had never dreamed of having as many children as his parents had, but there, with his cock at the centre of her, he decided it wouldn’t be all bad to have eight children. Perhaps ten.

“Can you move?” she asked, in a whisper.

It caught Anthony by surprise. “I’m sorry?”

“Can you move… it? I feel like it would be better if you moved,” she said, blushing for having to explain her wishes.

“Of course I can move, love,” he smiled, and started the movement.

He delicately and caressing moved his member inside her, but she quickly grasped his back, bringing him closer and whispered “faster”. That was his favourite word in the whole world, for all he wanted to do was to thrust and throb with velocity as his member required.

Feasting, his hip movements allowed Lady [y/n] some absolute pleasure, way better than the fingers and the waiting. She moved with him, trying to bring him closer every time he pulled away.

[y/n] was euphoric and Anthony was flaming, both so caught up in the moment they didn’t even notice when they got very close to coming. He kept charging and she grasped him tighter.

“I’m feeling it again,” she whispered between a moan.

Taking advantage of her state, Anthony kept thrusting, but he added his finger at the tip of her clit, just to make things easier for her. “Then come, my love” he demanded, for he was not able to hold himself much longer.

“Oh, my…” she whispered before moaning, feeling the last string that fixed her on reality getting cut.

Anthony exploded not much after, remembering to pull out. He did not want to, he so very deeply wanted to plant his seed on her, to mark her as his by a definitive mean, but he couldn’t bear the thought of hurting her. If she wanted to be with him, she should do it because it’s her heart’s desire, not because of her uterus.

He laid right next to her, and she didn’t hesitate before coming closer and nestling on his bare chest. They were both out of breath and wet; Anthony could feel a drop of sweat running down his forehead, and [y/n] could feel the molasses on her legs and belly. But they weren’t disgusted — quite the opposite. Anthony felt that if he held her any longer, he would regain the energy to do it all over again soon.

“How are you feeling?” he asked, applying pressure to the lady’s forearm.

“Different,” she said, surprising him with her choice of word. “I think I must have even changed my appearance. How am I?” she asked, turning to face him.

“Beautiful,” he said. “Magnificent,” he continued. “You are marvelous.”

She felt herself blush and buried her face in the Viscount’s chest.

“You can’t tell me these things,” she sighed. “You're going to spoil me.”

“So be it,” he replied, kissing her on the top of her head.

“Oh, Anthony,” she breathed, more regretfully this time, permitting herself to look at him. His eyes gleamed in the night, and she imagined hers did the same. “This was a mistake.”

Anthony froze beneath her. He was hearing the words he never wanted to hear, but she kept saying it, and he heard it all, for he wanted the explanation to be more than just denying his feelings.

“I believe… I don’t want to marry any French lord,” she proceeded. “I want… No, I can’t. But I don’t want Jean, that’s for sure, and now… I’m doomed. What a bad idea of mine to sleep with my best friend!”

Anthony felt the smile appearing on his face before he actually felt the pure happiness that came with her sentence. Did she realize she was making all his wishes come true?

“Then don’t marry him,” he whispered, kissing her cheek then her temple.

She stared at him, widening her eyes.

“Marry me, [y/n],” he whispered, closer to her ear. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave this room.”

She couldn’t help the tears coming down.

“I love you, Anthony,” she whispered back. Those were his favourite words, he gasped, correcting his early thought. “But my father…”

“He can’t do anything if we get to marry before he finds out.”

“Anthony! You are a Viscount! You need to get married properly!”

Anthony sat on the bed, bringing her up with him, and squeezed her.

“[y/n], I love you with my very heart and soul. If you say you love me too and wish to have me forever, there is no one, God or mortal, that is going to stop me from making you mine,” he said, nonchalantly, so confident in himself. “I have always desired you, but never as strongly as now, and if you tell me it’s Jean Blanc you wish to marry, I’ll step away. You’ll never see me again.”

“I don’t…”

“But if you say it’s me you want,” he kept going, ignoring her attempt of interruption, “then I am yours, [y/n]. And you are mine, and I’ll make you a Bridgerton by law, as I’m pretty sure you already are one by heart.”

She smiled, genuinely smiled, feeling she was the most beautiful of the human beings and the most enviable, for sure.

“I want you, Anthony Bridgerton, and I want you to make me Mrs. Anthony Bridgerton, for I’m sure to be the happiest of the ladies next to you,” she said, making him kiss her desperately.

They laid in bed again, caught up in kisses and canoodles.

“Now, what do we do?”

“Leave that to me,” said Anthony, before kissing her again.

Anthony’s plan worked.

Well, of course, it did. He had an infallible tactic, and the whole of London was cheering for him and [y/n] to eventually get married.

The morning after they had sex for the very first time — and second and third, for Anthony Bridgerton was exquisite to know he was going to marry his best friend — he went straight to his mother’s house. He left [y/n] at his.

“Mother, I might have impregnated Lady [y/n] [y/l/n].”

That was a very powerful and enough sentence on its own. Lady Bridgerton almost fainted, but recomposed herself, sparkling with joy, for she had planned to see those two together their entire lives.

She excused herself and went to [y/n]’s family home. It was Violet who arranged everything, in a lighter tone than Anthony ever could, even though he was right next to her when she spoke. [y/n]’s mother started jumping and clapping around, filled with happiness. [y/n]’s father was not even a bit happy, but after a long conversation, he realized there was nothing he could do but to give Anthony’s [y/n]’s hand in marriage.

And so, the French lord got excused to go back to his country before he even arrived in London, and the party planned to happen in the afternoon went on. But this time, it was Anthony the man at the altar.

[y/n] was so happy she couldn’t believe it, and she liked to have seen Anthony taking charge of making them official. When it was announced they were husband and wife, [y/n] jumped over Anthony to kiss him as a lady should never in the presence of her family and in a church, but she did not care, for she had just married her best friend and the love of her life.

“I love you, Anthony.”

“I love you too,” he replied as they sat together at the wedding reception.

“What happens now?” she asked, curious and anxious as she has ever been.

“I shall take care of you, as I always have, but this time I can burn all of your dresses that I don’t approve of, and I shall buy you new ones that will cover you whole, for I’m the only one that can see your wonders now,” he said, making her laugh.

“And I shall keep all of those uneducated ladies away from my Lord, forever,” she said, and he kissed her cheek, unable to hold in his touches.

“You hold that in for very long, huh?”

“Very long indeed,” she said, smirking, for she was not thinking about herself but about him.

“Do you remember what you asked me yesterday afternoon?”

It sure felt like an eternity ago, but she remembered.

“I want you to ask it again.”

She smiled.

“Anthony?” He looked at her eyes. “Kiss me.”

★ summary — during a sweltering day at the horse races, anthony bridgerton finds himself rather enchanted by a sharp-witted, and competitive newcomer... however his greatest challenge turned out not quite to be their playful banter but perhaps something deeper than just that. ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem! reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. n/a ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.8k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. fluff? not really. idiots in love except they don't know they're in love...? anthony being anthony?? ★ authors note: excuse my god horrendous writing, i fear i have just come back from a 2 year hiatus and well.. it seems as if all my writing sense have bene diminished into the ends of the earth. also mutuals. i need mutuals please, i need to be insane to someone.

Anthony always enjoyed a heartfelt competition.

Perhaps a bit too much for the likings of others, but it always seemed to be infused with his blood. It all came so naturally to him; there was no need to try. As a young boy, he would compete with his brothers, Benedict having quite a hearty laugh when he would fail to beat him in whatever makeshift game they conjured up. It made it worse for the already tense gentleman because his annoying, bothersome brother would never stop bringing out how he was younger than Anthony during such times.

But he was not a quitter. He never was, and he decided that he never shall be. Anthony perpetually told himself that, and the results always ended up in his favor at the end of the day. Just as victory appeared within his reach, he let it go once more, easily slipping through his fingers in the subsequent round. Anthony has always been perplexed as to why this pattern only ever appeared to surround him or why he only noticed it within himself far too much. 

It seemed quite the same when it came to his love life as well. Taking away the winning part—he never quite seemed to win. Conceivably, Anthony never thought he could truly love someone with his entire being; the sensation felt so foreign and despicable to think about. An acquaintance, he supposed, was something he could settle with. And yet, an admirable acquaintance proved hard to find in this economy. The number of women that lined up for a dance, a date—whatever it may be, were all too simple-minded, credulous, or even dumb, if Anthony really thought about it. None of them appeared to be a suitable partner.

Those thoughts haunted him day and night throughout the season—the wonder if he’ll ever meet anyone well-suited for him, he pondered to himself. Anthony deemed himself rather fortunate that he was a busy man, bustling about a handful of places in need to complete the tasks firsthand. When he had his hands full with some problem, even if it may be pointless, occupied his mind enough for him to forget about his marital issues. Taxation never seemed more interesting to him.

Conversely, he found that it bothered him most during social events. Whereas his problems stood face-to-face against him, sometimes it felt as if it were a direct punch to the gut. With the remaining eligible ladies dwindling, his temper for it all only grew to being far more annoyed than anything else. Any other year, Anthony would’ve respectively enjoyed the horse race that he attended within the company of his brothers, but at this time, his mind had been elsewhere as he mindlessly stumbled his way around the course grounds.

There were a number of people that stood around him, chatting expressively with one an

other. Ladies whispering in hushed tones, their husbands gathered amongst themselves, likely betting against one another. Anthony couldn’t help but to do so himself—a solid bet did him well most days. Although, perhaps, he wasn’t the brightest when it came to the subject despite betting upon the favoured horse.

Anthony tugs heartily at his neckpiece, adjusting the pressure against his throat as it pressed in such a peculiar way that he began to pay some mind to it. He adjusted it so that it was allowed to rest lightly, not entirely choking him out anymore as it had done just moments ago. The effort ended up being weirdly abominable.

Peeved, bothered, and sweaty, he decided sullenly the lemonade that the event offered would not be such a bad idea to him after all. Refreshing was the only word that happened to catch his mind as he politely hurries his way towards where the stand had caught his eye as he made his way into the event. It seems as if half of the people there had a similar idea, heeding from the lengthiness of the line. He could perhaps find some place else to get some refreshments, but if Anthony is being honest, the idea of continuing to walk in this heat whilst unknowing if there even was anything waiting for him out there, wasn’t one that he would immediately jump to. And so he begrudgingly waits.

The sun beats down harshly upon him, and he tirelessly slides off his top-hat to appease the sweat that had begun to cling onto the sides of his forehead. Anthony dabs the beads away silently with the cuff of his coat when no one else is paying any mind to him. He liked to call himself fortunate as the line dissipates fairly quickly, and it is only a few minutes later when he finds himself nearing the refreshments area.

“Cooling, is it not?” 

It takes Anthony a beat to realize that the sudden intrusion of the voice is addressed towards him. He swivels his head, pivoting himself so he can adjust to the sudden change in position to locate where the sound had come from. He is quick to answer the question as the fine-looking lady standing next to him stares right back into his betrothed soul.

First impressions always stuck near and dear to Anthony, and while usually it would be noted of their personality and not much else, he finds himself in a different situation to the norm. The first thing he notices happens to be the alluring eyes, mysterious with a gaze that would unsettle any person, man or woman. But the expression read differently, a polite smile stretched upon the delicate skin, her fair hair conditioned beautifully for this particular sunny day. Anthony is quick to return the smile, as he had done so many times before in the past. He could regard it as a daily occurrence now.

“Indeed, it is.” His response is considerate, his voice moderately even; it’s as if he were trained for this. And Anthony supposed he quite literally is trained for it. “Especially on a day as sweltering as this.” 

He can faintly hear in the background a man grumbling incoherently about keeping up the line, and he apologetically (although he doesn’t feel very apologetic) responds to the not-so gentleman behind him. He hastily picks his glass, an internal groan erupting in him when a couple of drops spill onto the earthly grass. At least it had avoided his clothing by its means. Anthony had already begun to walk away, lemonade secured, when he noticed the same lady who had engaged him in a brief conversation engaging in the same direction that he was headed. 

“Such events are quite amusing,” Her words are delicate, but they are firm enough for Anthony to know that she stands her ground. She stands ever so beautifully, firm but beautiful, letting her dress flutter slightly into the soft breeze that washes over the course. “I can not say that they were common in my homeland.”

Ah. So that is why Anthony failed to recognize her—a new citizen, or possibly just visiting some family for the season. After all, Mayfair was quite prestigious in its ways if you stood in the high rankings. “So I take that you are not from here?” He questions, even though he already knows the answer.

The lady shakes her head, the hair atop her head bouncing as she does so. “Not quite.” She responded appropriately. She rattles off some place that Anthony had surely never been before, and he nods upon hearing the answer. "I am here visiting, as my cousin kindly offered to host me, and who am I to decline such a gracious invitation?"

The words rolled sweetly off her tongue, as if she were making a harmonious melody. Certainly a clever tongue in her mouth, Anthony could think to himself. “Well then, I must certainly assume that you are here for the season.” 

It was an honest question. The lady looked to be in her earlier years of life, if Anthony really had to make a guess. Fair skin, beautiful features, and a voice as gorgeous as the waves in the ocean—what else would she be doing in Mayfair at this time of the year? It only seemed reasonable to make that assumption. He stands correct when she pushes her head down as an agreement, “Yes.” She says, yet she pauses for a beat before continuing her sentence, "Though I must say, it is quite a considerable departure from what I am accustomed to back home.”

"In a manner most agreeable, I trust?" Anthony says, and the lady smiles approvingly. It was quite a sugary smile, the sort that sat well within the presumably older man. It looked as if the course grounds had gotten crowded by tenfold since Anthony had turned his back, making the exertion towards the stands much harder than what it should’ve been.

“Well, yes.” Whereas, the tone of her voice contradicted what her words have stated. The lady’s eyebrows furrow for a mere moment, as if he were contemplating something of sorts. “Nevertheless, it is quite hard.”

He inclines his head. Anthony could somewhat agree with her words—the season was always stressful, a throatful of things to stress and worry about, a million matters to perfect to attract the best of the best. He had never felt too stressed, perhaps when he was swarmed with tasks to complete for the up-and-coming ball or party, but never on his performance at such events. Anthony believed that is why he suddenly threw himself in as an eligible bachelor, and the best if he may add, was so diminishing. "With a lady such as yourself, I must presume it is not exceedingly difficult."

The lady, which Anthony now realizes that he does not know the name of, blushes a shade of pink that could only be described as warm, like a rose pelting in the wind. She laughs graciously, accepting the compliment with ease. “I must confess, I am flattered, Mr…” Her words trail off as she too comes to realization with the fact she does not know how to address the young gentleman.

“Lord Bridgerton.” He introduces, his voice not in any way condescending as many others may take him on to be.

Anthony takes note of the way the lady’s eyebrows raise up in surprise, followed by the rather flushed look that began to tint at her cheeks. "Oh dear, I beg your pardon, my Lord." Tilting her head down hesitantly as if she were unsure of what formality would be the most appropriate. It almost forces a chuckle out of the Viscount.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Anthony continues on as it is only polite to ask so. 

"Mm, indeed. How remiss of me not to mention it beforehand…” The lady says, letting out a sort of awkward laugh that could be seen as rather affectionate. “My name is Y/n.” The lady states, followed by a surname that Anthony can faintly remember to be as one of the other Viscounts that lived in the city, although he couldn’t quite say he knew the name all too well. Certainly not one that he had talked to on the occasion.

“I see,” Anthony nods along, a faint smile tainted upon his lips before he even knows it himself. “Charming gentleman your cousin is.” He could not say if the man was truly charming, or a gentleman at all, as he had only read a couple lines about it from the Lady Whistledown paper that his family had received a couple of long weeks ago. 

“Charming, indeed.” The words were more so grumbled, as if she didn’t quite agree with the statement. “That is certainly one way to describe him.”

He chuckles at the disdain laced upon her voice. Anthony fairly enjoyed the new sense of emotion—most ladies he had the pleasure of talking with all embellished their compliments in spite of thinking the opposite. Being able to hear an objection that wasn’t sugarcoated heavily; Anthony would think that he notably liked the trait that distinguished Y/n.

The course grounds slowly appear into Anthony’s line of vision as the conversation dies down. The sound of chatter that did come from his or her mouth refilling his ears—excited husbands yelling bets at one another, ladies shaking their heads as so—the look that was etched on their faces would be one that Anthony could appreciate and find humorous.

"I must confess, some of the wagers being placed are rather simplistic in nature." Y/n cuts in through the stillness of their discussion beforehand. A nice conversation starter, but one that would rile many people up. "It appears as though none of these individuals have ever graced a racecourse before! How utterly rash of them to bet upon the favored contender solely because of his popularity."

He can’t help but be taken aback, although once again, her exaggeration was one that could be seen as comical. That is, before he had realized that he himself had also bet upon the favored horse, Nectar, which Anthony assumed the lady was talking about. For a moment, he wonders if her words are pure bullshit, if she was just making conversation with him. It is as if Y/n sees right through him.

“Oh my, do not tell me you have also fallen into the unfortunate trap of betting for Nectar.” Anthony can’t quite place what expression she expresses, but it does not look good. Disappointed, or perhaps pity. 

“Naturally, I betted upon him, it is a sensible bet, and he is a horse of sound character who shall undoubtedly finish with victory this afternoon.” He defends, the tone of his voice sounding rather offended at the plain mention of his unwary wager. Something deep down in him wonders if the lady was indeed right, if he really did not know what he was doing. Again, Anthony could not say he was educated well enough, and admittedly, he had bet upon Nectar due to the favorability of his win. “I have a well placed feeling about him.”

“A feeling?” Y/n’s eyebrow cocks up, the smile on her face now more jovial than polite. “Or is it the choosing of the horse that everyone has chosen? Well, I do suppose that adds to the list of husbands who shall be more than disappointed once the race has concluded.”

“I beg your finest pardon, I have made a strategic bet.” His words are more puncuated than before, suddenly relishing within the first person to truly give him some sort of competition that did not stem from his brothers or family, for that matter. “Nectar is a prized steed. He is quite well bred, highly trained, and, as many other people have shown, well favored.”

Y/n tsks, shaking her head as if she were scolding Anthony as his mother and father had done when he was a young boy. “I must assume you have not considered the quality of the racing course and the weather to assess the true potential? Although these sorts of events are not truly common back in my homeland, I do must say that many of these may just be common sense.”

She knows that her words are stretching the truth, that it wasn’t just common sense, but Y/n must admit that she took delight in having a friendly banter. She climbs up onto one of the wooden bleachers, sitting herself upon the heated seat, with Anthony following quickly behind her. “You see, my cousin had kindly explained to me the expectations of the race, and it is said that Nectar raced well at Doncaster; however, the track conditions were far from the same. A firmer course, if you will. While now, over here…” She pauses to wave her hand at the field of grass in front of her view. “It is much softer, and it is a rather humid day. He will much slowdown in the final leg, giving HighFlyer the much easy victory.”

Anthony scoffs. Foolish? Perhaps. Tinted with truth? Also yes. "Are you merely echoing the words your cousin imparted to you earlier?" He argues as well, Anthony never backed down from a challenge, and this lady was surely challenging him.

“And are you merely saying that I do not know about horse racing because I am a woman?” She tilts her head to look directly at Anthony; the grin that is placed strategically on her face was one that he could not argue with. And he is sure of that when he opens his mouth to bite back, but being blatantly unable to respond with something witty. Oh, that shit-eating smirk that was so easily disguised as a polite smile made Anthony oh-so infuriatingly upset. Upset because she knew what she was doing; upset because, well, he was moderately fond of that smile.

“We shall see then.” 

Famous last words, because well, he is proved to be utterly wrong. The course of disappointed groans that steamed through the crowd, which Anthony would not admit (but was a part of), as HighFlyer flew his way across the finish line were abominably loud. Nectar staggered behind him moments later, but not before the crowd had seen how winded he was by the heat and conditions. 

The lady behind him had laughed in delight, unable to celebrate fully before she must turn towards Anthony to shove it into his face. “I can not say that I have ever beat a viscount before.” Suddenly, all formality that was once there had been gone, destroyed, as if it had never been there in the first place. “I do suppose there is always a first.”

“And a last.” Anthony grumbles under his breath, in hope that Y/n would close off her ears to the harsh criticism. To his luck, she does hear.

“I must concede, you are just like the many men who claim to be gentlemen.” She replies, even though she seemed not to be very upset by the Viscount’s words. If that had been the case, it would have appeared as though Anthony had experienced numerous episodes of frustration—possibly humorous ones, but nonetheless, frustration.. "Unwilling to concede defeat, even when it lies directly at his feet." 

“I am able to concede defeat if the defeat deserves to be conceded.” His words are sharp, even though the smile tugging at his face says different to his own jumble of words. Anthony could not quite help it when he sees her eyes light up with something that he could not describe. “If it dares, look me in the eyes.”

“Ah, is that right, my Lord?” She questions, carrying herself with the confidence that he hadn’t seen in forever. An admirable trait indeed, if Anthony must admit. "Does not defeat gaze directly upon you as HighFlyer is crowned the victor of this afternoon's fine race.”

He sighs. Anthony was never one to be dramatic; he always held himself upright and, in his family's words, rather serious. Still, he had to admit that his gasp was a bit dramatic. “Ah… well.” His words trail off slowly, grimacing at the truth of the lady’s words. “I suppose you are… right this time.” The syllables were uttered slowly, followed by another huff of a breath that he could only feel to himself.

She laughs, that beautiful melody of a laugh. While in many cases, it would be regarded as an unpleasant sound unless it was done so delicately, hers was not delicate, nor was it ungracious. It was as if the notes from every music piece ever composed had all come together to form one masterpiece of a harmony, one that ebbed and flowed in all the right ways. 

“Oh rejoice! What a sound those words are!” Y/n breathes dreamfully. 

The track is far from empty, with many individuals walking over to congratulate the winner, while the others either mourn the losses of their empty wallets, or giggling gleefully over their new-found bundles of heritage. However, the bleachers were starting to thin out, leaving just a select few groups.

There is a sense that weaves through him as he ponders his next move. He could surely just stand himself up, mutter out a respectable goodbye, and leave, yet at the same time, he could not allow himself to just do that. Anthony seemed far better off conversing with this lady than with any other of the ones that he had danced or engaged with in the slightest. The thought made him laugh at his own stupidity, and yet;

"I cannot suppose it would be honorable of me not to inquire if you might attend the Hearts and Flower Ball with me. I trust you have heard of it?" Anthony asks, not just out of politeness but also the small amount of desire he feels for just a beat of a moment. One that felt odd and far too new in his chest, something that he had yet to feel in the weeks that had came, and the weeks yet to come. 

The lady showed a glimpse of astonishment, and Anthony wonders if he had made the right decision upon asking her about it in the first place. "My Lord, are you, perchance, inquiring if you wish to take me on a social outing?" Though even she could hear the tiny quiver that was woven, her voice seemed steady as she spoke.

“I… suppose I am, yes.” He stands with his head gently cocked to the right, extending his hand in consolation. Anthony can feel the regret seeping into his words as they were carefully placed, because God, if she came to deny his request, he was sure he could drop dead on the grass at that given moment. 

“I would love to.” And Anthony would not be able to stop the sigh of relief that washed over him even if he had tried. The tension that creased his forehead, all the way down to his calves, was quickly overridden with a sense of declaration. 

As he wove through the throngs of disassembling guests, waving courteously to the lady that he swore to uncover the mystery of, Anthony finally let himself pry out of dapper smile. For the first time in a while, he felt as if he were winning. Not just a kid-made, pointless game, but something much deeper than he could have ever imagined. Except, this time, he would not allow it to simply just… escape his grasp.

★ summary — after his fathers death, anthony finds solace within an unexpected someone ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: anthony bridgerton x sibling!reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. mention of death, description of grief & death, teenage anthony being in shambles after edmunds death (rest his poor soul) ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.9k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. angst, so much angst. smidge of fluff, hurt/comfort? ★ authors note: anthony's story is actually so sad but i wanted to see more of how he dealt with everything and a deep dive onto what he felt of so... (also there are NOT enough anthony x sibling reader so here we are!!) ⠀⠀⠀❛⠀⠀ requests are open !!

Anthony had always believed that a profound sadness enveloped the body like a condecending fog, delving deep into the bones and clawing recklessly at the soul until it was a suffocating weight with no escape in sight. Yet now, as he stood amidst the bouts of chaos, he felt nothing. No sadness, no anger, no frustration. Just a vast, empty numbness that swallowed his entire being whole.

It were as if the world around him came to a grinding halt, and he had stopped with them—unable to escape the grasp of the coldness trickling up upon his spine. It felt as if his physical body had been frozen, but consciously, he had not—a distant observer in a weary state of forgery. The sheer oddity of it all left him out of it; an unsettling sense that he was lost in a dream too overwhelming to even comprehend was vastly disheartening. It felt like... a storm, a thunderstorm brewing inside of him, circling through and around his every vein and nerve until it ceased to exist.

He can briefly reminisce, pinching himself over and over until his skin turned blotchy red and had grown irritated in the area. The pain was a sharp reminder to him that it was a futile attempt at an escape, that it was not just some dream that he could simply wake up from. Yet, it could not be; Anthony wanted nothing better to do than just refuse. Laugh at the servants that crowded him with questions that he could not answer—the questions that he should not be worrying about at his age.

Their voices seemed to be distorted in a way that Anthony could not quite make out—a dissonant chorus, overlapping under the distinct rushing and ringing in his own ears. It was as if it went in through one ear and out the other, like water through a funnel. None of it made sense, despite it being more than natural common sense. He still isn’t sure how he managed to even utter a single coherent word; Anthony couldn’t even hear himself over the cacophony that tumbled through his mind. He couldn’t hear himself over the concious noise that screamed in his head and translated all the way to his entire body until it was the only thing radiating through his pumping blood.

In the mix of what seemed to sound like if someone had put all the most horrid sounds a man could hear and mixed them all together, jumbled and overwhelming, he could faintly hear his mother. His poor mother, screaming and crying, the sound so haunting and raw that Anthony wishes he could never hear again in his life, yet it lingered upon him like an uninvited shadow in the corner of his room. Even when it was not presently there, when he was stuck alone at night, his siblings sent off to bed by the maids, his mother nowhere in his line of sight, did he stare at the ceiling of nothing—hearing those cries replaying in his head again and again and again. It’s as if he wanted himself to go mad and Anthony must say, he was very close to so.

But the sounds were only a singular part of his torment. Lord, have mercy on his miserable soul; nothing could’ve prepared him for the sights that awaited him, that he was forced to face by nothing but himself.

His mother sprawled across the staircase, a flurry of maids assisting her but to no avail. There was no ending to her constant misery, and for a brief moment, a moment that Anthony must regret, he wished that his mother had an off-switch so he could just stop it. For her sake or his, he couldn’t quite say. 

His siblings, on the other hand, were a mix of emotions that Anthony was not qualified to handle nor care for. Was that not what maids were for? Daphne cried silently, dabbing at her tears cascading down her cheeks that failed to subside. He silently wonders to himself how many tears a woman could cry before her very essence would be evaported, while Colin and Benedict, although undeniably upset, managed to hide away their sentiments, at least towards Anthony. Well, he was sure he caught a glimpse of a tear roll down Benedict’s face, but there was nothing he could say nor do about that except pat him on the back a couple of times as a comfort of sorts before he’s again whisked away to care for something he knew little about. He wasn’t prepared for this; he wasn’t qualified for this. He was just a child. 

At least the younger ones were mostly oblivious to the situation that had wrapped around the mourning family. They all gazed up at Anthony, more confused than upset, and he must think that they would wonder why all their older siblings suddenly all looked so remorseful, cloaked with grief, and their mother a distant entity that was soon regarded as unapproachable. In the recesses of his grief-sorrowed mind, a feeble thought flickered for a moment's notice: how, he pondered, for any way to describe the gravity of their weighted reality. Could he even explain to them? Shield them from the truth, or perhaps let them burden down the knowledge that would take away their youthful innocence as it had done for Anthony as well? He felt like an abonomibal creature for even thinking about it twice.

One in particular, suggested to be more curious than the others. Y/N, her name was. Her curiosity stood out like a sore thumb, perhaps like a lightning rod in a thunderstorm. He couldn’t help but to wonder at how she seemed so upbeat despite the dark and grim reality that faced her angel of a soul. She didn’t ought to know the truth. Each time Anthony called for her, the name rolling off her tongue with gilded ease. These times, unlike others, a gentle plea was slowly woven upon his voice that could speak no more as he edged her away from the chaos with a simple “Get away from there.” or “Come over here, Y/N.” In these instances, he always sounded so diminished that Benedict would end up swooping in and picking her up for some other sort of entertainment that was not so utterly upsetting.

This night couldn't be any different.

The thunderclap erupted like a cannon shot in the wild—a deep, profound, and resonant roar that rattled the air around them, the windows shuddering with every harsh punch of wind. It was, perhaps, a night of sorrows. As the rain splattered upon the house as if it were a hose, the wind howling in the near distance. Anthony swears for a beat that he can faintly hear the rain-shooken birds finding solace in their chimney. He wishes that he were a bird; at least he would be able to have some place to find tranquility that was not just the dreadful drag of the house, each lamenting moment drowning all the cheeriness that once stood in this very place.

Anthony taps his quill absently upon the polished wood of his late father's table, the designs that were so intricate, swirling under his fingers like echoes of the past that he could no longer reach but yearned for. It must’ve taken months upon months to create it. He found enjoyment in running his sullen fingertips around the smoothness of the edges, a contrast to the jagged edges that traced along his heart. Anything that wasn’t entirely dejectful felt like a cruel mockery of how he felt.

It was late—far too late for anyone in the house to be up, him included. And yet, Anthony couldn’t find it in himself to indulge in the luxury of being able to forget it all, even for a few fleeting moments. He had tried, laying upon his father's old bed in his old room, which smelled all too much like him, enveloping his entire being. A bittersweet waiver of worn fabric and a mixture of odd colognes and papers that had been burnt from days ago. It was haunting in a way that Anthony couldn’t quite place, as if his father were still next to him—an unseen presence, watching his every move. Every time he squinted his eyes shut, the image of his father in the garden flooded his mind, lying so freakishly still. It coursed through his thoughts. He had been well surrounded by vibrant blooms of the spring-induced flowers, which seemed much too cheerful under the circumstances, and Anthony disantely thinks if those were the flowers to be used for the funeral.

Those were no means to sleep, slipping away like sand through his fingers.

He isn’t quite sure why he slips into his study rather than any other place for some sort of solitude. Anywhere would’ve been far better than his father's study; nonetheless, he finds himself sitting in the very same chair his father once sat in. Would he be proud? The words ring into his mind, digging as if it were like a tattoo within his brain. He had thought about it a select number of times over the course of a couple of days, yet the question remains unsolved. Anthony respected his father more than anyone else in his life, and putting words into his mouth that he could not say only made him feel bitter rather than better.

The silence is deafening—as if all of a sudden, the thoughts and ringing that took up his every moment had just chosen to dissapear. A harsh push back into reality is what Anthony would’ve guessed. 

Tap

Anthony furrows his eyebrows, knitting together to crease over his squinted eyes. The new, unfamiliar sound is something that he briefly wonders. He strains to listen for any hint of noise beyond the relentless screeching of the wind and the staccato rhythm of rain pellets up against the window, each drop intensifying as time dragged on. When there is nothing to hear to follow up with his thoughts, enveloping him in a wooful silence, Anthony, for a chilling interval, genuinely believes that he might be going insane. As far as-

Thump, thump.

He could no longer deny the truth that it was in fact, not his mere imagination. Anthony was more certain than the flourishing green of the grass outside the house that the sound echoing through the darkness was real and not just a byproduct of his sleepless night or the weight of horrors from the days that lay behind him pressing down upon his consciousness. He stands up willfully, feet hitting the floor with a soft thud that was met with a creak reverberating from the old wood panels. The candle that he had lit for comfort wavers precariously, the flame teetering on the edge of extinction from the sudden movement. It is no longer than a mere count of seconds before the light flickered back to light, casting an ominous glow throughout the room.

“Hello?” 

Anthony was a bit ashamed to admit it, but his words wobbeled as he spoke. A mirror reflection of how he truly felt. He drew in a deep, shuddering breath to steady and ground himself to the so little he had. The silence that he was met with was perhaps even more unnerving than before—not even a sinned whisper to break the heavy stillness.

“Who’s there?” He proclaims, this time louder, his voice firming itself as the time passed by cautiously slowly, like it was moving through sticky molasses. Anthony is a moment's reach away from venturing out of his study and investigating for himself, curiousity gnawing at him. It was soon deemed unnecessary when a familiar little head popped up from the right frame of the heavy wooden door, wild tufts of hair jutting out from all directions in a way that resembled . He can’t help but to let out a huff of relief when he notices that it is only Y/N and that he was, in fact, not crazy.

Relief then morphs into confusion within a snap of a finger. His eyebrows are met together again, except this time, not from any sort of paralyzing fear but in question. “Y/N, pray tell, what brings you out of bed at this unearthly hour?” Anthony is quick to step away from his desk, taking 3 large steps towards the younger sibling, looking down upon the half-shamed, half-curious look that had crossed her face.

He shook his head yet, bent down far enough to pick the little girl into her arms. She doesn’t protest, instead, nestling herself into his bigger body as if she were seeking some sort of comfort that Anthony could not find in himself to give. He had never been the best at offering solace to other people, nor himself, and especially not now, when his own heart felt too dim and restless to share.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She mumbles, the words lost into the warm crook of Anthony’s neck. He sets the little girl onto one of the chairs that had been meticulously placed in front of the tidied desk. As he stands, his gaze drifts upward to the Renaissance painting hanging on the wall, overlooking the study—an eye-striking masterpiece from an era long before either of them had taken their first breaths. In truth, Anthony wasn’t quite sure how they even managed to get their hands on such an exquisite masterpiece, but it had been his father's favorite painting, so he didn’t dare ask. Every time he turned to face it, the vibrant colors and intricate details felt like a worn ghost from the past, fluttering memories that stung with longing. The image reminded him far too vividly of his father, pulling him into a clouded reverie that soured his mood.

Anthony’s lips are pulled into a drifted frown, eyes gazing over to the uncurtained window where darkness stared back at him, reverberating how the moment felt of. He unknowingly presses his fingers up against his hair, as if he were to adjust how it looked, although he never quite cared for how his hair stood. Is it the storm that troubles you?” He questions meticulously, knowing how fidgety Y/N got during those periods of weather; she never seemed to be a big fan nor curious of it, rather burying herself into a bundle of blankets in pillows. “You have nothing to fear from it.” 

The girl tilts her head to one side, as if she were pondering her answer. There is a brief moment before she slowly shakes her head to the side. “A bit, I suppose.” She mumbles, her fingers playing with the hem of her nightgown, the silk fabric one that was cooling rather than heating her up. She always preferred the material. “But…” 

His eyebrow arches in surprise at the answer, a rumble of perplexity stirring inside of him as he pondered what could be bothering her at this time of night. “Then what might it be if it is not the storm?” his tone softening as he addressed his younger sister, the usual edge in his voice fading into something gentler than usual.

“I…” She lets out a soft exhale, as though she were afraid of saying it aloud to Anthony. It struck him as odd, as well; Y/N was always more open towards him than any of his siblings, although he never understood why. He never brought it up in conversation, simply accepting her willingness to share with him. “I was thinking of father.”

The words spill out hesitantly, and Y/N looks up at her brother in a way that he could only describe as ashamed, though it was nothing to be ashamed of. Anthony’s breath catches into his throat, a reflex that had become all too familiar in recent days. He runs a hand over his face, appearing more dismayed than ever. “Whatever for?” He asks cautiously, unable to help the bittersweet modulation that came along with the sentence.

Y/N looked down, legs swinging over the edge of the seat, the motion that was so kid-like, reminding Anthony of the innocence of his little sister, how he needed to protect her from the cruelty of the world. “I miss him.” She finally says, though not confidently as she usually had been, as though she had chosen her words carefully, placed diligently. “Where is he?”

Where is he?

The words chime in his head persistently, the sensation of a dagger being strung into his heart. Anthony swallows the hardening lump in his throat. He had been able to answer questions and answer to orders his entire life, and yet– this simple question, was enough for him to falter in his step. He could not just simply tell her, Oh yes, our father. He is dead. Because, well, she was a child, and at her young age, Anthony would not know of what death was. It was the furthest thing possible from what he would’ve thought of, and yet, this was Y/N’s truth. She had to face the ridicule of death, not even knowing what it was than a melancholic goodbye.

“He-” The word floundered in his mouth, unable to correlate the thoughts in his brain to the words coming out of his own mouth. “He’s…” 

“Is he dead?”

Anthony almost chokes out a laugh, because what the fuck? Where did she learn of such? She was still so young; he didn’t get it. He was sure neither Colin nor Benedict would directly say it towards her, and Daphne wouldn’t have the heart to do so. None of the other children had much of a clue of what was going on, so it could not have been them either. “Y/N, I-” And yet, he is still unable to speak. He doesn’t know if it is because of the absurdity of the conversation, or if it really is the sleep deprivation messing with him, and if he’s being honest, Anthony doesn’t have it in him to care for the reason. Not when he had... this to worry about now.

“He is dead, isn’t he?” He’s unable to refrain from noticing the quiver in her lip as she spoke, albeit the even cadence. 

Anthony dips his head down, eyes gluing to the floor because he’s unable to look his sister in the eyes. Unable to break the news and her heart at all the same time. She loved Edmund dearly; she loved everyone dearly, and that was her problem. Letting go was always the hard part, for even just a couple of moments—how could she let go for an eternity? Y/N is far from stupid though, and she’s quick to get the message. She too, looks away, this time to somewhere that Anthony can’t quite place. Her eyes are distant, as if she were not there presently, and it scared him a great deal.

“Are you sad?” Y/N inquired, the question so basic yet so meaningful for Anthony, and he can feel the strings tugging at his heart. It’s almost laughable to him; a young child who barely understood the severity of the situation, was the first one to ask him about how he felt. Not his siblings, not the maids, not the butlers, and certainly not his mother. No one doubted him, and while Anthony knew his family cared for him deeply, it underwent as if no one really did. 

“I suppose I am, yes.” He answers honestly, given that he was tired of lying to himself and others. And well, he was sure Y/N would figure it out eventually. 

“It’s okay to be sad.” She whispers gently, her head inclining to the left, and then up to meet Anthony’s gaze. For a brief period of a second, he wonders if she could read him that well. If she could see right through his facade, and knew what he needed to hear to the brink. He refused to acknowledge it, but he was aware that the words had some sort of effect on him. In a manner that had hardly ever moved him before. 

He can do nothing but nod slowly, hesitant to speak upon the matter at hand. "You truly ought to be sleeping, Y/N.” Anthony breathes out, pressing his hand against his subdued jawline, an uneven beard already beginning to form from the days he hadn’t shaved. It was the only response he could come up with, the only response he could say without directly speaking on the matter. 

Y/N bounces up, and off of the chair, landing on her two feet that were padded with socks that went up to her knees. Her favorite pair that she refused to let go of despite the many holes that had broken into the fabric. She stood much shorter than Anthony, still in the very early stages of growth. “Maybe you would be less sad if you talked.” She states woefully, her eyes holding only the sincerest of truths to the point where even Anthony knew that she did not lie. 

“I’ll be okay.” Is his respondance, his words cutting sharp into the heavy air that had filled the room. Because deep down, Anthony knows that his sister is partially right, that he truly needed to talk to someone. The only problem that he now faced was his honor and the fighting fact that he had no one to talk to. “It will all be okay.”

It’s hard for him to even believe his own words. He hadn’t had a clue how Y/N, in all her young wisdom and pureness, could believe him either. In spite of what he thinks, she only agrees with him, already beginning to walk towards the door again, this time with Anthony trailing a meter behind her. He knows well enough to at least tuck her into bed this time, to make sure that she gets some proper rest for the day ahead, although there is hardly anything to do other than funeral planning, which she had no part in.

Before she managed to walk out, Anthony ruffled his sister's hair in affection, something they now both lacked tremendously. He wished upon those days when he was Y/N’s age, able to curl up in his mother's lap, or next to his father in his study, where none of these adult problems affected him and it was just pure bliss. A perception which he could no longer relish in at this point in time. 

“Will we talk tomorrow?” Y/N promptly solicits, something that Anthony could finally answer that wouldn’t hurt him.

“I’m sure of it.” Perhaps for the first time in days, it’s a truthful answer in what he regarded. He says it, not as an entire answer, but as a promise for himself, because although he could be the mouthful of things that his brothers had constantly reminded him about, he never truly broke his promises for those he loved. And as Anthony slips his way out of Y/N’s, his sister falling into a light slumber that he’s sure will keep her down for a number of hours at least. Her eyes fluttered with the weight of sleep, her breathing steadying as the rainfall began to die down during the late night turning into early morning. 

God, maybe he could finally get some much needed sleep.