#benedict bridgerton fic

[igotanidea]

Motivation: Benedict Bridgerton x model!reader

requested by @jaysgirlx :Benedict x slightly nude model!reader

***

Stories like that doesn’t happen very often. The chances of recreating the history written by this French poet under the name of Charles Perrault and entitled “Cinderella” was close to none, and yet – Y/N Y/L/N was the fruit of just such an unlikely union.

Her mother was a woman that the ton was more than quick to judge and call the woman fell, just because of her profession. An actress. A word that hardly escaped the mouths of higher class ladies and nobles. It was one thing to enjoy the woman of said profession skills while social event, and the other to acknowledge her presence in the society.

In simple words – the doors were closed for her to ever step out of her social class.

However, life has its own twisted ways of defying and swiftly changing the reality. The flow of the world river is unstoppable and with the right amount of patience, and with the few drops of persistence, water can change the riverbed.

Y/N’s father-to-be, young lord Y/L/N, the firstborn, attended one of the play in the London’s theater, performed due to the Queen’s upcoming birthday celebrations. Instantly getting enamored with young Y/N’s mother-to-be skills and range of emotions. Her talent and beauty, connected with the fact that she was far from the leeches he learned ladies from the ton to be, shone so bright in his eyes, that defying all the laws and rules set ages prior, he forgot his destiny, upbringing and duties to family, started courting the young woman and in time took her as his wife.

Obviously, the fact never got accepted and yet, his lordship, lord Y/L/N got the leverage in the fact he has been the only son and an heir to the title.

Therefore, Y/N, was and simultaneously was not a lady.

Which made her upbringing and consequently her entire life rather complicated.

The young girl took after her mother in the terms of talent and beauty and after her father in terms of humor and boldness.

Which, as you, dearest gentle reader, might already expect, was the reason, that her existence was to get even more complicated. 

***

One foot in one class, second in the other Y/N never felt like she belonged in either. Breaking societal rules just like her father.

Ever at the youngest age she came to a conclusion that her mere being in the world was rather unwelcomed reminder of the misalliance. No governess wanted to teach her. No young girls her age coming from good families wanted to be in her presence. Her own grandpapa and grandmamma never showed any interest in meeting her. Consequently, five year Y/N was practically being raised on the scene. Listening to her mamma’s stories about the wonders of theater, art, performing and becoming someone else to escape the reality that tended to be cruel, judgmental and unforgiving.

Especially the last part was to be remembered.

Especially when her mother felt ill and died before Y/N could reach adulthood. Followed suit by her father, lost in grief after losing the love of his life.

Leaving their daughter all alone, forced by the vicious circumstances to tend by herself.

At first, her noble and very elderly grandparents from father’s side wanted (forced) to take her under their wings, but Y/N quickly realized that they wished to raise her for a noble lady with every method possible. Corporal punishment included. Their simple reason behind the action was to not let a wild girl run around and slander their name.

She run away after less than a month putting on a different last name, an alias of sort.  

And maybe those set of conditions, fueled by the need to keep her parents’ legacy was the reason that upon reaching the age that young ladies were presented to the queen and debuted in the ton, Y/N started her shameful profession as a model in London Art Academy as well as a part-time access.

***

No matter the world’s opinion on her, she was keeping her head high, being proud of who she was, never hiding and refusing to bow down to the nobles, included the one who believed that a model was just another term for courtesan with the clear intent on acting on those convictions.

While other professional girls were timid and working out of sheer necessity to support themselves, their living, and commonly, their children, Y/N refused to hide, making quite a comfortable life for herself, given all the misevents. And as shocking as it may have been in a XVIII century London – thriving without a husband.

Enjoying every second spent in the sacred temple dedicated to art and education of  the future geniuses of the field, taking greatest pride in participating in the process. Sacrificing her heart, mind and soul to the muses.   

*** 

Y/N’s favorite days were those, when she was dressing in fantasy dresses and costumes fulfilling her mother’s words about becoming someone else, taking a mask, a life of an imaginary character, a shell that was to be filled to her own liking. And with her late father’s sense of humor she loved the ability to create characters that somehow mocked the people she knew in real life.

An older lady, busy with everyone’s interest?

A respected matron, whose life’s greatest ambition was marrying her daughters into the noble family?

A royalty with indomitable character and imposing her will without any embarrassment?

All welcomed.

And yet – there were also those specific art lessons for high-born gentlemen that were focused on anatomy. And those never required any intricate outfits at all, except maybe a tiny, thin piece of fabric, reveling more skin than it was societally savory.

***

Y/N might not have had the tiniest waist or the prettiest hair or delicate, fragile figure.

And many student were unsatisfied with said fact (those were the mentioned ones connotating model with hetaira).

And those were also the ones making her smirk under her nose. As if she didn’t know those gentlemen tended to engage in a different kind of art, that has little to zero connection with painting on canvas. Besides, in some cases, if the gentlemen’s  other skills were similar to those they showed in class …. poor wives.

However, there was one of them that seemed a little lost in the place. Not because he did not belong, since his talent was undeniable. It was rather because, unlike anyone else, he never said anything even mildly mean to her. Unlike anyone else he was treating her like a human being and not a chunk of flesh Unlike anyone else, she was a woman to him.

Well, maybe not in that sense of the word, but still a woman.

***

He was watching her with sparkles in his eyes that followed her own, no matter how much she was averting her gaze.

Beautiful.

Not like Daphne with her fair, smooth skin, rosy lips and silky hair.

No.

Y/N, as he learned her name was, was like a force of nature. Untamed. Powerful. With fire in her gaze and statuesque figure making her look like a goodness of war.

Athena.

And he was captivated by the internal strength and resilience that radiated through the whole room, reaching even the dimly lit corner of the classroom he found shelter in. Utterly unable to tear his eyes of her. Noticing the smallest details and blemishes on her skin, that only inflamed the fire of his interest.   

Oh, to have a piece of her attention.

But she was a model. And he was a lord, even if only a second son, deprived of the title. And even if she didn’t know it, her obvious pride would never allow her to approach him. A man from a higher class she learned to be incomprehensible in their love for worldly pleasure, driven by lusciousness, believing themselves to be above anyone else.

She would be more then delighted to take said men down a notch, but regardless of her pride, fire and independent nature, merely one ungrateful word would cause her to loose the job she loved so much.

Nonetheless, Benedict was neither terrene either the one to give up once his mind was made.

And he made it his personal pursuit to meet her.

***

“Lady Y/N.”

She raised an eyebrow at the voice coming from above her head when she was picking up the utensils left everywhere by reckless and uncaring students, used to being served.

“Surely you are joking my lord?”

“And why would I be joking?”

“I am not a lady and you are aware of that considering the circumstances. And if your lady mother—”

“My lady mother is occupied by my brother’s wife searching quest.”

“Oh yes, your brother, the viscount Bridgerton.”

“Mh. So you know who I am, don’t you?” Benedict’s ego went a little higher in the sky.

“Oh my lord, shall you expect me to be deaf and blind to miss the news of the season?”

“I—” the ego crashed down on the ground

“I may surprise you further then, my lord. I am quite capable when it comes to reading. The skill I use for more than merely enjoying Lady whistledown’s brochures, however I do enjoy the style of writing she presents. Quite talented with the narrative.”

“So you are not only a model but also a writer, lady Y/N?”

“And in my free time I also serve as a charlady. A woman of many talents.” She pointed out to the dirty pencils and accessories in her hands

"Such a surprising thought that-"

"That a woman can in fact have some more ambition than marrying into a noble family?"

"You do sound like one of my sisters..."

“Your sister surely is a smart woman."

Benedict shook his head with a smile, gaze pinned to the floor to avoid laughing and somehow offending his companionship.

“Which one of those gentlemen influenced your opinion this heavily?” Benedict grinned

“Excuse me?”

“Just reveal his name to me and I shall demand satisfaction”

This sentence actually made her laugh a little and before they realized what was happening they were both chuckling in the middle of the empty art classroom as if they were from the same class without any social barriers in-between.

“You’re Benedict Bridgerton.”

“And you are Y/N Y/L/N.”

“Indeed, At your service” she bowed in a very funny and very untrained way. “you must have put yourself through a great deal of trouble to learn my deepest secret.”

“And how entertaining it was to do so.”

“Was it?” she titled her head narrowing eyes a little studying his face. “that makes me wonder the purpose of said action.”

“Will you let a man keep a bit of his own secrets?”

“I must refuse to do so.”

“And this is precisely what I have been expecting to hear from you.”

“Are you challenging me now, my lord?”

“Not for a duel if that’s what-“

“It’s not.” She cut him out with a smile “now, If you forgive me, Bridgerton, I have my duties to tend to.” She bowed and with hands full of remnants of the art class started walking away.

“I shall hope to see you in the next class?” he called after her

“I  believe you said your family is occupied with your brother’s marriage …..? Shall you not be invested in those?”

“I—” dear lord, how was it possible that this woman was taking words out of his mouth this effectively? And he believed himself to be the witty one of the siblings. 

“Life is full of mysteries my lord and trying to predict what may happen In a week seems like an exercise in futility.”

She send him the last smile and disappeared for good, leaving Benedict with the lingering sense of dissatisfaction.

And suddenly making him forget about the fact that he has been considering renouncing the academy membership Anthony have so generously provided him with.

Having gained additional motivation, he was more determined to persevere.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic

[lydiimae]

Infatuation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

MDI!! 18+

Part 2 <3

Warnings: Heavy drinking, mentions of opium use, mentions of prostitution, rough sex, fingering, oral sex, semi-public sex, squirting, marking, thigh riding, vaginal sex, dom benedict and sub reader, brief spanking, possessive benedict, LOTS of dirty talk

A.N: hi again, i'm back on my bullshit <3 first of all, thank you so very much for the love on my first Benny fic AND my first fic ever. liiiiike seriously, that was so sweet <3 T-T. anyway, this fic is another Benny fic- a smutty one at that. it is vaguely based off of the infamous party where Ben has his threesome, however, i changed it up quite a bit so take it at face value hehe. i am planning on making an Anthony one next, probably some more filth so I can practice getting my wording to a place i am proud of. also, i think i will maybe make this into a series??? so do let me know if you like it so i can get an idea >.< enjoy, ily, and THANK YOU AGAIN <3 ^-^

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You were never one to go to parties, especially the ones your dear friend Genevieve Delacroix invited you to. She had a knack for finding the most raunchy, wanton, artists who would throw parties full of courtesans, sex, opium, alcohol... the whole of it.

Being a maid for such a wealthy and well-known family, the Featherington's to be exact, meant you knew the secret lives that many lords and ladies lead outside of the stuffy confines of the ballrooms.

You were lucky to be the lady's maid of the sweetest Featherington, Penelope, and therefore you were even luckier to hear about the Bridgerton family. From what she told you, they were all kind and polite, just like anyone else. She had also hinted, quite shyly, to the men of the family being gorgeous. The third born being her favorite.

You had seen glimpses of pearly white teeth, dark blue tailcoats, and their chestnut brown hair but were never lucky enough to see a full image of any of them but Eloise and her sister, Daphne.

When Genevieve insisted on you tagging along with her and a friend from a higher-up place, you begrudgingly accepted. It was lucky that the young debutante you worked for insisted on having something important to do, so you snuck out and walked through the streets of London to the modiest's shop.

Genevieve dressed you in a tight but, incredibly beautiful, dark blue corset and a pair of black pants, to which you raised an eyebrow. "I look as if I am soliciting, not as if I am curious about this party you have been nagging me to go to." You comment, looking in the mirror.

"What if you solicit, hm? Where is the harm in spending a night with a lord or even another servant?" She returns, tightening up the laces on the corset before stepping back and looking over her work. "Besides, look at yourself. You have a body that would make any one of those silly debutantes jealous, why not show it?" She grins.

You sigh and turn to her, a small cheeky smile on your face as a result of her teasing. "You owe me for this, Viv." You tease and she laughs, putting on her cloak as she hands you your own. "There she is. The Y/N I know. We will have fun, I swear it." She says. Once your cloak is tugged over your shoulders, the both of you make your way out of the shop and towards the house where the party is being held.

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Benedict never snuck out, not before he got invited to Lord Granville's house. The man was nice enough about him completely insulting his art to his face, nice enough to recognize an artistic eye and even the hint of talent that Benedict possessed through merely speaking about art. He thought the gathering was going to be one where he would meet artists and practice his craft. He was wrong.

Of course, he was experienced in the world of sex, drugs, and drinking. He attended the gentleman's club with his brothers after almost every ball he attended, much like every other lord in the ton. He has shared his number of passion-filled nights with nameless women, some of which he cannot remember. The only remenice being the ache of a hangover, and the taste of expensive whiskey still lingering on his tongue.

He would have never thought that the artist had such a scene hiding behind such an unassuming townhouse.

He followed the artist in and was met with quite the scene. The room was hazy with the smoke of expensive cigars, the candlelight casting a low gold hue on the entire house. He followed the artist deeper and was met with courtesans soliciting men at every turn, to which he grinned.

Even further and he was led into a room where women were posed naked, in quite compromising positions, for eager artists who were trying to master the anatomy of a naked woman. Or so that is what Granville claimed.

He grins crookedly at the sight. "Quite the room, is it not?" Lord Granville piques up from behind him. He turns to face the man and nods. "Quite. Might I stay here? I have found myself needing practice of anatomy as of late and this is the perfect place to do so." He says, a playful glint in his eye.

Granville, of course, picks up on it and nods. "Of course, Lord Bridgerton. Do enjoy yourself." He returns with a knowing smile and a wink before exiting the room. Benedict sits at one of the free easles, one of the other men lighting a cigar and offering it to him. He accepts, and puffs on it as he begins to work.

He could get used to this.

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Genevieve leads you through the party, grabbing two glasses of what looks like scotch off of a passing servant's tray. She settles for meeting her friend, who you quickly learn is the wife of said artist who is throwing the party, on the stairs.

After a while of chatting you learn that the young woman's name is Lucy and her husband is Henry Granville, an artist whose work you always found interesting. You also are clued into the fact that their marriage is one of convenience, rather than love, as Lord Granville has no romantic nor sexual interest towards the opposite sex. You find no issue in what the young couple has, after all, you have seen much worse when it comes to marriages in the ton.

"Viv, might I go explore, or am I to only solicit?" You tease as you push off the wall. She laughs and shakes her head. "I am not your keeper, Y/N. Go and do as you wish, just be careful." She says, a hint of genuine protectiveness seeping through her tone of voice. "I promise. I will find my way back to your shop if anything goes awry." You assure before walking down the steps with a quick wave to both of the women.

You duck into a small room with a door that leads to a balcony after grabbing another glass of scotch from a passing servant. However fun it is coming to these things with Viv, you find them quite overwhelming. You are more attuned to the quietness of your servant's quarters, spending countless hours curled up with a good book that your young mistress so generously gifts you from time to time.

You walk out on the balcony, leaning heavily on the metal railing as you look up at the stars. The scotch, and the fact that you get much drunker much quicker than most, is making a delightfully warm feeling bloom in your chest. You take a deep breath of the fresh air to calm your senses before ducking back into the party.

You make it all of two steps before colliding into a broad chest, which sends your alcohol down the front of your torso.

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He was in that hazy, alcohol-filled room, long enough to get just drunk enough to where he was clumsy. He catches the woman he so foolishly clambered into on his way out of the room he was painting in by the waist, which sends her drink out of her hand and down her front.

"My God, I am so incredibly sorry my lady." He rushes, gazing down at the mess he made. His eyes widen at the sight that lies in front of him.

She's a young woman, young enough that she can not be past the age of two and twenty, in a very revealing corset top and black pants. Her hair is tucked up elegantly, yet a few unruly waves have fallen as a result of the night's activities. Her cheeks are pink, probably from the embarrassment or perhaps even the anger, of getting drenched in scotch.

The liquid drips down her neck, and he follows a drop from her neck to where it travels right between her breasts. The tops are peaking out from being hugged so tight. They are full, so very full. He wonders what it would feel like to run his tongue over the smooth skin, what it would feel like to roll her nipple between his teeth and suck.

He shakes himself out of it and meets her eyes once more before he gets any more aroused than he already is.

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You recognize him immediately as a Bridgerton, though you have no idea which one. He has a silly crooked smile on his face that you cannot seem to draw your eyes from, he also sports the undoubtedly Bridgerton chestnut brown hair.

He has longer hair than the one Penelope speaks of, but only just. Your eyes roam from his face to his chest, where he is wearing only a loose undershirt, his waistcoat long forgotten in drunken activities you're sure. His suspenders hang loose on his shoulders, just barely hanging onto his black trousers.

"You're a Bridgerton." It slips out of your mouth before you can stop it, the effects of three glasses of scotch. He grins wider, chuckling a bit. The noise makes your entire body heat up. "I am. Benedict Bridgerton in fact." He says, his eyes never straying from yours.

"And you are?" He ponders after a moment of silence from you. You jump at the question, having been too distracted by the look of his lips to even notice he was speaking. You clear your throat and adjust your posture. "Y/N L/N." You answer shyly.

"Well, Y/N L/N, can I take you to a room and clean up the mess I made of your top, or is that entirely too forward for a gentleman to ask within mere moments of meeting?" He grins, the alcohol he consumed only ebbing on his already large confidence when it comes to women. You only nod shyly, afraid that if you speak you will make a stuttering fool of yourself.

He offers an arm, which you take happily, and begins to lead you through the party.

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He pulls you into a room and, almost immediately, his hands encompass your waist. "You... are the most stunning woman I have ever had the pleasure of looking at." He murmurs, sending your heart soaring. You rest your hand on his chest, newly emboldened by the liquid courage you have been sipping on the entire night, returning his cheeky smile. "Is it too forward for a lady to say the same within mere moments of meeting?" You return.

He lets out a chuckle when you parrot his past words and he leans down. "A witty woman as well as a beautiful one, what else do you have up your sleeve Miss L/N?" He purrs, running a flattened hand up your back until it meets your hair. He tugs it down from its pins, sending it tumbling over your shoulders.

"Perhaps, if you are lucky Mister Bridgerton, I shall show you." You whisper, leaning in so your lips are but a hair's width away from his. Something dangerous and incredibly intoxicating passes over his features as he lets out a noise, a growl, that causes your core to dampen.

"You are a very forward woman, Y/N. I find it quite... infatuating to say the very least." He whispers before capturing your lips. You close your eyes and tangle one of your hands in his thick hair, the other finding his collar and giving it a slight tug.

He groans into your mouth, his hands enveloping your bum cheeks and pulling you even closer. He wants to feel the rise and fall of your breasts as he makes you pant. And by god does he.

You moan into his mouth as his hands squeeze the soft skin of your ass through your trousers, which gives him the perfect chance to slip his tongue into your mouth. He tastes smoky, like cigars and whiskey. It makes your clit throb painfully.

As if reading your mind, and body, he spreads your legs with his knee and slides his leg between them. His thigh presses against your closed cunt and you gasp, breaking the kiss to throw your head back. He smirks and holds you right where you are by moving his hands to your hips.

"So sensitive." He whispers and groans as you begin to move your hips back and forth against his thigh, chasing the feeling it gives you. "Fuck, you are just full of surprises aren't you darling? I did not even have to tell you what to do, you just did it," He praises, his eyes locked on the place where your clothed core meets his leg.

"Riding my thigh like a bitch in heat. I might have to keep you." He gusts over your shoulder as he begins to kiss the exposed skin there. Oh God, how you would love that. To be able to fuck him whenever you saw fit, yes please Mister Bridgerton. "Please." Is all you manage to strangle out as you begin to grind down on him harder.

He bites down on your shoulder, leaving a bright red mark there, which he smirks at before he slowly guides you to the dark red chaise that lies in the corner of the room. He lays you back, slowly unlacing your corset with his slender fingers. He throws it across the room when it is off, his mouth immediately taking in one of your hardened nipples.

You cry out when he sucks, watching him look up at you with a shit-eating grin that makes your cunt even more soaked than it already is. He sucks and bites your bud before turning his attention to the other, giving it just as much attention. "The least I can do is clean up the mess I made." He whispers over your nipple, the vibrations sending waves of pleasure straight down to your core. Cocky bastard, you think to yourself as you grip his hair.

You are a whimpering, moaning mess by the time his face returns over yours. He presses a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to your lips before sitting up and stripping himself of his suspenders and his shirt before returning his attention to you. He takes off your shoes and then unbuttons your trousers, slowly sliding them down your legs.

He groans lewdly at the sight. Genevieve had insisted quite heavily when she was dressing you up that you forgo panties. She said it made trousers more comfortable, less tight, so of course you agreed. You decide tonight, that if wearing no underwear will illicit that pretty noise from his lips, you will never wear them again.

"God you are soaked. Drenched from riding my thigh and a quick suck to your nipples." He whispers as he kisses the insides of your thighs. You whine and buck your hips up toward his face, which results in him quickly grabbing your hips with one of his hands and pressing you down into the cushion so you are unable to buck and writhe. "Perhaps I was right in my assessment of you, Miss Y/N. You really are just a bitch in heat. So desperate to be full of my cock, painted with my seed." He murmurs before licking a stripe up your slit.

You cry out and grip his hair with both hands, needing something to ground yourself as his tongue swirls around your clit. He lets out a growl at the taste of your dripping cunt, so sweet and yet so tart. Utter perfection. The noise you make in return has him wishing he could drink from your body for the rest of his days, die with you sat atop his face. Riding his mouth to oblivion.

He moves his hand down to his trousers, fumbling with the buttons to free his aching cock. He slides two fingers into your body without warning and you keen, your eyes rolling back as he collects your juices. He pulls his fingers out just as quick as they went in, and spreads your wetness on his length, stroking himself hard as he drinks from you.

"Ben... oh fuck.... so close." You babble as his tongue presses inside your hole, drawing the most heavenly noises from your body. He pulls away just as you start to see stars and you grasp at his hands, tears forming in your eyes from your denied release. "Please... Please..." You sob, desperate for the feeling to come back.

He chuckles deeply, hooking your knees over his shoulders. "I've got you, love." He assures, kissing away your tears before pulling back with a cocky grin that sends your heart fluttering. "You look like a masterpiece, crying for my cock. All flushed and swollen." He murmurs. You do not know if he is talking about you or your pussy, but you never wish for him to stop.

"Please, my lord. Please, please... I need you. I need..." You babble, completely free of any thought other than his pretty dick plunging inside of you. He curses and bends down, claiming your lips with his before thrusting into you without warning. He bottoms out, and both of you moan, the kiss becoming a mess of tongue and tooth alike.

He begins at a brutal pace, slamming into you so hard that the chaise creeks against the hardwood floor. You scream at the heavenly feeling of pain and pleasure, the sound muffled over his lips. Sweat splashes from his collarbone to yours as the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, the sickly sweet smell of sex enveloping your senses.

He grunts and breaks the kiss, holding one of your legs by the calf, his other hand cupping your jaw. Your mouth falls open as soon as his lips are gone, a loud moan coming from somewhere deep within slipping out before you can try and stop it. He grunts and sticks his thumb past your lips, afraid that someone will hear from outside the thin walls.

You happily oblige and close your lips around his digit, swirling your tongue around him to the rhythm of his thrusts. He moans at the sight of you sucking on his thumb like it's a cock, as his cock slams into your pretty pussy. "Fuck. I am keeping you. You are mine," He accentuates the word with a slap to your ass cheek, causing you to cry out over his finger and clench down on his cock. "Forever. No one else will ever-fuck.-be able to fill this sweet hole of yours. It is all mine. You are all mine." He grunts as his thrusts become sloppy.

He yanks his thumb from your mouth and attacks your swollen, throbbing, clit. He rubs it hard and fast, to match the rhythm of his thrusts and you cry out. He quickly intuits that you are as close to climax as he is and bends down, covering your lips with his own so that you can scream freely.

You do as he expected, letting out a long scream into his mouth as stars rush over your vision and your body burns hot. Your juices soak both his pant-covered leg and the velvety fabric of the chaise below. The feeling of your fluttering cunt tightening even further sends him over and he releases deep inside you before he goes limp over your body.

He pushes himself up after a moment, relishing in the sight below him. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen and bruised. You have a bite mark on your shoulder, your hair surrounding your head like a messy halo. Perfection. A ruined, beautiful, masterpiece made solely by him.

He brushes the hair out of your face and presses a sweet kiss to your brow. "Might I be privy to those many secrets you were so keen on hiding, Miss L/N?" He teases softly, grabbing a handkerchief from his pocket and beginning to clean the mess of mixed juices on your thighs.

You giggle. "The next time we meet, I promise to tell at least one." You return, your heart fluttering at the way he so delicately slides your trousers back over your legs after cleaning you up. He grins as he buttons them up, his hands encompassing your waist to pull you up to a sitting position.

You use the opportunity to wrap your arms around his neck, and it is his turn to laugh. "Next time, then. I will wait with held breath until then, I assure you." He whispers, helping you into your corset. "But for now, I owe you a lovely night, hm?" He murmurs as he pulls the laces of your corset tight. You sigh and nod. "I would like that very much." You whisper back, resting your head on his shoulder.

He smiles cheekily, "Is it entirely too forward for a gentleman to say he would like to do this every night from now on, mere hours after meeting?" He whispers in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

No, Mister Bridgerton, it is not.

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[entitled-fangirl]

One happy marriage.

Benedict Bridgerton x wife!reader

Summary: the reader lies about something important and finally breaks down to tell her husband about it.

Masterlist

..........................................................

"I have started our marriage with the most audacious lie, Benedict!"

He looked up from his sketchbook with a curious look, "Whatever are you talking about, my dear?"

Y/N covered her mouth with a quiet sob. The lie was eating at her every day and she knew sooner or later the truth would reveal itself. Too bad she revealed it on her own.

Benedict frowned and stood quickly. He raced towards her and sat down cautiously on the sofa next to her. One arm gently pulled her to him, "Darling? I'm sure whatever it is can be forgiven."

She shook her head quickly and spoke through hiccups, "No…. It's unspeakable. Pl… please don't leave me."

This started to worry the poor man.

His hands gently ran up and down her arms, "I promise you, my dear. Whatever has happened, we will be as we are now."

She pulls away from him and wipes her eyes. "I am so sorry, Benedict."

He felt his heart break at the sight of her tears and pleads. "You must tell me what has troubled you this badly."

She shakes her head again, "I don't know if I can."

Benedict sighs.

He was a Bridgerton. And Bridgertons are nothing if not stubborn.

He gently takes her face in his hands. "How then, darling, am I to help fix this issue if I do not know of it?"

She stared up at him. How could she deny him? He was her heart. "I… I have lied to you so dreadfully."

He nods in thought, "Alright?"

She takes a deep breath, "I am an artist."

Benedict's head tilts. "Oh."

She looks up at him to gauge his reaction. "When we were courting, you asked if I was an artist. I said no. I… I lied to you."

He nods again with his lips in a tight line, "Yes. So you did."

She felt awful.

Silence fell over the two before Benedict broke it, "And your work?"

Her head perked up. "My work?"

He gave a slight smirk, "Yes, my dear, your work."

She nodded, "The… the paintings in the parlor… I lied. I do not collect them… I ma... I made all of those."

Benedict smiled widely. A small chuckle escaped his lips as he leaned forward and kissed the crown of her head, "I know."

She stiffened. "What?"

He leaned back and his smile only grew, "I knew, darling. I've always known. I was waiting for you to tell me."

Now it was her turn to feel a bit speechless.

Benedict continued, "I understand why you lied. Those pieces are gorgeous, and the last thing you wanted was your courter... well... your husband... to feel… lowly of his own work-"

"-but your work is lovely, Ben." She quickly interrupted.

"Ah, yes, but not like yours, my dear."

"But how did you know?"

He shrugged, "John Marques is not a real painter." He leaned close to her ear, "And yet, his name is on every plaque in the house."

She let out a laugh so happy, Benedict swore he had never heard one that matched.

She jumped into his lap and held him close.

And he was beyond happy to hold her so near.

He pulled away just to kiss her.

They could feel each other's smiles as their lips pressed together.

She broke away, just close enough to feel his breath on her lips, "And you truly aren't upset at me?"

He laughed, "How could I be? My very own wife, a most talented painter? How on earth could I ever be upset? I'm the happiest husband in the ton!"

Two artists make one happy marriage.

...................................................................

#fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x y/n

[bellarkeselection]

The Venus Muse

Princess Y/n has no desire to be just some man's wife. She wishes to explore the world and all the way up to the stars. And she may get her once in a lifetime chance when her mother, Queen Charlotte invites the Bridgerton family to the castle. The artistic Bridgerton son might possibly sweep the princess off her feet.

1 - Welcoming the Bridgerton’s

2 -

???

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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[ofstarsandvibranium]

Walls Are Crumbling

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: You loved hard and it was your downfall. Now pregnant with a child conceived out of wedlock, no one would want to marry you. But Benedict, your dearest friend, refuses to let you fall in ruins.

A/N: first official benedict fic! woohoo! might make a part 2? idk. gotta see how you all like this first lol

It was becoming a late night. Everyone was at Lady Danbury's ball while the two Bridgerton men stayed behind, claiming they had business to take care of. However, Anthony and Benedict sat in Anthony's study chatting and drinking, happy to not be under the Ton's watchful eyes this night. Their peaceful night had gone interrupted as servant knocked on the door, "I'm sorry, my Lords, there is a Lady Y/N here."

The men's ears perked. You were a dear friend of their family. You were supposed to be at the ball. They were suddenly alert. Surely, there's something wrong if you're coming to them than staying at the party.

Benedict is the first to stand, "If you could send her here, please."

The servant nods, leaving to get you. Within moments, she's back but with you following her.

Anthony is the first to rush to your side, "What's wrong? Are you alright?" He always was like a protective brother to you

You can't help but break down into immediate tears, "I'm so stupid, Anthony!"

Benedict comes up to you, "Y/N," he says your name softly, "What's happened?"

You look down in shame, “Lord Matias…he promised he’d marry me. He kept saying he would and when I told him I was with child he-“ you let out a sob and Benedict immediately pulls you into his arms.

“It’ll be okay.”

You shake your head, mouth muffled by his shirt, “No, it won’t. Once my mother finds out, she’ll kick me out. I won’t have anywhere to go, no one will want me.”

“I’ll marry you,” his words are simply stated but carry a heavy weight.

You pull back, looking at Benedict with wide eyes, “Wh-What?”

He gulps and nods, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Anthony looks at his brother sternly, "Brother-"

You shake your head, “No. Benedict you can’t. Your family-“

“Adores you, especially mother.” He steps forward to you and places his hands on your shoulders, “Do you really think I’ll let my dearest friend fall to ruin?” He looks at his eldest brother, "Anthony, we can't let her-"

He nods, "I know," he then looks at you, "If you would allow it, Benedict will marry you."

You look between the brothers, “What will people say?”

Benedict shrugs, “Nearly the entire Ton expects us to get married. It wouldn’t be much of a shock. Once the child is born, I’ll raise them like my own. No one would suspect a thing.”

You shake your head again, “I can’t ask this of you.”

“You’re not,” he gives you a soft reassuring smile, “Surely by now you’d know I’d do anything for you.” He looks at you with his blue eyes and you know he truly means it.

"The wedding would have to be soon then. If we have it any later, it'll raise suspicions-"

"You two could get married in the morning if you'd like," Anthony suggests and when you give him a look of shock he adds, "or not."

Benedict couldn't help but chuckle, "A month. I think a month is a good amount of time."

You can't help but sigh in relief, looking from Anthony to Benedict, "I can't thank you both enough," you pull Benedict into a hug. As he hugs you back, you don't see the knowing look Anthony is giving his younger brother. Benedict simply gives him a warning look before saying, "Everything will be alright, Y/N. We'll take care of everything."

#benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton fic

[avengersassemble-fics]

Linger

chapter 02 "don't let it burn" masterlist previous chapter 5.2k words (yikes!) ♡ smut

The sun bathed the Bridgerton estate in a golden glow, casting a warm enchantment over the manicured gardens. The air buzzed with the lively chatter of the Ton, their vibrant silks a kaleidoscope of colors against the backdrop of blooming flowers.

The Bridgerton estate was someplace you frequented at least once every summer. But this occasion was different, this was an alfresco party thrown by the Viscount himself. This season you had heard whispers that Anthony was looking for a wife, and a part of you was curious if he’d find one.

But today was more than just a party, it was the first time you and Benedict would be together in public since you accepted his proposal to court you. Though he had called on you numerous times since you spoke in the cover of darkness in Lady Danbury’s garden, this was different.

The murmur of conversations filled the air, and you had slipped from your parents side in search of what you desired most. But while you had found yourself in search of Benedict, he too was searching for his muse, who he had deemed the unexpected beat of his heart. In your search for Benedict, you found yourself colliding with another body-

“My apologies,” the voice, all too familiar, quipped. Meeting the gaze of Anthony Bridgerton, his brows furrowed. “Ah. It’s only you.”

“Indeed,” you said as Anthony straightened himself out, and stole a glance of you. “You seem on edge, my Lord.”

“I’m perfectly well,” Anthony argued in a low tone. You glanced around at the many pairs of eyes, from mostly women, as they watched the interaction between you and the Viscount.

“So it’s true?” You asked him and he raised a brow. “You are in search of a wife?”

Anthony sighed, shaking his head slightly. “My mother’s outburst truly has graced everyone’s ear.”

“Her words and Lady Whistledown’s writings,” you laughed softly and Anthony looked you over. “I was in search of your brother.. perhaps you have seen him?”

A subtle pause followed, and Anthony’s eyes shifted, he seemed.. truly off. He cleared his throat. “Benedict is around, I’m sure. But.. would you indulge me with your company for a moment? There’s something I’d like to discuss.”

You nodded, a little unsure what matters he had to discuss now of all times. But Anthony placed his hand on your arm, leading you away from the prying eyes and ears of the ton towards the small lake on the property. 

“Anthony? What’s this about?” You asked him, dropping the formalities. Anthony paused beside you, and gazed out to the lake with his hands on his hips. This was serious Anthony Bridgerton, which you had only caught glimpses of on a few rare occasions. He turned back to face you. 

“It’s.. about Benedict,” Anthony stated and cleared his throat. “I am happy he finally had the courage to ask you for a courtship, truly.. But there are aspect of his nature that one should be cautious of.”

“Meaning?” You asked him and Anthony sighed. 

“I love my brother,” Anthony said, though you weren’t sure if that was meant to ease your nerves or his own. He knew he had to choose his words carefully, after all - he didn’t want to ruin what could be. “Benedict tends to get lost in the world of his passions, and sometimes… that may lead him down paths others might find unconventional. I am aware that you've known him for years, (Y/N), but there's an unpredictability to him that one should be mindful of."

You nodded, absorbing his words. Anthony could see your eyes shifting over his face, a soft furrow of concern in your brows, and ultimately you nodded. “I appreciate your candor, Anthony.”

“But,” you hesitated. “While I may not know all the deepest things about him that you might, I know one thing to be true. He is a good man. I do not believe he would do something to.. Harm me, if that is your concern.”

“I would never believe him to put you in harm's way,” Anthony whispered. “Please believe that. I only meant.. When he is passionate, he may be more focused on the moment and not the big picture.”

“His passion is what draws me to him,” you said softly. Anthony’s gaze shifted, maybe with shock. It was a brazen comment, but you shook your head. “Thank you for looking out for me, my Lord.”

Before Anthony could try to call for you, you turned from him and made your way back to the party. His words burned in your mind, lingering some kind of caution in you. Not back in the crowd for long, another hand grazed your back, turning you to face them.

Benedict.

“Here I was beginning to think you had grown tired of me already,” Benedict joked and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Only caught up with conversations,” you quipped and he hummed in response. “The festivities are.. Quite the spectacle.”

“Indeed they are,” Benedict said and you felt him grasp your arm softly. “Care for a stroll away from the crowd?”

Your gaze lingered on his features. His smile, the crinkle near his eyes, his intense gaze.. Anthony’s words did linger in your mind, but the overwhelming feeling of ease with Benedict outweighed whatever concern Anthony tried to demonstrate. So, you nodded.

“A stroll sounds lovely,” you spoke softly and Anthony was eager to lace your arm through his, and escort you away. Some eyes did linger on the second eldest Bridgerton and you leaving the crowd, but no one said anything - at least not to your face.

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

Benedict hushed you as you laughed softly, him glancing around the corner to the kitchens.

“You’re going to get us caught,” Benedict warned you in a whisper, though when he met your gaze he couldn’t help but chuckle along with you.

The two of you had gotten into some antics after slipping away from the party outside. Benedict had shared some brandy with you (and Eloise who happened to stumble upon you two hidden away inside the family's estate) which had led to the three of you in search of sweets, but not brave enough to go back outside to the festivities.

“I’ll go, I can make haste,” Eloise offered, which made you stifle your laughs. “I only need a moment, I know where the maid hides her stash.”

“Oh so you two have done this before?” You asked to which she nodded, and you met Benedict’s gaze with a smile. “My, my, Ben. Such a bad influence.”

“It was her idea,” he tried to protest. Eloise slipped into the kitchen, which left you and Benedict alone in the hallway. Again, Anthony’s words of caution flashed through your mind. Really, if you had been caught alone with him.. The whispers that would be said could be grave to your character.

“Have I told you how beautiful you look today?” Benedict’s low voice snapped you back to his attention. When did he get this close to you? He towered over you, his chest nearly to yours, and his hands had taken yours in his. You swallowed the lump that had formed in your throat.

A soft, teasing smile played on your lips as you replied, "Do I not look beautiful every day?"

Benedict’s chuckle was no longer the light and friendly laughter from just a moment ago when his sister was near.

“Every day, (Y/N), you are a vision,” he confessed, his voice a velvet whisper. “But today.. Your beauty is truly intoxicating. It’s as if the universe is conspiring to tempt me beyond reason.”

“The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it,” you said softly, but Benedict didn’t miss it. The invitation.

In that charged moment, Benedict’s restraint seemed to waiver. His eyes flickered down to your lips, and without a word, he closed the remaining distance. The first brush of his lips against yours was tentative, a testing of boundaries, but the hunger quickly escalated.

Succumbing to a temptation too potent to resist, Benedict’s hands released their grip on yours, only to find their way to your hips, greedily grabbing hold of them as he pressed you to the wall. A soft sound escaped you, and Benedict’s grip tightened. Whatever he heard, he liked it. You could feel his tongue swipe over your lower lip, and with some hesitation you welcomed him in.

His mouth tasted like the brandy that was being shared between you two, but his tongue was wanting to taste every bit of you he could, while he had the chance. His tongue darted over yours, lingering for a moment as he tilted his head in search of more. One of his hands trailed up your side from your hip to the swell of your breast, his thumb tracing over where he could only guess was where your nipple was.

He was right, because you tensed up slightly under his grasp, and a smirk fell over his lips. Eventually, the need for air compelled you both to reluctantly part. Benedict's eyes, now darker with a mixture of longing and realization, locked onto yours.

“Well?” You asked softly and Benedict could only muster up a soft hm. “Did I live up to your imaginings of my taste?”

A soft, breathless chuckle escaped him and he lifted his hand to your cheek, cupping your chin as he traced his thumb along your lower lip. “You surpassed every imagination. I’m not sure how I can possibly stop myself from wanting more.”

The sound of Eloise’s footsteps was enough to force you two apart. It forced you two to pace yourselves for the rest of the evening, especially with Eloise still around. The group snacked on sweets in one of the drawing rooms, but every time you caught a glimpse of Benedict, his gaze was on you. That hunger was still there in his eyes, and you had to squash down the feeling brewing in your lower stomach.

But when Eloise took her leave, noticing the party dwindling down outside, it once again left you alone with the driving force of your desires. Benedict stayed seated for a moment, unknown to you he was weighing his options. The feeling of your lips earlier, the taste of you on his tongue, was like an intoxication unlike anything alcohol could give to him. He cleared his throat and stood before you, and offered his hand.

“Do you trust me?” He asked. You met Benedict’s gaze and the only words you knew to respond to was-

“Of course,” you responded, taking his hand with yours. Benedict helped you up, lacing his fingers with yours while he led you from the room. Sure, you had traversed the estate with Daphne sometimes over the summers, but never where Benedict was taking you. No, this corridor was always private to the boys, housing Anthony’s study and Benedict’s room.. So seeing it for the first time made you feel warmth spread through your chest.

It was a place filled with the tangible essence of his creativity, and you couldn’t help but be swept away by the intimacy of the space. The air carried the scent of drying paints and the faint traces of inspiration, like this place was a secret world apart from the rest of the Bridgertons. The soft glow of the candlelights left burning casted a warm ambiance.

Your eyes roamed over the canvases, each one was a testament to Benedict’s artistic soul laid bare. He let you peruse his space, let you drink in what he was sharing, and he felt himself losing himself further to a sensation he hadn’t been able to name yet.

Love.

Your eyes lingered on one painting, still fresh from brushstrokes and paint, and Benedict smiled a bit. He came up behind you, lowering himself to your shoulder, and he caught a whiff of your hair and the perfume that lingered behind your ear. “Can you tell what my inspiration for this one was?”

The painting in question was a swirl of colors, but a dark contrast. Two figures were embraced with one another, though he left out the finer details. His breath hit your neck, and followed by his tender lips against your shoulder. “You have seeped into every part of my being.. I’d love a piece of you.”

You smiled as his lips grazed your skin, your inner voice of self control growing smaller and smaller. “You wish to draw me, Mr. Bridgerton?”

A small huff hit your skin and you laughed softly. Stepping away from his embrace, there was a couch in the room that you settled yourself on. “How would you like me?”

“I think it wise you don’t ever ask me that again,” Benedict warned as he grabbed a pad and a piece of writing charcoal. “I just.. want you as yourself.”

And you did just that. You flattened your dress down yourself, easing your back to the couch and  rested your hands in your lap. Benedict settled into a chair opposite, leg crossed over the other, as he started to work away in short strokes of the charcoal. He would keep glancing up at you, adjusting his method to capture more details of you. Because he never wanted to forget even the smallest of details.

A comfortable silence filled the room, the only sound was the soft pops of candles and his fingers grazing the paper. You shifted slightly, and Benedict’s eyes flashed up to meet yours, and offered a slight smile.

“Can you undo your hair for me?” Benedict asked as his eyes darted back down to the paper. At that request, you did hesitate, knowing full well that if you did, you’d never be able to redo it. But.. What was thrill without any potential hearsay?

You undid the various pins that had been entriquently placed in your hair to hold it up and proper. Each one slowly loosened your updo, until finally your palm was full of little pins. You readjusted your hair, laying it just right when Benedict glanced up again at you, and took a moment to stare.

Though he didn’t comment on how you looked, his mind raced as he went back to the outline of you on his paper. He wanted to get you perfect, just as you were. He wanted to have you soldered into his memory, because time was of the essence. He didn’t have too long to indulge in your company, knowing you would have to leave eventually.

But he wanted to yield to his temptation.

Benedict stood and crossed the space towards you, kneeling before you as he adjusted a strand of your hair, making sure it fell perfectly beside your face. But his hand lingered on your chin, his thumb grazing over your lower lips, his fingers gliding to cup behind your ear on your neck..

There was a flush to your skin and he just.. Couldn’t help himself. He leaned in closer, catching your lips with his as he held your face in place. Your breaths mingled, heavy against one another’s skin, and you found yourself reaching for him. You grabbed a hold of his coat jacket, the edges firm in your grip as you pulled him in.

Benedict braced himself against you, the hand not already lost in your hair grabbed ahold of your thigh as he made himself at home between your legs. He was fully aware of what he was doing, but he couldn’t help himself, you were in the palm of his hands.

He squeezed your thigh, bunching up the fabric in his fist before trailing it downwards past your knees, your calves, and to your ankles. Skimming the hem of the layers of fabric, Benedict pulled away from your lips, his gaze meeting yours as you both fought to collect your breathing.

”Tell me to stop and I will,” he muttered to you, searching your eyes for any sign of hesitation. Part of you knew this was wrong, knew that it would be best to stop this right here and now, knew you should collect yourself and retire for the evening..

But you responded by pulling him back in, a groan escaping him as your lips met again, tongues eager to reconnect. But Benedict was on a pursuit of more now.

His fingers ghosted over your ankles, grazing the skin under your gown and petticoat. You could feel his hand ghosting against the back of your calf, around to the top of your knee before moving inwards to your thigh. Instinctively, your thighs closed around his hand.

”It’s okay,” he coaxed you along in a whisper, moving his lips from yours as he pressed a tender kiss under your ear. “I’ve got you.”

”Ben,” you whispered as he peppered more kisses along the hot skin of your neck. “I.. I am chaste, I.. don’t know-“

”I know,” he breathed, finally peeling himself from your body to meet your gaze. The fingers that had been tangled in your hair tightened slightly, making you suck in a sharp breath. “I know, love. If you can trust me, if you can let go and relax for me I promise you this- I will do everything in my power to make you feel not just exquisite pleasure, but cherished.”

You had no doubt he could, and against the judgment in your mind you nodded. At the end of the day.. Benedict and you were courting. It surely was only a matter of time before you two got married.

As you relaxed slightly, Benedict kissed your cheek, down your jaw, to your neck again. His hand that still was under your gown began to roam again, pressing your thighs open once more as he edged closer and closer to the heat he was looking for.

”Have you ever touched yourself?” Benedict asked you, lightly nipping at the sensitive flesh of your neck. Slowly you nodded your head in response, feeling your breath catch in your throat. “Just for the feeling?”

”I-“ you hesitated to catch your breath, his fingers edging closer to the throbbing of your cunt. “I always thought of you, like this.”

Benedict’s face lifted so he could meet your gaze. His hand left your hair and held onto your chin, his grip slightly rough, but still tender. “I want to see you when I touch you.”

His fingers finally found you, an abrasive digit slipping through your folds and you bit your lower lip. Benedict’s eyes stayed locked on you, studying your face and reaction as his finger slid up and down your aching entrance. A small whimper fell from your lips, and you found yourself pushing your legs open a little more.

”So eager,” Benedict mumbled, increasing the pressure of his finger against your clit, swirling against you. Your hips involuntarily bucked against his hand, as if begging for more stimulation. There was a smirk on Benedict’s lips, which he used to kiss along your collarbone down towards your breasts. Just as he skimmed over the fabric of your gown, nipping at your nipple underneath, he shifted his fingers back down your cunt, finally slipping a single digit into you.

“Ben-” you managed breathlessly, and all he could do was nod his head, which was flush in between your breasts.  His free hand that wasn’t lost between your thighs went to your dress, desperately getting the material up your body in a bunch at your hips, exposing your lower half with his finger in you to the warm air.

“Keep making noises for me,” Benedict said, changing the angle of his finger that slipped in and out of you and curling inwards, which elicited a sweet sound from your throat. “God, yes, just like that.”

With each move of his curled finger thrusting in and out of you at a slow and deliberately teasing pace, your hips rolled into his palm, and the sounds from your mouth were sinful. But Benedict, oh did he enjoy every sound he could manage from you. The breathless way his name fell from your parted lips, the wet sounds from your cunt, the way you’d curse when he swirled his thumb up and over your clit, you were unraveling before his very eyes and it was driving him mad.

Your chest heaved against the fabric of your dress, wanting only one thing and that was to be set free. But, unknown to you, it was just the threatened orgasm wanting to rip through you. But Benedict, now with an extra finger diving in and out of your soaked cunt, knew what was coming from you, and he wanted nothing more than to meet you in that high.

“I need to know if I can continue,” Benedict said as he re-met your gaze. It was a big ask, one he knew would change the dynamic between you two.. But in his heart, it was only accelerating the inevitable. He knew he would ask for your hand by the end of the season, so what was so bad about indulging in sex a few months early?

You, on the other hand, didn’t seem to need much convincing.. You nodded your head, “I trust you.”

It was a simple sentence, but the weight it carried meant so much more to him than you might have intended. Benedict’s fingers had still been moving but he retreated himself from you, much to your dismay. But while he took his fingers from your wet folds they immediately went into his mouth, and you watched with your mouth slightly open as he sucked what juices he had of yours on them, clean. 

Then, you had to watch him undo his breeches, tugging the loosened fabric down as his cock sprung free. Your eyes widened slightly at the sight, sure you had seen diagrams in texts but this.. oh he was so different from anything like that. 

Benedict took hold of your hand and laced his fingers with yours, while the other shifted you to lay down on the couch. He was careful to place a tender kiss to your neck, before he met your gaze. “I must warn you.. it may hurt for a moment.”

“It’s okay,” you whispered, giving his hand a squeeze. “I trust you.. more than anything.”

Though he smiled, you could tell he genuinely didn’t want to cause you harm. With your free hand, he held your wrist and guided your fingers down his chest, and past his hips, letting you grab hold of his throbbing cock. Though you weren’t totally sure what all to do, you instinctively ran your hand over him, feeling a slight wetness near his tip. 

By the way he thrusted into your palm, you could tell he did enjoy the sensation of you running your thumb over the tip of his cock to spread that secretion.  He guided your hand down to the base of him, and let you wrap your fingers firmly around him. Benedict had his hand wrapped around your, and when he moved himself closer, he dragged the head of his cock along your entrance, an erotic feeling of what was to come.

Up and down, Benedict got the feeling of your wetness on him and he shuddered in anticipation. You were perfect, you were his. He would never let you go.

“Remember, love,” he whispered, his free hand not holding his cock just at the precipice of your cunt came to your cheek, which you nestled yourself into. “If it hurts, if it feels overwhelming.. focus on us.”

You nodded, and then you felt him. His cock pressed into you and you winced slightly. He was thick and hot, and you surrounded him tightly so. Benedict grunted, but when he caught a glimpse of your furrowed brow, he was quick to pepper kisses along your forehead.

”This is.. umph-” he grunted when he was deep enough that his hand and yours were no longer necessary on his cock. But he took hold of your hand and laced his fingers with yours. “-Where it may sting, love.”

Benedict pushed his cock in further, and just like he warned there was a slight resistance, but when he bottomed himself out on you, it disappeared. Now fully erect in you, the discomfort slowly turned into a pulsation that.. started to ease any tension left in your body. Benedict was a watchful hawk, and when your face dropped any sign of discomfort he smiled, and began to pump his cock in and out of you.

Benedict couldn’t get over how perfect you felt wrapped around him. You were wet, warm, perfect. His. Each time his hips met yours, you loosened up with sweet whimpers, and that made him want to devour you. But you also deserved a beautiful experience.

“Christ you’re perfect,” he muttered to you. His hands left yours as he used his thumbs to spread your pussy lips wider. “Beautiful from every angle.”

Before you could respond you watched as Benedict gathered the spit in his mouth, before letting a trail of himself fall from his lips and you could feel the warm saliva hit your clit with perfect precision. He quickly pressed his thumb against your aching nub, matching his thrust with the roll of his digit.

“Ben-“ you barely managed out, your hips bucking upwards to meet him with each thrust. He was fucking you deeper and deeper into the couch, and he let out a low grunt. His balls were slapping against your thighs, and he was getting lost in the sensation of you clenching around him.

All he wanted was to feel you come around him, it was a desperate need that was pulsating through him. He didn’t know if he could leave this room tonight without knowing how you felt coming on his cock. Benedict increased his thrusts slightly, making sure he bottomed himself in you with each hit. 

“Tell me what you need, love,” he groaned. “Tell me what feels good.”

“Your.. touch,” you whispered, a whimper following next and Benedict nearly growled at the sound. “Your lips-“

Benedict came crashing down on you, his lips catching yours in a hot kiss that momentarily distracted you from all the sensations between your legs. His tongue was wet and greedy, but his fingers were more so. The way he was rubbing your clit was making every tension in your body evaporate, like he was just as desperate for your release like you were. 

On the precipice, you gripped ahold of him at his shoulder and arm, trying to close your legs but he was adamant to not allow that. He kept your legs forced open, and they shook under his control, and finally you reached your heights after another thrust of his cock. 

It was a quick moment of tension followed immediately by a pulsating, throbbing release. Your back pressed against the couch, arching into him to savor the feeling. Benedict, on the other hand, felt the way your pussy contracted around him and by God was it the most excruciatingly sweet feeling ever. Ripples of your soaked cunt was just what he needed. 

With a slight grunt and a few more thrusts into your aching depths, Benedict finally felt his release. His release was quicker, his cock twitching as  he continued to fuck his cum slowly into you, he glanced down to see just how wet you were between your thighs. Each of his thrusts made more of his thick sticky cum leak from you and he mumbled beneath his breath. 

“Fuck, this is such a sight,” he had muttered before finally slowing his paces. Benedict leaned down and kissed your neck tenderly, feeling your quickened pulse under his lips and he felt content just like this. Having you under him, your dress bunched at your hips, and his cock still in you while his cum drips along your thighs. 

You, still reeling from the intense session, hand trailed your hand from his shoulder and into his hair. The ramifications of this encounter hadn’t settled into your mind, you just were high on the feeling of Benedict’s lips in your skin. 

“That.. was wonderful, Ben,” you had finally managed to say and Benedict nearly purred near your ear. 

“That is only the beginning of what pleasures I can provide for you, love,” he muttered against your skin. When he lifted his head from your neck, he quickly kissed you for a moment, and let his lips linger with yours.

“Should we return before the party ends?” You asked him softly and he groaned. 

“You seem to be the more sensible one between us,” he teased and you smiled a bit. He pressed another quick kiss to you and begrudgingly slipped his cock from between your legs. “We should make haste and hope no one notices.”

Having to compose yourselves, Benedict was all too willing to help you fasten your hair back with pins just the way you had it. He took advantage of being behind you by kissing your neck and shoulders as he worked, and pressing himself against your back. You could feel your heart flutter.. He was truly all you ever wanted. 

Returning back to the party, you both managed to slip outside with no one the wiser. Benedict could barely keep his hands to himself, but knew better than to compromise you.. At least in public. 

He made it a point to escort you to your carriage, trailing behind your parents so you could linger with one another. Benedict had taken your hand in his and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles. 

“I promise to call on you soon,” he whispered, and gave your hand a slight squeeze. You, in turn, smiled at him softly. 

“I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Bridgerton,” you said. There was a knowing look, shared just between the two of you. Benedict held your hand as he helped you up the step into your carriage, only letting go when he absolutely must. 

And as the carriage pulled away, and you watched the Bridgerton estate slowly disappear from view.. you thought back to your encounter with Benedict, how amazing and warm and tempting it all had been. It was a feeling you could never forget..

Unknown to you, Benedict stood in his place as he watched your carriage disappear down the path. He couldn’t seem to make himself move from his place until he knew you were well out of sight, but not out of his mind. He turned back to the estate, ready to return to his chambers and be back in the room he had just taken you in, when he paused. 

And the top of the stairs was Anthony, who looked Benedict over with an almost implacable look that made the younger Bridgerton hesitate. And then.. Anthony shook his head. 

He knew.

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

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[startwelve]

🎨The muse

Benedict Bridgerton x fem reader

Synopsis: Benedict asks his maid to be his muse...

Warning: Slight smut and English is not my first language.

The day was rainy, though the sun persisted in the sky. The room echoed with the pitter-patter of rain against the windowpane and the soft brush of the brush against the canvas. Benedict held his breath as his eyes glided between the painting and his model.

"Could you stay still for a moment?" he raised an eyebrow.

"My apologies. It's the first time I've posed for such a purpose," the model responded.

"I understand."

The night before, Benedict ventured into the servants' quarters and requested the youngest and most beautiful, Emily, to be his muse. Though she initially refused, she eventually agreed to the offer of generous remuneration. Now, she sat on an elegant sofa, clad in a dress she could never own… All hidden from the Bridgerton family and society to avoid any scandal.

Benedict's eyes roamed over Emily, from her reddish hair to her pale shoulders, and back again. Her attire, too revealing for his taste; but the canvas would not judge.

Benedict dipped his brush into a jar of paint and began to apply colors to the canvas with swift strokes, a faint smile dancing on his lips as he worked.

He continued painting, his brush moving skillfully to capture the essence of his model. He paused for a moment, furrowing his brow slightly.

-"Miss Emily, could I request a few minutes of your time after our session concludes?" There was a pause, then he continued. "I mean, after I've finished my representation of you?"

She frowned, not understanding the implication.

-"Oh, yes, of course."

-"Thank you, Miss Emily." Benedict's eyes returned to the canvas, his concentration unwavering. After a few more minutes, he finally set down his brush and took a step back to admire his work. "Would you mind observing my progress so far, Emily?" he inquired.

-"Yes, may I move now?"

Benedict smiled.

-"Of course, you may move now." He reclined on a table, waiting for Emily to leave the sofa. He couldn't wait to show her how he had captured her beauty on canvas.

She rose and approached the canvas to gaze upon it. Upon seeing it, she was astonished.

-"Is it me?" she whispered.

Benedict nodded.

-"Yes, it is," he replied, with a slight blush on his cheeks. "I think it looks… lovely," he added. "I've tried to portray you as you are, as you appear before my eyes."

Her cheeks colored, and she thanked him in a whisper, while nervously toying with the fabric of her dress.

Benedict smiled gently but remained silent. He noticed how Emily's dress had caught his attention, and he couldn't deny that it had a similar effect on him.

Clearing his throat, Benedict resumed the conversation: "Miss Emily… you are an extraordinary woman; I truly enjoyed this session… But I also must complete this portrait. Would you be willing to pose for me again?"

She nodded, though some doubts lingered in her mind.

"Let me ask you a question," Emily said.

"Of course," Benedict responded, intrigued to know where her question was leading.

"Why did you choose me, a maid, as your model when there are high society ladies who would be willing to do so?"

A gentle smile appeared on Benedict's face.

"Ah, of course," he replied slowly. "It's because I'm an artist, Emily, and I see you as you are. High society ladies have been pampered all their lives, so their appearances are somewhat artificial, and their minds often lack substance," he explained. "But a maid like you, a simple and hardworking woman, possesses an authenticity in your beauty and personality that I find inspiring."

She didn't know what to respond, and they both fell silent, creating an atmosphere between them until she asked:

"May I ask another question?"

Benedict nodded and encouraged her to continue.

"Of course, ask, Emily," he said, with a slight smile on his lips as he looked at her.

"Where does this beautiful dress come from?"

Benedict chuckled softly as he watched Emily, the picture of innocence and wonder.

"This dress," he said, walking to the dresser behind her. "It belongs to my lovely sister, Daphne…" he said casually.

Emily looked at him in disbelief, unable to believe it.

"If your sister found out I borrowed one of her dresses, she would dismiss me."

Benedict put a finger to his lips, asking Emily to keep the secret.

"No one needs to find out, alright, Emily?" he asked, looking at her as if his life depended on her answer. She nodded, and Benedict let out a deep sigh, releasing the tension that had been building up unnoticed. "Thank you, Emily," he said, with gratitude in his tone. I assure you I won't allow anything to happen to you. Now, shall we continue working on this portrait?" he asked, approaching the easel to resume painting.

She settled on the sofa, and Benedict began painting again, adding shadows and lights to the canvas. He had grown accustomed to seeing Emily on the sofa, in her dress.

After a few minutes of intense concentration, Benedict reclined again on the table and stared fixedly at the canvas, with Emily's figure in front of him.

"Emily," he began, addressing her. "May I ask you a question?"

"Yes."

"Would you be willing to be my muse… not just today, but for… a long time?" he said, shifting his gaze back to Emily's eyes once more.

His words hinted at something more, something that transcended the simple request to be a muse. However, perhaps Emily didn't care about what lay behind this proposal. After all, Emily was quite delighted with the dress she was wearing…

"I… your muse?"

"Yes, Emily," Benedict began, his tone becoming more confident with each word. "I want you to be my muse for all my paintings, as long as you allow me," he said, looking deeply into Emily's eyes. "Your beauty is extraordinary and inspiring, Emily, and I want to capture it in every work I do. And if you permit me, I'll paint you every day," he added, waiting for her response.

"I don't know what to say."

"Just say 'Yes,'" Benedict whispered, taking slow steps towards her.

As the wind howled outside and the rain beat against the windows, Benedict's eyes met Emily's, while he held his breath, awaiting her response.

"Yes…"

When Emily's voice broke the silence that had settled in the room, Benedict's heart beat fast. He took another step towards Emily. He couldn't believe that she had agreed to pose for him day after day. The idea excited him tremendously.

"I'll paint you with all my heart," he promised finally, with his eyes fixed on Emily's.

She smiled softly.

Benedict sat beside her, and a hand rested on her cheek. He leaned in slowly and kissed her lips. Benedict's fingers slid to the buttons of Emily's dress as he moved closer. He unbuttoned one, then another button, before allowing the soft folds of the dress to slide off her body, setting her free.

Benedict's eyes continued to admire Emily's body as he bit his lower

lip. He wouldn't stop exploring until he had seen every inch of that body, and then… he would paint it, over and over again…

Benedict's hand moved to Emily's arm, his fingers tracing lines along her skin. She looked away, her cheeks flushed.

"Look at me," he said, gently stroking her chin.

The heat between them was palpable.

Benedict's finger traced the line of Emily's bare shoulder, smiling as he saw how the light made her skin glow. His eyes traveled every inch of her body.

Benedict's hands returned to Emily's chin, forcing her to look at him.

She couldn't believe what was happening between them, and a feeling of desire took hold of her.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered, with his eyes fixed on Emily's lips as he spoke.

"Thank you," she whispered.

"Emily…" Benedict whispered. "I want to hear something more than your 'thank yous'…" he said, his eyes fixed on her lips. As he spoke, his fingers moved to the button of her corset and began to unfasten it.

Benedict watched as Emily's cheeks flushed, while her body slowly became exposed to him. As the corset fell, he allowed his hands to gently return to her cheeks, her hair now falling on both sides of her face.

"You're breathing so fast," Benedict whispered, running his fingers gently along her collarbone. "Let me calm your heartbeat, Emily…"

He opened his mouth to speak, but instead of words, he emitted a soft sigh.

Benedict smiled as he used his hands to gently push Emily back onto the sofa. With her bare back against the sofa, Benedict leaned forward and began to kiss her neck softly, before moving his lips to kiss the soft part of her shoulder.

He could feel Emily's heart beating between his fingers. "I believe…" he whispered, taking a second, before speaking again. "I believe I enjoy making you feel this way, Emily."

Emily's breath became heavier the longer they spent together, and a slight blush covered her body, as the heat between them was enough to fill the room.

He continued to trace his fingers along Emily's body, while kissing every part of it. Slowly, but surely, they were heading where both minds were thinking.

As the sound of the rain outside faded away in the midst of the pleasure between them, their breaths became one.

Emily's arms wrapped around Benedict as their lips met once more. And when they finished, Benedict's chest rose and fell at a rapid pace.

Benedict's eyes filled with amazement as he stared at her. He hadn't realized he could desire something more than just her body; he wanted her mind, her soul. Was it possible what the poets wrote? Was it possible to fall in love in a day?

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[promenadewithme]

The Viscount Who Deceived Me - Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | ...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem! Reader, Benedict Bridgerton x Fem! Reader

Warnings: none, I think

Word Count: 1.7K

a/n: I'm having a lot of fun writing this series!

You took a deep breath and stepped out of your carriage in front of the Cowper residence.

Closing your eyes and gathering strength, you straightened your shoulders and released all the pent up air in your chest.

"Are you alright, my dear?" your mama asked, taking your arm in hers.

You gave her your best smile, that still turned out small, and answered "I'm perfectly fine."

She didn't believe you, but nonetheless nodded. You both walked around the house and greeted people you knew on the way to the gardens.

Candles were lit, floral patterns were freshly painted on the grass, and everyone was dressed in varied tones of red, orange and black. The invitation had said it would be a blazing event and that the guests should dress in the hues of fire.

There was said to be a never before seen surprise to do with the theme at the end of the night, but many disapproved, thinking it was too provocative for a ball.

You had thought it might be fun and were very excited to see what this innovative surprise might be.

You abandoned your family greens for a burgundy dress that evening. Madame Delacroix had truly outdone herself with your dress this time. The light fabric along with your hanging sleeves made it look like your clothes were dancing with your every move.

"There are the Bridgertons." pointed your mama with a nod of her head.

Sure enough, you saw the whole family except for the little ones.

They spotted both of you as you made your way over. You smiled and curtsied politely, trying to avoid Anthony's gaze. He made it impossible when he took your hand in his and bowed to kiss it.

'Has he ever kissed her hand?' you wondered.

'Of course he has, he was already kissing her neck. He might have even kissed her lips.'

"How are you this evening?" he asked.

"Perfectly fine." you said, but your voice was too weak, pitch too high.

"Alright then, if that is all." Eloise took your arm in hers and started dragging you away "We will be on our way."

"Do not linger too far!" called out Violet, but the two of you were already gone.

You leaned closer to your friend and whispered "Thank you."

"You looked like you saw a ghost, I had you get you out." she answered, looking around.

You spotted Penelope in a corner grabbing a champagne flute from a passing servant and gestured to Eloise that you had found her.

"Ah."

The two of you walked towards her and she smiles when she spotted you.

"There you are! I was beginning to think I'd have to spend the rest of the night in the company of plants." she quipped.

"I wish I could have stayed home," huffed Eloise, crossing her arms and glaring at a gentleman who passed by looking at her "You know how much I despise these sordid events."

You chuckled and nudged her with your elbow "Are you not the least bit excited for this surprise they have planned?"

"I am excited to finish my book. I am excited to lay down in bed and sleep."

"What are you reading?" you asked, looking forward to the topic.

The three of you were the only women your age you knew that enjoyed reading. Most ladies of the ton found that improving your mind with extensive reading was not an accomplishment, but a waste of time.

'Men do not want a woman who has read Shakespeare, they want a wife who can entertain them with the pianoforte or their voice. Men want women who can embroider and paint, not someone to discuss politics with.' was what you had heard a gentleman saying while you were at the bookshop one time.

"Wuthering Heights." she answered excitedly.

"What is it about?" questioned Penelope before taking another sip of her champagne.

"Vengeance." she smiled.

"I am very much afraid of you sometimes." you said and Pen nodded.

"Thank you," she touched her heart "but, in all earnest, it is a very good book. The both of you should read it."

"Can I borrow your copy after I finish my current read?" smiled Pen.

"Of course, I shall drop it off as soon as I finish it. What are you reading now?"

"Pride and Prejudice." she said and you gasped.

"So am I!" you exclaimed excitedly, gaining a few disapproving looks from other guests.

"What do you think of Bingley? she asked with a smile and a slight flush to her cheeks.

"I think he reminds me a bit of Colin," you leaned closer to her ear "and you remind me a bit of Jane."

"Oh, hush." she chided, but her cheeks had turned crimson and she grinned "Do you really think so?"

"I do." you nodded and turned to Eloise "And you, my dear friend, are Elizabeth Bennet."

She rolled her eyes, but a smile tugged the corner of her lips. "And who might you be?"

"Me?" you stopped for a second to consider your options "Well, I suppose I must be poor Mr Collins."

They both laughed and everything seemed so normal. When you were like this with your friends, it was like all your troubles faded away.

You did not have to marry the man who betrayed you, you did not have to worry about taking one step out of line with the fear of having to be wed to the oldest man you knew, you did not feel nauseous and anxious like you had the rest of the day. With Eloise and Penelope, you could just be.

That feeling of peace faded all too quickly when Anthony appeared in front of you and bowed "May I have your first dance?"

All colour drained from your face and you had to clear your throat before answering "You may."

He wrote his name on your dance card next to the first song. A quadrille.

At least you would not spend the whole dance with him.

He offered you his arm and you took it, giving your friends one last glance. They tried to smile encouragingly, but it looked more like they were grimacing.

You took a deep breath as you stepped into position. Four couples, including yourselves, stood in rectangular formation. You and Anthony on one side, a married couple to your right, Philippa Featherington and Finch to your left, and Benedict with Cressida Cowper in front of you.

Your shoulders were hunched, your muscles tense. Anthony's hand felt cold in yours and you remembered how it had touched the opera singer.

Benedict locked eyes with you and his gaze was warm. His eyebrows furrowed and he mouthed "are you alright?"

You forced a smile and nodded just as the song started. He didn't look like he believed you, but didn't say anything else.

The string quartet continued as you turned to Anthony and bowed to each other, you repeated the same with Finch. While the couples at your side met in the centre and danced around one another, switching partners then back, you stayed in place.

Benedict continued looking worriedly at you and you gave him a small smile.

Anthony interrupted your silent communication when he leaned close to your ear and whispered "I have to talk to you. About us."

"Are you sure this is the right time?" you asked and inwardly cursed him for bringing this up.

"This is the perfect time." he said before taking you to the centre of the group.

You briefly grasped both of Benedict's hands before passing by him and meeting with Anthony again. He held your left hand on his and his right held your waist. You stayed that way as you walked around the couples.

"Have you received the flowers?" he asked, a hopeful look on his face.

Anthony had sent you roses after you left the house that morning. Your mother had said it was romantic, you thought it was generic.

"I have." you answered, nodding curtly at Philippa.

'Does he even know that my favourite flowers are tulips?' you contemplated sadly. 'I was so blind to think he loved me.'

"Good, good. And are they to your liking?" he probed and you contained an annoyed sigh.

"They are perfectly fine." you stated, looking anywhere else but him as you stepped into your starting place again.

"I know that you have not forgiven me for what I have done." he whispered solemnly.

Your eyes burned and you stared at Cressida's hem, the couples on each side of you switched partners.

'I will not talk about this, I will not cry in public, I will not make cause a scandal.' you repeated the words over and over in your head.

When you said nothing, he continued "I do not expect you to forgive me, but I would be grateful if you would give me a chance to explain."

"There is nothing to explain." you spat then took a deep breath to calm yourself "I already know everything."

"But you do not." he insisted "You do not know the half of it."

You scoffed "If that was merely half, I do not wish to know the rest at all."

Stepping forward once again, Anthony and Benedict switched partners. One hand on your waist and the other holding yours, he leaned forward and his lips brushed against your ear, breath tickling your neck.

"Save your next dance for me?" he whispered and chills ran down your spine.

"Yes." you nodded as you switched brothers again.

"If you will not let me explain," he said, alternating his feet in front of him to the rhythm of the quartet's melody "at least let me say that I will no longer be seeing Siena."

"I truly do not care." you said between your teeth, attempting to hide your anger behind a smile "Do what you will, it does not matter to me. Not anymore."

Anthony pulled your body flush to his by the waist, searching eyes boring deeply into your soul.

"You hate me." he stated gravely.

"I do not hate you." you sighed.

"You do, I have wronged you and you have every right to hate me. What I do not understand is why you are choosing to marry a man you now despise."

Your voice was small and desperate when you answered "It is not a choice, Anthony."

The song ended and you untangled yourself from him. You curtsied and turned to walk as far away from a furrow-browed Anthony as possible.

a/n: guys!!!! I got so many requests for a part 3!! I hope you are all enjoying reading this series as much as I do writing it! (ps: this was my first time writing dialogue during a dance, so please tell me if it was bad or too confusing)

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[igotanidea]

Judgement: Benedict Bridgerton x actress!reader

Requested by @jaysgirlx <3

***

She wasn’t the most beautiful.

Or the most talented.

And definitely not born in the best family.

Nonetheless, neither of us, no matter how much willpower we are endowed with, has the possibility of choosing the environment we are born into. That is solely up to fate.

What we can choose, however, is how we adapt to the circumstances, how we behave, who we become and how we cope with the opinions that are – more often than not – negative and critical.

Especially when a woman, regardless of standards of an ossified, prejudiced society decides to make a living by being an actress. For Y/N Y/L/N no work was dishonorable. For the ladies of the ton, such profession was almost equal with being a lady of easy virtue. For the men – well- the behavior of some of them was below any norms of decency.

Funny how the point of view depends on the point of sitting.

***

She was late again.

For the third time this week and it was barely Wednesday. Not a good scorecard she kept and it definitely got under the skin of the theater owner. Y/N could not quite comprehend why the gentleman was so irritated since from the moment she stepped foot in that sanctuary of art she has been doing every single thing needed. Not only acting, but also cleaning the floor if required, repairing the costumes, helping with the dialogues. Very versatile all things considered.

Desperate for a job and survival? No, not entirely, maybe a little.

Enamored and passionate by the employ that gave her a bread and a questionable opinion. Yes, absolutely.

Rushing through the busy London streets, miraculously avoiding respectable matrons and their equally respectable lord consorts was not the best of the ideas of reducing, even to a small extent, the extent of her delay.

Y/N did not pay much attention while crossing the street either, obviously missing the speeding carriage and the moment she looked to the right, finding herself mere inches from the hooves of spooked horses, her entire life flashed in front of her eyes.

She let out a embarrassingly high cry of shock and freeze on the spot, mentally preparing herself of leaving the globe and letting her spirit fly away to some better world just like Julia Capulet did after her beloved Romeo—

“Watch out!” a man’s voice, a firm yet gentle grip of hand on her waist and a second later she was safely back on the pavement, sustaining no permanent injuries, save for rapid breathing and slightly flushed cheeks. “Are you all right, my lady?”

“I am not a lady.” She retorted automatically shaking her head and slowly raising her gaze to give thanks to her lifesaver “Mr. Bridgerton!” the second son of the late viscount was definitely not the person she expected to see and it made her take a step back immediately.

Almost ending up under another carriage if it wasn’t for Benedict Bridgerton’s reflexes and a bright, teasing smile.

“You don't learn from your mistakes, my lady” he teased “am I this repulsive to make you step away upon noticing my face? Is this how women behave this day?”

“Forgive me my Lord, I was blinded by all your glory” she almost rolled her eyes, saying the words before biting her own tongue. “oh…” the gasps that came out of her mouth a moment later only caused Benedict to laugh wholeheartedly.

“Not the usual reaction I get from a woman.”

“I can tell, my lord. I am sure ladies do swoon at the sight of you. And now that Viscount Bridgerton had tied the marriage knot you sure are looking for a wife so –” she sopped in the middle of the sentence realizing she was babbling again.

“Oh so you are a woman after all. Gossiping.” Benedict smirked.

“I beg your pardon!”

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he tilted his head examining her face trying to assess the possibility of them meeting before.

“No, my lord. I do not believe we have met.”

“May I have your name then, my lady?”

“Not a lady, my lord. And you should not preoccupy the place in your head with remembering my name.” she bowed, lacking skills a bit and – suddenly remembering that she was late – rushed to the theater.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Of course they have met before, but why would she remind him of the circumstances of the event happening so many weeks ago?

He was a student in the art academy, lately enhancing his skills in the portrait area, polishing the subject of anatomy. Both male and female, with the latter obviously much more involving in many hands-on way and that was not a secret. Those models were beautiful and fragile after all and being confronted with the harsh reality of XIX century London they had nothing more to offer than their bodies. Y/N almost ended up the same, but her talent for acting changed everything.

Regardless, her older brother was earning some additional funds by assisting the students, providing canvas, brushes, paints, wine, measures of various kinds. Whatever the domineering might wish for. And one day she was visiting him, entering the classroom without the knowledge that the lesson was still in progress.

And so she ended up in the middle of the room full of men with a naked model on the platform, under the barrage of astonished glances.

“Oh look, we got another one to help us study today!” one of the men cried out and the entire room started laughing. “You ought to wait for your turn, sweetheart. Do not fret though, we’ll take proper care of you.”

She blushed like a peony, her hands trembling a little.

“I was eagerly awaiting the moment when the Academy will provide us with a full shaped, average of beauty woman and here we are! My prayers have been answered, gentlemen!”

She blushed even more at the clear invective threw her way. Men could really behave like animals in their own company. Zero decency, respect for others or moderation. And the worst part was that all the ton knew about this open secret and gave their universal consent to that. Men were supposed to have their flings before marriage even if that meant a lot of improper things.

Her half-furious, half-hurt eyes scanned the room, taking in all the men gathered their and their attire, not paying much attention to either before landing on that one person who actually looked like having at least a little self-reflection.

Benedict Bridgerton.

Frozen with the brush in his hand and slightly unbuttoned shirt, torn between joining the common laugh on her expense and putting an end to this merciless, ongoing teasing. Before he could do a thing however she put an end to his misery and left the room with the solemn resolution to never interact with any of those debauched animals.

Judging Benedict as quickly and easily as all the society judged her.

***

“Quickly! We’re almost starting and you cannot seem to be on time even once!”

“I am—”

“do not interrupt me girl, put on the costume and get on the stage! I swear one of those days you will make me do the thing I will regret!”

***

That woman spurred some memories in Benedict’s mind even if couldn’t fully put all the pieces of the picture together. At least not until Eloise playfully smacked his side.

“What?”

“Do you know who you just saved?”

“That girl back there?” he massaged the sore place giving his sister a reproachful look “no idea. Should I know her?”

“That’s Y/N Y/L/N!”

“Uh… okay?”

“She’s an actress!”

“Um…”

“She’s a self-made, independent woman not looking for marriage and free of societal expectations!”

“You better not let out mother find out that a woman with no title is your role model.”

“Oh I’d be more than happy to let her know that. I believe that the amount of injustice put on women-“

“I do realize the amount of your thoughts in the subject.”

“Since when are you judgmental?” Eloise scoffed

“I am not!”

“Fine then Come see her performance with me.”

***

Y/N was almost pushed on the stage, without having any time to gather her thoughts or to revise her role, forced to improvise by putting on a bright fake smile and subjecting the audience to a minute or two of suspension, before realizing what she was supposed to play that day.

Clearing her throat and fixing her costume she stepped into the light, joining the rest of the cast on the stage and started giving her lines.

Any other time she would be focused solely on the scene and words coming out her mouth making sure each of them were perfectly accentuated and spoke just the right way.

So what was this inexplicable instinct that made her scan the audience?

Spotting him.

With his eyes fixed on her, showing something that could not be mistaken for anything else but sheer admiration.

And she did not like it at all.

to be continued? ;)

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton fluff

[lydiimae]

Jealousy

A.N: OMG I am finally starting this blog. I am so so excited. This is a Benedict Bridgerton fic ofc. The true loml. I'm still debating if I will write only Bridgerton orrrrrr others? I dunno... but for now, here is a lovely, smutty, cutie, Ben fic hehe <3

Warnings: semi-public sex, fingering, vaginal sex, drinking, dirty talk, heavy praise, talk of public heavy petting ;)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Minors DNI!! 18+

He sighs from beside Eloise, shifting on the picnic blanket for what has to be the millionth time. "Brother, you worry too much about that woman." She mutters with an amused glint in her eye, taking a bite of one of the strawberry tarts the family maids had made for the occasion.

A family picnic was not a rarity during the social season, especially for the Bridgerton's. What was a rarity is that Benedict had invited a woman along, an incredibly important woman at that. Y/N L/N, a daughter of an influential Viscount. The woman he found himself to be head over heels in love with.

"I am not worried. I am merely observing so our brother does not make a fool of himself in front of her." He replies with a huff, taking a sip from his flask before tucking it back into his pocket.

You were merely speaking with his brother. His happily married older brother. He has no reason to be jealous, really, but something in him still tugs painfully at the sight of you speaking to another man. It is only when Kate comes to steal her husband away that you scootch back over to him, a bright smile on your face.

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You move back over to Benedict and look up at his cute pouty expression, smiling at the warmth that blooms in your chest as a result.

You wished to get to know his family before the inevitable happens. Marriage. You know, as well as he does, that you were both going to tie the knot as soon as it was acceptable to do so. You also know that he would scoop you up and marry you tomorrow if he had his way.

At the very first ball of the season, Lady Danbury insisted that she had someone for you to meet. Someone who enjoyed painting just as much as you did. So, she took your arm and led you away from your father to the Bridgerton family. You were confused, at first, when the already happily married Viscount, Anthony, turned to greet you. And then, as if the sea was parting, he appeared. A crooked grin on his face as he moved to see you. Benedict Bridgerton, although he is a second son, stole your heart as soon as you saw him.

From then on you waited with bated breath for every dance you would share, dreamt of him in your bedroom when you got home, and thought of nothing but him in between. You shared stolen glances at every event and even snuck off to any hidden corner or garden you could find for breathless kisses and entirely impolite words that sent your mind into a whirlwind you could not explain.

Soon enough, he started inviting you on promanades and even sooner he wished for you to dine with his family. Get to know his life outside of the stuffy ballroom, to which you found yourself falling even deeper in love than you could've ever imagined.

"You're pouting, Ben." You hum, taking a sip of your lemonade with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. "Indeed. Perhaps if you were not so caught up with my brother I would not have a reason to pout, hm?" He returns, moving to take another sip from his flask.

He was jealous? Of his married brother? You sigh and move your hand over his, shaking your head slightly. You hand him a glass of lemonade. If he truly is jealous, the last thing he needs is whiskey.

"If you truly wish to hear what we were talking about, I shall tell you." You return as he takes a sip of the lemonade you gave him. He moves his hand over yours, just out of sight of his family. A possessive gesture that makes your heart flutter.

"Yes, in fact, do enlighten me." He grumbles with a sigh. "His wife, Benedict. He was talking about his lovely wife, which if you have forgotten, happens to be my dear friend." You sigh, running your thumb over his knuckles.

He looks over at you, his green eyes sweeping down to your lips, then your chest, before finally looking back up. "I care not of what you were speaking about, I should like you to speak with me when it is I who invited you." He practically growls, the tone of his voice making the place between your legs heat up and dampen instantly. A feeling that only happened with him, something he had explained as both desire and arousal.

"You know that I-" You begin, but are cut off by him pulling you to your feet. The glasses of lemonade are now completely forgotten. "Mother, I should like to promenade with Lady Y/N." He fibs.

What he would really like to do is rip the skirt of your dress open, spread your legs wide, and plunge his cock so deep inside of your soaked cunt that you forget everything else. He wants to paint your insides with his seed right here, in front of the whole ton, so that every man can get a glimpse of who you truly belong to.

"Of course, dear. We shall not keep you." Violet replies with a smile before delving back into conversation with Eloise, who also looks up with a confused expression but quickly rolls her eyes and continues to speak to her mother.

You shoot him a questioning look to which he just raises an eyebrow and offers his arm. You take it and he begins to lead you away from the picnic canopies that many families have set up to dine under.

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"Where are we going?" You question after a moment, realizing that you are not following the path around the lake but rather the path to the carriages.

He stops and tugs you behind a tree, pushing you up against the trunk. The bark bites into the little exposed skin the back of your dress grants you and your cunt flutters when you see his expression.

Desire is different for men, he taught you. You can see it in the way his trousers tighten at the front and in the way his eyes haze over. His hands move to your waist and he bends down, pressing kisses all the way up your neck until he reaches your ear.

"Agree to marry me and I shall show you." He whispers, biting the soft flesh beneath your ear causing you to shiver and whine. He grins and licks over the tender skin, soothing the sting.

"You already know very well that I would say yes to any proposal you give me." You breathe, leaning your head back as your eyes flutter shut. His hand skates over your stomach, running up the smooth fabric of your dress until he meets your breast. He cups one and swipes his thumb over your hardened nipple through the fabric.

He pulls away, swiping the saliva off his bottom lip with his thumb before picking you up. You squeal and he chuckles, paying the driver of his carriage off before tucking you inside. He closes the door and the curtains on the window, darkness enclosing the both of you.

"Benedict." You whisper as he lays you back on the velvety bench. "Hush, my love. I shall not do anything before asking I swear it." The title makes your heart almost burst out of your chest. He dips down once more, pressing his lips to yours briefly.

You pull him back down before he gets very far, chasing one of those open-mouthed kisses he gave you at the last ball. He groans, his tongue swiping over yours. He grins over your lips at the sound that escapes, moving his hands to yours where they rest on his chest before breaking the kiss.

"Ben please." You whine, wanting him to continue so desperately. He only smiles, taking off your gloves. "You must have patience, my sweet girl. I am going to ravish you in due time." He assures, pressing soft kisses from your palm all the way up to your shoulder as he takes off his gloves as well.

He reaches your neck, to which he takes a deep breath. Taking in your scent of lavender and citrus, making him groan as it always does. "Do you remember when I taught you to ride my thigh?" He whispers, running his tongue down to your collarbone, nipping the skin.

The memory makes you flood your underwear. You remember well, how could you not? He had lead you to the garden at one of Lady Danbury's balls and sat you down on his lap on the edge of the fountain. He hiked up your skirt and led your hips back and forth until something inside of you snapped so hard you saw stars and stained his trousers. That is where he taught you about his arousal, about yours.

"Yes." You breathe, your eyes fluttering shut as one of his hands moves under your skirt. His slender fingers skating teasingly up your thigh. "Good girl." He praises. He cups your cunt without warning and you cry out, your hips canting.

"Fuck. You are absolutely drenched." He whispers, relishing in the moans he draws from your body just from keeping a hand over your cunt. "And I told you about sex, do you remember that darling?" He murmurs, watching your eyes flutter.

He slowly pushes your skirt up so he can slide off your panties. He tucks them into his pocket, smiling to himself. "Yesss." You moan as the air hits your bare sex. "You told me it happens when we get married." You whisper between whines as his hand comes back, his fingers curling into your pubic hair.

"Such a good listener. So good for me." He praises, sliding two of his fingers along your drenched slit before finding your clit with expert touch. He rubs a slow circle on your button and you moan loudly, throwing your head back. "Now, when a man has honor he waits to take a woman's innocence. But my honor disappeared when I saw you with my brother," You try and protest but he pinches your clit and you cry out before you can get so much as a whisper out.

"So I will take you now. In this damn carriage." He growls, moving his free hand to your hips to hold you down. You whine when his fingers move down. "Fuck you are perfect," He breathes. "I'm going to slide one of my fingers inside now, darling, alright?" He murmurs, the switch from possessive to sweet sending your mind reeling. So overwhelmed, so mindless Just how he likes you.

You nod tentatively, your heart rate spiking which he picks up on. He shifts so he is over you, and kisses the crown of your head. "I'll go slow, hm? Nice and slow. All you need to do is pat my arm twice and I'll stop." He assures, calming your heart. You nod and nuzzle his neck.

He slowly plunges a long finger into your weeping cunt and you whine at the invasion. "Good girl, fuck you are so tight." You gasp and writhe as he curls his finger, the feeling sending a shock straight to your clit. He slowly adds another finger and you moan loudly, your eyes rolling back.

"Ben... so good. Feels...." You cry out when his fingers curl into a spot that sends waves of pleasure through you. He grins and begins to rock his fingers, drawing heavenly noises from your soaked cunt. The carriage filled with the sound of your moans and the squelching of your pussy.

He licks a stripe up your neck, beginning to suck as he rocks his fingers. You curl a hand in his thick curls and tug, your hips desperately trying to move against the palm of his hand.

He kisses your jaw, and then your chin, before finally capturing your lips. His tongue immediately sliding past your swollen lips and tangling with yours. You moan into his mouth as his thumb presses down on your swollen clit, moving clockwise as he rocks his fingers into your body.

He breaks the kiss and pulls out his fingers, much to your dismay, before unbuttoning his trousers. "Benedict... why did you stop? It felt so very nice..." You whine, grinding on nothing to try and gain some sort of feeling.

He groans at the sight, bending down and pressing a sloppy kiss to your cheek. "My harlot of a fiancee. So needy for something she does not even know the half of." He praises as he slowly frees his cock, the sight along with his filthy words making you gasp.

He pulls back and strokes himself with the help of your delicious wetness, before looking back at your sweet face. All flushed and wide-eyed. He moves his free hand to your chin, running his thumb over your bottom lip.

"It will not fit, Benny." You whisper, suddenly frightened. His eyes soften and he moves down pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "It will, my love. We will go slow, I promise. Remember what I told you, two pats on my arm and we will stop." He hums, peppering your face with kisses which causes you to giggle and calm a bit. "Perhaps one pat for apprehension, hm?" He murmurs with a smile, pulling back. You nod.

"Good girl." He hums. He leans in and runs his length through your soaked folds drawing moans from the both of you. "Fuck. God, I love you." He grunts and you smile, draping your arms over your eyes to cover your blush. "I love you too, Benedict." You whisper back.

He slowly pushes into your body, throwing his head back at how tight your pretty pussy is. You cry out at the invasion, your hands shooting down to grasp at the edges of the carriage bench. The feeling is a strange mix of pain and something different. A tart taste on your tongue paired with a tingly feeling in your already hot womb. "Fucking hell." He groans before tucking his face in the crook of your neck, stopping halfway so you can adjust.

You whine and wrap your arms around his neck after a moment. "P-Please..... more. I need more, Benedict." You gasp after the pain subsides. God, he almost comes right there. He wants you like this all the time, mindless for his cock. Begging him to fuck you.

"Good fucking girl, Y/N." He grunts before bottoming out inside of you. You moan and toss your head back into the seat cushion and he groans at the feeling. "You feel so good, my love. So ripe, so wet. God, so very tight just for me." He praises.

He begins to move slowly, the slap of thighs meeting thighs filling the carriage. The feeling is so foreign but fuck you never want it to stop. Moans and whines slip past your lips before you can even begin to try and stop them, and you cry out as he speeds up. The noises he is drawing from your body would embarrass you if you didn't adore the way he feels inside of you to the point that you can think of nothing else. You wish to be like this as much as you can, full to the brim with his cock.

"Benedict." You moan and he stalls, gritting his teeth. "Never ever stop moaning my name, you vixen. God, I am a lucky man. The luckiest man in the world." He praises you as he begins to slam into you.

You grip his coat so hard you are surprised the velvety fabric hasn't torn. You cry out when his thumb finds your clit, the feeling sending you up to the clouds. "Come for me, my love." He grunts from above you with a slight slap on your thigh. That sends you over, your vision going white as you scream his name.

He thrusts a few more times before pulling out and pumping himself. He releases with a groan onto your stocking-covered thigh before collapsing on top of you.

After a moment he lifts his head to look at you, brushing your fallen hair out of your face. You smile, almost drunkenly, as you look at him. "That was heavenly." You whisper and he smirks, pressing a kiss to your lips.

"Just wait until we are married. I cannot wait to fill you with my seed and see you plump with my child." He murmurs. resting his head back on your shoulder. Your hand absentmindedly finds his hair, running through his messy curls.

"We have to go back." You whisper to which he shakes his head. "Not yet. I paid off the driver. We have as much time to rest as we wish, dearest." He hums, his eyes closed. You grin and close yours as well, slowly dozing off with him.

You are the luckiest woman in the world.

#benedict bridgerton smut #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #fanfic #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fic #smut #fem reader #imagine #x reader #benedict bridgerton oneshot #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #fic #benedict bridgerton fic

[jamilelucato]

The Writer and The Illustrator (Part 03)

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Miss [y/n]

Summary: (Part 01 / Part 02) In the carriage en route to Lady Danbury's ball, tension crackles between Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] and Mr Benedict Bridgerton. Beneath their bickering lies an undeniable attraction that they both need to take care of before it's too late.

Age rating: 18+.

Author’s note: It's the end of age! No, I'm kidding, but it is the end of this story.

To read Anthony’s fic, click here! For other stories, click here.Enjoy

An air of tension hung heavy within the plush confines of the velvety blue carriage.

True to his word, Mr Benedict Bridgerton stood promptly outside the [y/l/n] residence at seven o'clock, resplendent in his finest attire, ready to escort Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] to Lady Danbury's ball. The initial exchange, with Mr [y/l/n]'s presence in the periphery, was pleasant enough—gentlemanly handshakes and cordial smiles exchanged between the men, with Benedict embodying the epitome of a refined gentleman, at least in the eyes of the [y/l/n] household.

But such commendation found little favour with Miss [y/n] [y/l/n].

Seated across from Benedict, [y/n] regarded him with a fiery intensity in her gaze. She couldn't shake the feeling of indignation at Benedict's earlier remarks, his unwitting perpetuation of the sexism she fought against. Who was he, she seethed inwardly, to lecture her on the perils of being a woman author in the 19th century?

[y/n] was well aware of the risks and well acquainted with the challenges she faced as a woman pursuing her literary aspirations. She wouldn't have embarked on this daunting journey if she weren't driven by an unwavering determination to realise her dreams. And yet, Benedict's condescension rankled her—his first foray into illustrating a book hardly qualified him to lecture her on the intricacies of the publishing world. He was a newcomer to her domain, ignorant of the trials she endured.

Still, despite her righteous anger, [y/n] begrudgingly acknowledged Benedict's artistic prowess. She may have bristled at his presumptions, but she couldn't deny his talent as a painter. His not-so-recent exhibition at the Bridgerton house, for the family's closest friends, had been a testament to his skill. Though she had been present under the [y/l/n]'s invitation, Benedict's work ultimately swayed her decision to enlist his talents for her project.

Benedict's voice, though barely above a whisper, resonated within the confines of the carriage, imbued with an unexpected intensity by the close quarters.

"You won't say anything?" he queried, his gaze fixed firmly on [y/n].

She unwaveringly met his gaze, her voice collected as she responded, "And what would you have me say, Mr. Bridgerton?"

A sharp exhale escaped Benedict, frustration seeping into his tone. "Am I now merely 'Mr Bridgerton'? No longer 'Ben'?"

[y/n]'s eyes rolled in exasperation. "Well, forgive me if the current circumstances don't exactly evoke the camaraderie of our long-time friendship," she retorted sharply. "Ben was the amiable fellow who praised my boldness in my talents as he delicately illustrated them. At present, however, it feels like he's nowhere to be found."

That woman threatened to drive him to madness.

Benedict's hand rose instinctively, gripping his own chin firmly as if to silence the words he yearned to express. The action seemed to quell the words on his tongue, preventing him from affirming that he remained the same Ben who marvelled at her talents and considered her utterly unique.

Somehow, Benedict couldn't bring himself to offer [y/n] the praise she might have expected at that moment.

"I have all the illustrations with me in the carriage," he declared, nodding towards the briefcase nestled beside him, unseen until now in the dim light of the carriage. "Before the ball concludes, we shall escape, and I shall escort us directly to your editor."

"Oh, why, Mr Bridgerton!" She exclaimed with exaggerated surprise, her eyes widening playfully. "It appears you've managed to summon your inner gentleman at last. Quite a departure from the sexist pig you were earlier in my library."

She was maddening. Utterly maddening.

For a myriad of reasons, unfortunately.

Benedict wanted to attribute his discomfort solely to her condescension, which tempted him to respond, assert his dominance and put her back in her place. A firm swat on her behind might remind her she must be a pleasant, nice girl.

Heavens! He nearly exclaimed aloud, reining in his thoughts just in time. Benedict found himself entertaining the notion of [y/n]'s posterior, a territory over which he had neither jurisdiction nor entitlement.

Clearing his throat, Benedict offered, "I apologise if that's how it came across. It was never my intention to diminish you because of your gender."

"It wasn't that," she responded, her gaze penetrating his. This time, he noticed, there was no anger in her eyes. [y/n] simply wanted to clarify her perspective. "You said I shouldn't go alone."

"Yes, and I stand by that," Benedict affirmed.

[y/n] paused, realising she needed to elaborate further for him to grasp her viewpoint.

"I understand your concern," she conceded. "But you didn't offer to accompany me. You only criticised me."

Benedict felt a chill run through him at [y/n]'s revelation. He had argued with her under the assumption that his willingness to accompany her was implicit. Not merely because she was a young, unmarried woman venturing into a dangerous part of London at an ungodly hour but because it was their joint endeavour she intended to pursue solo.

Now that he knew her secret identity and understood that this tenth book would not be her last, Benedict was determined to accompany her to the publisher's office on all future occasions. It would be against his principles as a gentleman—principles instilled in him by both his father and mother—to allow a lady to undertake such journeys alone, especially now that he was aware.

Suddenly, he realised, with a softening expression toward [y/n], that he'd be accompanying her to the ends of the earth from then on. He recognised the truth in his revelation. He couldn't envision himself being apart from her.

But the carriage stopped before Benedict could articulate his newfound determination to [y/n] or even offer an apology for any misunderstanding. They had arrived at Lady Danbury's residence.

As [y/n] began to prepare to disembark, ensuring her hairstyle was intact and smoothing her satin skirt, Benedict peered out the window, a heavy groan escaping him.

"No."

Startled, [y/n] looked up from her lap to find Benedict wearing a determined expression. He lightly tapped the carriage roof swiftly—a clear signal for the coachman to continue the journey. Almost instantly, [y/n] felt the carriage lurch forward as the horses resumed their pace.

"What are you doing?" she inquired, still adjusting her hair, the sudden movement causing her to worry about her appearance.

At that moment, she realised—quite abruptly—that lately, she had been increasingly concerned about her appearance. After her second failed season, during which she remained unmarried, Miss [y/n] had abandoned many of the formalities of fashion. She seldom wore corsets and paid little heed to the latest dress designs, opting instead for simplicity. Her hair, usually secured in a tight bun resembling that of a governess, was styled by her own hands, as her brother had also tasked her maid with attending to her sister-in-law.

But something had changed.

Benedict frequently selected her as his dance partner at parties where they unexpectedly crossed paths. They often rendezvoused in Hyde Park to discuss their book. Almost every afternoon, [y/n] found herself at the Bridgerton residence, although she couldn't quite fathom why she felt an unspoken obligation to maintain a polished appearance.

She wasn't oblivious to the rumours circulating about them. Many speculated that the two were courting, and why wouldn't they? What other reason could a single gentleman have for associating with an unmarried lady?

Still, [y/n] dismissed such notions as ludicrous. She felt like the most withered flower in the garden—what bee would alight on a flower with almost no pollen?

She consumed Benedict Bridgerton's thoughts. He couldn't help but gaze at her, taking in every detail. Only then did he realise he had instructed the carriage to continue, bypassing Lady Danbury's residence entirely.

Good Lord, he mused, in just fifteen minutes in her presence, [y/n] had managed to drive him insane, as he had assumed she would.

And, of course, he wanted to blame himself but blast it all; why did she have to wear the most exquisite dress in all of British fashion? Why did she have to wear a corset that not only accentuated her waist but also elevated her bosom?

Benedict, a gentleman with little interest in women's fashion, found himself fixated on it that particular evening.

"Mr. Bridgerton!" she exclaimed, breaking through his reverie.

Miss [y/n] [y/l/n] was, without a doubt, the most stunning woman he had ever seen. Suddenly, he regretted not having his drawing chalks with him so he could capture her likeness right then and there in the soft glow filtering through the carriage windows.

"[y/n]," he whispered her name like a plea as he wet his lips, "what's going on between us?"

She averted her gaze, feeling the weight of his intensity. "What do you mean, Ben? We're simply working partners."

He grinned like a mischievous imp. "No, we're not."

"Ben," she began, intending to distance herself. No, that would be a lie. His fervour drew her in like a moth to a flame, even as she knew she shouldn't respond. It didn't matter that she'd heard whispers about the longing looks he cast her way across the room; it didn't matter that her brother had overheard Benedict defending her at the men's club just two days prior. "We're just the writer and the illustrator. That's all."

"The writer and her illustrator," he echoed, but she barely noticed the subtle pronoun shift.

"Yes," she nodded, swallowing hard. "The writer and her illustrator."

A smile of pure delight graced his lips.

"I am yours, I'm afraid," he confessed, taking her aback. She, a writer, was powerless against his words. Involuntarily, she leaned in closer, drawn by the magnetic pull of his presence. "Could you say it again?" he pleaded, inching nearer, breaching the space between them.

They were mere inches apart.

"What? 'My illustrator'?" she repeated, her confusion mingling with the intoxicating atmosphere.

"My writer," he responded, mirroring her phrase. "Mine."

He was marking her with words. She liked it.

"I'm also afraid I have to kiss you," he said, leaving her confused. Benedict couldn't need permission, could he? She thought she was being very obvious when she prompted forward, her cleavage at his disposal.

She might have been a virgin, but she wasn't naive.

With a swift, decisive movement, [y/n] closed the gap between them, her lips capturing his in a searing kiss. Ben's initial surprise melted away as he responded eagerly, his body instinctively leaning to hold her in an embrace. The tension between them for so long ignited into a blaze of passion, consuming them both.

Their kisses grew more urgent, more desperate, as the carriage rocked gently beneath them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s body, tracing the curves of her silhouette with a reverence that bordered on worship. [y/n]'s fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer as she surrendered to the heady rush of desire coursing through her veins.

At that moment, the confines of the carriage faded away, leaving only the two of them wrapped up in each other's arms. Time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in the heat of their passion, their bodies moving together in a sensual dance that spoke volumes without the need for words.

Amidst their embrace's perfection and delectable allure, [y/n] sensed an unspoken yearning deep within her soul. Despite the exquisite intimacy they shared, she couldn't shake the conviction that there was something more she craved from Benedict—something she couldn't quite articulate or request. Each time she drew near to him, although he didn't push her away, she felt him place his own hips away from hers.

Yet, after countless attempts to bridge the distance between them, Benedict could no longer deny the fervour burning within him.

"[y/n]," he murmured her name with a weighty sigh, attempting to extricate himself gently with one final kiss, but the lady refused to relent, meeting his lips once more. "I must escort you home."

His words sent a tremor of apprehension through [y/n], causing her to withdraw instinctively. She had barely noticed that she wasn't even in her seat anymore: she was trying to jump into his lap, but as he kept moving away, she seemed to crouch in the carriage. Oh, the shame that flooded her being, her gaze lowered in embarrassment.

Her reaction tugged at Benedict's heartstrings, stirring a tumult of emotions within him as he swiftly reconsidered his course of action.

"Do not feel ashamed," he implored, his tone pleading. The thought of [y/n] bearing any semblance of shame was unbearable to him. "I must release you now, for I could easily succumb to temptation in this carriage, and such a fate is ill-suited for a lady of your stature. You deserve far better."

Though every fibre of her being yearned for more at that moment, [y/n] knew deep down that he spoke the truth. She deserved better. He hadn't said he liked her, for instance. He hadn't proposed. She supposed that, to be deflowered, she at least deserved that.

"You're right," she conceded, her gaze drifting to the window as she pondered their proximity to her home. "I've never done this before, you know?"

Benedict stifled a sudden urge to utter a remark that hovered at the tip of his tongue, granting her the space to share her thoughts freely. He trusted her to confide in him, as she always had.

"I've never been kissed," she admitted with such earnestness that Benedict was taken aback.

Never been kissed? The notion perplexed him. After all, hadn't she just demonstrated such fervour and skill with her lips in the confines of the carriage? How could someone as captivating as [y/n] [y/l/n] have never experienced the simple act of a kiss? Surely, no shortage of suitors had come calling at her door.

"No, you can't be serious," he interjected, his incredulity evident as he leaned closer, their proximity becoming increasingly intimate. It seemed he had lost all semblance of restraint in her presence.

"But I am," she insisted, a hint of defensiveness colouring her tone as she addressed her innocence. "I am a spinster, Ben. Gentlemen typically pursue the young and bright diamonds of the seasons."

"You are young, and you are bright," he countered, his brow furrowing in response to her apparent self-deprecation. "You may not have been dubbed the diamond of the season, but that designation would have hardly done you justice."

[y/n] found herself unable to muster the strength to protest. Further, a realization soon dawned on Benedict as he observed her resigned demeanour. Yet, despite her acquiescence, he sensed a lingering doubt in her eyes.

"[y/n]," he began, his voice softening with sincerity, "these debutantes are hailed as diamonds because they are transparent and colourless. You, my dear, are nothing like them. By God, you are the most brilliant writer I have ever met; your scenes are so well described that I had no difficulty drawing them. If only I had dedicated our time together to capturing your likeness, I would have employed every hue in my palette to convey the sheer beauty that I behold in you—the most exquisite woman I have ever beheld," he confessed, his heart swelling with emotion as he laid bare his sentiments. "And look, I'm older than you."

"Only by a few years," she countered, a flicker of warmth igniting within her, a profound longing to smile once more gracing her features.

"Wait," Benedict interjected; his movements stilled as realization dawned upon him, connecting the dots between her confession, observations, and the vivid scenes in W. Jabber's novels. "[y/n], if you've never experienced a kiss, how is it that you wrote such erotically charged passages?"

Her eyes widened in alarm, akin to a child caught red-handed in mischief.

"'The Flowers of Our Garden,' despite its intricate political narrative, contains some rather passionate scenes," he remarked astutely, drawing upon his recollection of the four novels by W. Jabber that he had perused.

"Nothing overly explicit, Ben," she countered defensively. "Nothing I couldn't have imagined."

"Did you imagine being kissed?" he pressed, his gaze piercing.

[y/n] swallowed hard, her mind racing. Of course, she had—what woman hadn't entertained such fantasies? In the past month alone, while toiling alongside Mr Bridgerton day in and day out, [y/n] had conjured more scenarios of tender embraces than she had penned words.

"And what of the intimate caresses described in 'Flowers'? Did you envision someone touching you in those places as the protagonist did with his wife?"

"Ben," she uttered his name with a cautionary tone. "Yes, I am no stranger to worldly matters, having witnessed much within the confines of party gardens. Do not judge me for it. After all, no one judges Mr. Jabber for his prose."

"[y/n]," he started again, rephrasing. "I didn't ask how you know those things in your novels. One doesn't need to have died to know death," he offered through analogy. "But I'm curious if you desired those experiences for yourself. The kisses, the touches...?"

She cast her gaze downward, contemplating her response. "Yes," she admitted quietly.

"Oh, dear," he murmured tenderly, his words a gentle caress. [y/n] lifted her eyes to meet his, finding herself lost in the depths of his caring gaze.

He wanted her as the protagonist of his stories.

Benedict realized that to fulfil her desires, he first needed to address their current situation. And that solution seemed clear: he longed to give a name to their connection.

"Will you marry me?" he implored, drawing closer in the soft glow of the carriage.

"What?" she exclaimed, taken aback. Surely, Benedict must be jesting, she thought.

"I desire your hand in marriage," he persisted. "Please, say you'll marry me. Say you'll be mine, [y/n], and I will support you. I want nothing more than to cherish you. To experience the passion depicted in your novels and beyond. To capture the moments in my paintings. To immortalize you, now and for all eternity, bathed in candlelight."

"Benedict Bridgerton!" she gasped, feeling a flutter in her chest akin to a young maiden's.

"Ben," he gently corrected her. "I'm your illustrator, remember? Your Ben."

He yearned for her affirmation, yet she remained silent, lost in her thoughts. Determined, he leaned in to kiss her, pulling her onto his lap, his desire for her no longer a concern.

"Say yes," he whispered against her skin, trailing kisses along her neck. "Say it, [y/n]."

"Yes," she breathed, succumbing to the intoxicating allure of his touch. "Yes, I am yours."

"You are mine," he declared, his lips trailing lower to the curve of her bosom. With a playful smile, he pressed a kiss before meeting her gaze again. "You are mine."

"I am yours," she affirmed, feeling a shiver of anticipation. And as he bit her there, tenderly, she surrendered to the promise of more—a promise that seemed boundless in the arms of Benedict Bridgerton.

Benedict left a trail of kisses all over her that night in the cramped carriage. He began with tender kisses upon the lady's bosom—no, upon his bride's bosom!—before trailing lower, his hands deftly undoing the fastenings of her dress until it lay in disarray. Though not entirely bared, she was more exposed to him than ever.

"I... I..." she attempted to speak, to offer some form of explanation or apology. Was it due to her appearance? But she felt anything but unattractive under his hungry gaze, beneath his fervent touch upon her curves. Perhaps that's why the words eluded her.

He scarcely afforded her a chance to articulate further.

Ben persisted in his passionate assault, his bites and caresses a testament to his desire to taste her, to consume her completely.

"I need you to sit back... no, that won't do," he pondered the spatial constraints of the carriage. "I want you to go back to your seat."

She arched an eyebrow, bemused.

"I will kneel before you."

A soft laugh escaped her lips. "No need to worship me."

He knew she teased him, relishing her playful spirit. "I shall indulge in that too. It's been my practice since our journey began."

A smile of pure delight graced her features.

"But for now, my dear, I simply long to savour you, and that I can only achieve if you recline in your seat."

[y/n]'s initial confusion morphed into a swirl of emotions as Benedict delicately guided her back into her seat within the carriage, positioned her to face him, and divested her of the remaining layers of her attire. Fully exposed now, she stood vulnerable before him, her naked form laid bare. Yet, as she observed Ben's reaction, his evident pleasure at the sight of her, she couldn't suppress the smile that graced her lips.

At that moment, her confusion ebbed away, replaced by a sensation akin to pleasure.

With his bride before him, Benedict ventured where none had dared. [y/n] had never fathomed such intimacy possible. Though she had witnessed many clandestine trysts in the moonlit gardens of ballrooms and countless exchanges of affection, she had not anticipated the sheer ecstasy of feeling his touch in places even she hesitated to explore. It was an exquisite revelation, one she wished to prolong indefinitely.

"Are you enjoying yourself?" he inquired, his gaze fixed upon his task. [y/n] responded with a breathy affirmation, amusing him, yet he longed to hear her voice her pleasure. "Speak to me."

"I want you, Ben," she said suddenly, surprising them both by her boldness. "I want… oh!" Her words trailed off as a surge of sensation overwhelmed her. The intensity mounted with each passing moment, threatening to consume her, but Benedict halted before she could reach the brink of release.

"I want you too, dear," he declared, rising from kneeling. "And now, I shall claim you as mine, forever marking you as mine."

She regarded him with eyes ablaze with passion.

"You're ready, more than that," he continued, his words trailing off as he became lost in the depths of his declaration.

A smile graced her lips. "I'm eager."

He grinned; a devilish twinkle in his eyes caused her cheeks to flush crimson.

"It might hurt, I must tell you," he cautioned as he began to undo his trousers. At that moment, as he moved, [y/n] realized she stood alone in her nakedness.

"You must remove your shirt," she insisted, emboldened by her desire. Knowing Ben's yearning for her, she felt empowered to act upon her longing.

"I suppose I must, mustn't I?" he teased.

"I shall assist," she declared, reaching forward to disrobe him, stripping away each garment until he stood as bare as she. With gentle strokes, she trailed her fingers over the expanse of his chest; her curiosity piqued until her touch encountered something far more masculine than the smooth contours of his torso.

"Oh," she gasped, biting her lip in surprise.

"You may explore at your leisure later, my dear," he murmured, covering her hand with his own. "For now, I fear I may lose control if you continue."

Enchanted by his words, she acquiesced, allowing him to guide her hand away from his sensitive skin.

It had felt soft to the touch, yet beneath her gaze, she found it firm, rigid, and elongated. It was not what she had envisioned, but somehow, it was better.

She liked his use of words, so she let him take her fingers away from the delicate skin. 

The air thickened with anticipation as their desire reached its crescendo. Benedict's gaze met [y/n]'s, a silent exchange of longing and need that spoke volumes without a single word.

With a shared understanding, they closed the distance between them. Benedict's hands roamed over [y/n]'s naked form, igniting sparks of pleasure that danced along her skin. She gasped as his lips found hers, their kiss a fiery union of passion and urgency.

As their embrace deepened, Benedict guided himself inside her, their bodies becoming one in a primal dance of ecstasy. [y/n] moaned in pleasure, her nails digging into Benedict's back as he moved with a steady rhythm, each thrust driving them closer to the edge of oblivion.

In the throes of passion, time seemed to stand still as they lost themselves in each other, their cries of ecstasy mingling with the rhythmic creaking of the carriage. 

It was only them, lost in the blissful oblivion of their shared desire.

And as they reached the peak of their pleasure, they clung to each other with a fierce intensity, their bodies trembling with the force of their release. 

As they lay entwined in each other's arms, their breath coming in ragged gasps, Benedict pressed a tender kiss to [y/n]'s forehead, his heart overflowing with love and adoration.

"You're mine, now," she said before he could say it first. For an unknown reason, she felt possessive over him. "I think I... I do love you, Benedict Bridgerton, you must know."

Before she could register the astonishment in his eyes, Benedict silenced his own smile with a fervent kiss, his lips claiming hers with a hunger that spoke volumes.

"I'm yours, without a doubt, and I love you more," he confessed with a smile, though his expression soon shifted to one of realization. "I'll have to procure a special license for our wedding. It will entail some effort... but it will be worth it."

"Can't endure being my fiancé any longer? They say being my husband will be even worse," she teased, her fingers trailing through the dark waves of his hair, tucking them back from his forehead.

"I would gladly remain your fiancé for a lifetime to become your husband for as many lifetimes as we have," he replied charmingly. "However, having a bride who is... with child might raise some eyebrows."

"Oh, Lord," she gasped, her eyes widening in alarm as she pulled back from him. "You don't think...?"

"It's a possibility," he confirmed, his tone laced with both excitement and apprehension.

He felt her tense, her body hardening over his. But he ran his hands over her curves and, smiling, said, "Don't worry about the child, my dear. I heard that a great writer is about to release a beautifully illustrated children's book..."

At his words, their laughter mingled with kisses, at their secret and the promise of a marriage that was not only passionate but also very, very artistic.

#benedict bridgerton x yn #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton fic #benedict x reader #mr bridgerton #polin #anthony bridgerton

[entitled-fangirl]

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: Benedict finds himself speechless at the model in his art class. The two later meet, and he realizes maybe she's what he wants.

A/N: Give my man Benedict some LOVEEEE

Masterlist

..................................................................

Benedict sat down and readied his canvas for his art class to begin.

His new found friends leaned over leaned over as the Bridgerton sat down, "Teacher said we were studying dresses today."

"Dresses?" Benedict asked with his usual smirk. 

"Yeah. Said something about capturing the flow of 'em. Whatever that means."

"The flow of-" Benedict paused as the door opened and out walked a small figure.

A beautiful model in a thin silk dress. 

She scanned the room with nervous eyes. After all, the room was full of eager men who wished to picture her frame.

Benedict felt breath leave his lungs.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

The teacher took the model's hand gently and led her to the middle of the room. "Alright, gentlemen," he called loudly. "Today we shall be focusing on the flow of fabric. Really pay attention to the detail. I want to feel like I can reach out and touch the fabric in your sketches."

The teacher then turned to the girl, "Miss Hemmings, are you ready?"

The girl scanned the room one more time in nervousness, before it set on Benedict. Her nervous eyes relaxed for just a moment before moving away from him to look at the other men. Her voice was meek and quiet, "Yes. I… I believe I am."

The man nodded, "Alright. Pick a direction to look, and I'll situate you from there."

She took a deep breath and scanned the room once more. Once her gaze settled on Benedict, as it had done before, she stopped. "I believe here should suffice?"

Benedict gave a smirk and couldn't look away. She was captivating.

The teacher then reached down, fluffed out her dress just barely, and stood. He turned to face his eager students, "Begin."

And there she was, under a spotlight in a room full of men who were now beginning to sketch her.

And she had to stay still.

Now that all eyes were on her, she decided looking towards Benedict was a bad idea.

He was to always be looking at her. He was sketching her, after all.

And the wall above him was too dark to be anything enjoyable to watch for the next few hours. But she did so. For the first hour anyway.

Eventually, she couldn't help but let her gaze fall to the Bridgerton. He was deep in focus now.

So much so, that he didn't feel her gaze until the third time he had glanced up at her.

He paused involuntarily at the eye contact. He felt the smallest of smiles graze his face.

Her cheeks heated to a violent shade of red. And she couldn't hide it.

She broke the eye contact, looking back up at the wall to avoid accidentally moving and messing up all the other sketches.

But every now and then, she would allow herself to take in the sight of the Bridgerton earnest at work.

A beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

…

The second the class was called to a close, Miss Hemmings completely disappeared.

It confused Benedict.

He had been comparing his finished portrait to her, and had looked up and she was gone.

No matter.

She's just a model. 

That's what he told himself, at least.

…

Benedict Bridgerton was making his way downtown, eager to purchase more charcoal for his sketching endeavors.

He hardly heard the sound that was coming from the nearby alleyway.

But he did.

He paused in his step and turned his head in its direction.

Sounded like a woman's voice.

He began to cautiously walk down said alleyway with a low voice, "Hello? Anyone there?"

He rounded the corner and stopped at the sight.

A woman was practically pinned against the wall by a man much bigger than her.

His hand was wandering down her dress and began to lift the hem of it.

Tears filled her eyes as she tried to push him away with quiet pleads.

"Hey!" Benedict yelled. "What are you doing?"

The man turned his head in his direction and scoffed, "This Miss was being tempting to the gentlemen that walk these streets. But when I tried to take the temptation…" he grabbed at her jaw and growled in her ear, "… She refuses me."

Benedict took a few more steps closer with his hands out, "Leave the lady be, sir."

The man moved away from the woman and the wall, now interested in Benedict, "And tell me, what will you do about it?"

Benedict took a breath and courageously stepped forward, "I'm Anthony Bridgerton, the Viscount you hear of so often. I suggest you step away from the woman and continue your day. Sir." He said through gritted teeth.

The man paused, "Bridgerton?"

Benedict nodded.

"Ah," the man feigned happiness. "Lord Bridgerton, of course. My apologies. I had no idea she was yours, my Lord."

"'Tis alright." Benedict said. "You may correct your mistake now."

The man nodded, "And so I shall. Good day, sir."

And with that, the man left.

Benedict watched him round the corner before immediately rushing to the woman, "Are you well?" He asked in a hushed tone.

The woman looked up.

Benedict let out a breath.

The model.

She looked down again to wipe the tears from her face, "Lord Bridgerton. I apologize. I… I did not… I didn't mean…"

Benedict felt himself smiling, "Please. Please calm yourself. It's alright. You owe me nothing."

She felt herself take a few steady breaths before she looked up again. Her eyes now focused on his and her face morphed into shock, "You?"

He actually let out a chuckle, "Me? Yes. I'm afraid so. Apparently, I just couldn't let you go, huh?"

She smiled and relaxed. "I suppose I truly owe you gratitude."

He shook his head, "No. Please."

"I do, my Lord." She insisted.

He looked off in thought and smiled. His gaze turned back to her, "Tell me your name."

She paused a moment at his request. "Y/N Hemmings, sir."

His smile grew as he took her hand and kissed the back of it. "A pleasure, truly. I'm afraid you have occupied all of my thoughts since the last time I saw you."

She smiled, "You're simply an artist who is immersed with his work, my Lord. That is all."

Benedict nodded, "Tell me what you were doing alone out here?"

She sighed, "I… I make runs here for the upper class who don't wish to be seen in such… slums. They pay me to do so."

He feels his jaw go slack just a bit, "You come to dangerous areas to make extra money?"

She nods, "I have a younger brother to take care of, my Lord. He is everything to me."

He shakes his head in disbelief, "You're a mysterious thing, aren't you?" 

She lets out a laugh, "Not as mysterious as you, sir. A Viscount taking artistic classes? Don't you have higher duties? I don't imagine they have time for such… fulfilling things?"

He offers his arm to her, "Then perhaps I may tell you something?"

She took his arm with a curious grin, "You may."

He leans down to her ear, "I am not the Viscount."

She tried to pull away in shock, but he held her arm tightly. "You are not Lord Anthony Bridgerton?"

He laughed out, "No. Heavens no."

She cautiously leaned in, "Who are you, then?"

He smiled, "I am Benedict Bridgerton, the second son residing in Aubrey Hall. I didn't completely lie to you. I am indeed a Bridgerton."

She stepped with him down the alleyway now, "I see. I suppose that makes more sense."

Benedict stops walking as they near the road, "May I be frank with you, Miss Hemmings?"

She tilted her head, "Yes, sir."

"You are the most fascinating creature I've ever seen."

She felt her cheeks grow warm, "Oh. I… what a most welcome compliment, Sir."

He smiles, "I do hope there is no man I must fight for the right to your hand."

She felt her mouth dry. "What?"

"Your hand," he smiled. "Do you have a suitor?"

"Me?" She gasped out. "Me? No. I don't… I've never had suitors."

He nods and smiles wider, "Then may I be the first, Miss Hemmings?"

She considers his words. A Bridgerton. A high ranking family with wealth and charm.

But more importantly, a most dashing artist as a potential husband.

"Only if I may see the sketch you designed of me all those days ago."

He lets out a laugh, "Oh, darling, nothing I sketch would be even close enough to capturing your beauty onto the paper. Even the greatest artist can do no such task. It is meant to be enjoyed in the moment."

She nodded in thought, "Then you must call me Y/N. And you must continue to sketch me until you get it right."

He tilts his head, "But I've just claimed it's impossible to do."

She smiled, "Then we have no excuse to not be near each other, it seems."

Benedict grinned brightly and leaned in, "I suppose you're right. But you have to call me by my own name."

She let out a breath, "I shall do so."

"Excellent. Most excellent." Benedict said as they walked out onto the busy street.

A wife of his own? Benedict thought. That's something he always pictured as a boy.

And as he looked down at her, he realized it was a most beautiful thing to picture, indeed.

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#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton x y/n #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fic #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction

[bellarkeselection]

1 - Welcoming the Bridgerton’s

Part 2

The Venus Muse

Here's the first chapter y'all! I am sorry to say that I couldn't tag some of you that asked to be added. If you could give me an update profile tag I will add you that way.

Buckingham Palace was always busy with something going on. The royal castle had many children over the years running around it. I knew this place better than anyone else could imagine. And that truth will help me change my life forever. 

“Your highness, which tiara would you wish for today?” One of my handmaidens named Sunset asked me. 

She was standing by my table vanity that had quite a few tiaras sitting on top of them. Sitting on my bed the fabric of my golden dress swayed when I walked up to her. “The one with three center jewels and the pearl necklace.” 

“Of course, my lady.” She nodded where I lowered my head and she set the tiara in the center. 

The tiara sparkled when the light bounced off the light coming through the window. I stood in front of the tall mirror eyeing my gown that was golden, short sleeves decorated in lace and was long where you couldn’t see the short brown boots I wore unless my dress flew up from the wind. “Sunset, do you think my mother shall begin pressuring me this year?” 

“It is not my place to speak on.”

I reassured her otherwise. “Don’t worry about prying ears. I am asking for your opinion.” 

“I would say she seeks what is best for you, Lady Y/n.” Sunset answered with a shrug of her shoulders. 

Someone knocked on the outside of my door before another lady in waiting peaked her head inside. “Princess, your mother is coming this direction.” I nodded brushing my hands down the front of my dress. 

The door of my bedroom opened for me to see my mother, Lady Danbury and Brimsley all walking up to my room. “I yearn for someone fresh, someone unexpected,  to turn this season on its head. That is what we need. There is no room for indifference.  Apathy is a blight the monarchy simply cannot endure.” 

“Of course, Your Majesty. But remember, a young lady cannot be a diamond until you anoint her as such. So if for any reason you do not find one among the candidates today…” 

My mother cut off her friend. “Do you think she will return?  We have heard nary a peep from Lady Whistledown since last season ended. Perhaps the writer came to her senses. Perhaps she realized taking on her queen was a bad idea, and she will never publish again.”

Lady Danbury responded. “It is a convincing theory, ma'am.”

“Or she simply left for the country, as the rest of us did in the off-season, bored by the lack of any real gossip.”

Lady Danbury made a noise. “Hmm. “

“You do know what that would make her, then?” My mother Queen Charlotte trailed off. 

I finished her sentence being fair too noisy, needing to listen to the conversation of the famous gossiping writer. “One of us.”

“My darling daughter, you look radiant as ever.” My mother turned away from her friend to face me. 

I sent her a smile waving to Lady Danbury to not be rude. “It’s good to see you, Lady Danbury.” 

“Good to see you too, Princess Y/n.” She smiled. 

My mother clasped her hands together in front of her puffy white dress. “I have been needing to speak with you and what this evening needs to entail for you and your happiness.” 

“You wish for me to marry a prince and provide heirs for the crown.” I rolled my eyes already thinking of the answer she would say. 

Yet to my surprise she said almost the opposite. “I wish for you to have happiness and many children. It would help if your husband was royalty, but it is not a requirement.” 

“It isn’t?” Knitting my brows in confusion. 

She takes my hands in hers. “I didn’t get the chance to search for love on my own. My brother arranged my marriage with your father. So I secretly hope that you, my firstborn daughter, can have some fun.” 

“Mother, I…that means so much to me.” I smiled through some happy tears. 

Footsteps came down the long hallway and around the corner before we saw my father’s servant named Reynolds. “My Queen, my princess. I have news.” He bowed with a hand behind his back. 

“What is it, Reynolds?” I asked him. 

He shifted his gaze to mine. “You're father is having an episode, Princess.” 

“Oh…” I made a noise in discomfort. I knew of his illness 

That was the secret my mother and the rest of my siblings and I kept hidden from thr world. They needed to believe that the king was just always busy and so his wide made the appearances out on the town. “Hmm it appears we may have to cancel the ball tonight for the Bridgertons.” My mother sighed in defeat knowing her husband came first. 

“We shall not cancel.” My mother and Reynolds’s both shifted their attention over to me when I had spoken up the opposite of what they assumed would need to be done. “We should not cancel because I can represent the family in your place, mother.” 

She tapped her chin in thought. “I suppose that could solve our problem. I don't wish to cancel the months of preparation that were put into this.” 

“Exactly that would be a tragedy.” 

The queen turned to her husband's helper with instructions. “Inform my husband I will come to his aid. Brimsley?” 

“Yes, your Majesty.” 

She gave him a different set of orders. “Inform the Viscount Bridgerton that my daughter shall be appearing tonight before myself.” He bowed and went in a different direction then Reynolds. 

“Thank you, mother.” I smiled curtseying to her before we parted for the evening. It was quite a few hours before the ball with our castle subjects and the Bridgertons would even begin. By the evening the moon was shining up in the sky and the grand ballroom was lit up like a christmas tree. 

Standing silently outside the currently shut double doors I stopped fiddling with my dress when one of the royal guards gave me a head nod saying it was time. I could hear the announcer's voice before the doors had even begun opening. “May I present to you her royal highness. The daughter of King George and Queen Charlotte, Princess Y.n of England.”

“Thank you, sir.” I whispered to another guard that came to me when I had made my entrance through the doors feeling all eyes on me. Sucking in a tiny breath he escorted me to the small throne before we unlinked arms leaving me on my own. The small crown on my head had never felt so heavy as it did right now. “Greetings my subjects. I am here to announce that my mother got called away tonight for an emergency. But she saw no reason why this event couldn’t go on as planned. So with that in mind let me extend a warm welcome to Violet Bridgerton and her family for traveling here for a few months.”

Everyone began clapping and cheering with an older looking woman who had dark brown hair up in a crown on her head that came up to me and gave a lovely curtsey. “Princess, it is a pleasure to get an invitation.”

“I hope I can get to meet your family greatly over your stay, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Princess Y/n, may I ask you something?” Someone called my name causing me to lift my gaze up noticing someone moving through the crowd. The figure paused beside the Bridgerton woman who seemed to give the man a confused but amused depression on her face. 

I clicked my tongue and answered the stranger's question. “What is your question, my lord?”

“I was wondering if you would accept my offer for a dance together this evening.” The stranger seemed similar to the woman he was standing beside him. I was fairly certain they were related, but which son was he if they were. 

He extended his hand up to me and I smiled, placing my smaller hand in his larger one. “I accept so long as I know which Bridgerton are you?”

“Benedict, Benedict Bridgerton.” He replied leading me out and onto the dance floor with the entire room having theur eyes focused on the two of us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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[ofstarsandvibranium]

Walls Are Crumbling: Part 2

Fandom: Bridgerton

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: You and Benedict announce your engagement to the rest of the Bridgerton family. They're ecstatic for you, as Benedict told you they'd be. But you still can't help but feel guilty for bringing Benedict into your mess.

A/N: oh no. i guess im gonna turn this into a mini series...

Part 1

Everyone in the sitting room cheers after you and Benedict announce your engagement. Anthony and Kate give the pair of you soft smiles and knowing looks. Of course Anthony told his wife. He could never hide anything from her.

"Well, I must say this isn't too much of a surprise," Violet Bridgerton stands from her spot and walks towards you, "We all had a feeling this was going to happen eventually."

You smile at the woman you saw as another mother, "Trust me, Violet, I'm just as surprised as you are."

Benedict gives you a nudge, silently telling you to shush. He then speaks up, "Yes, it seemed that both of us had been harboring feelings for each other for a long time. Didn't see a reason as to why we needed to prolong marriage. Therefore, in month's time, we seek to marry."

Eloise grimaces, "But that's so soon."

Benedict's hand intertwines in yours, "Well, Eloise, I've waited too long to have Y/N as mine, so the sooner we wed, the better."

"But not too soon," you pointedly say, "which is why we decided in month's time," you add, just in case someone else suggests you two marry today, like Anthony did last night.

"Did you tell your mother already, Y/N, dear?" Violet asks curiously.

You nod, "Yes, and it went as you'd expect it to."

The dowager viscountess gives you a tight lip look. She wasn't fond of your mother and how she treats you. She especially doesn't like how she viewed your friendship with Benedict as a waste.

"Second sons have nothing to offer," she's said often.

Kate approaches you, arm looping through yours, "Sorry, brother-in-law, may I steal her for a moment?"

Benedict cocks a brow at you, silently asking if you'll be okay. You nod, "I'll be back," you let go of his hand and follow Kate, whom is guiding you outside of the sitting room and into the hall. There, she asks you to tell her everything, since Anthony only gave her bits and pieces.

While you and the Viscountess talk, Anthony joins his younger brother, "Do you really think you should do this?"

Benedict looks at his brother with annoyance on his face, "If I don't, she'd be left off to her own. I can't let that happen, especially with a child on the way."

"A child that isn't even yours, brother."

He shakes his head and shrugs, "I don't care. I will love them as my own. They are part Y/N, so surely, I'd love them." He then scowls, "Lord Mattias is a coward for this."

"I'd argue that you're just as cowardly," Anthony murmurs, a hint of a smirk on his lips, "Marrying the woman you love and yet not even telling her how you feel."

Benedict scoffs, "As if I should be taking advice from you on how to handle love," he cocks a brow at his older brother, knowing the debacle between him, Kate, and Edwina.

Anthony's jaw clenches and he doesn't say another word, which leaves Benedict to chuckle. He pats his brother on the shoulder, "I'll tell her...eventually. Things are going to be chaotic for her already. I don't want to cause her any more stress. It'll be bad for her and the baby."

Anthony hums and walks away from Benedict, deciding to stand beside Colin, whom is sitting on chaise lounge chair.

__________________________

1 Month Later

You managed to have wedding dress made fairly quickly. Well, Lady Danbury definitely put in a good word for you that helped speed up the process. Your wedding, albeit not ideal, was still perfect. Although your words of love to Benedict during the ceremony were....not completely true, you still found yourself tearing up when Benedict repeated his vows to you. You thought marrying your closest friend would be weird, but throughout the duration of the month leading up to the wedding, it became less of that and more comforting.

Time and time again did Benedict reassure he wasn't going to leave you behind for the wolves, that he'd be there for you and for the baby. That you'd be well taken care of.

Post-wedding, the dinner was a bit overwhelming. So many people were congratulating you, echoing the same words everyone else had "We all knew this would happen eventually". But what exactly did that mean? Sure, a few years ago, you harbored feelings for Benedict, but did everyone see it? Benedict couldn't have seen it too, right?

"Y/N?" he squeezes your hand and you didn't even realize he was holding it.

You look up from your plate, "Hm? Sorry."

"Are you alright?"

"I-I think I'd like some air," you whisper back to him.

"Would you like me to come with you?"

You're hesitant to say yes, but your head moves before your mouth does. You're nodding and Benedict is immediately on his feet and excuses the both of you. Everyone watches the two of you exit the dining room, the chatter continues as you leave.

Benedict silently follows you to the tree that has the swings you two used to play on when you were young. once sat on one of the swings, your hand immediately going to your belly. You've been doing that a lot in these past weeks, just not in front of others beside Anthony and Benedict.

"Is something wrong?" he nods to your hand on your belly.

You shake your head, "Not with the baby, no. But I just-" you let out another deep breath, "This is all so much. I-I-" your eyes are tearing up, "I don't like that I've brought you into my mess."

Benedict kneels before you and grabs your hands into his, "Y/N, listen to me, you did not force me to do this. I offered to marry you because I care about you and I'd hate for anything bad to happen to you. You are my dearest friend. I won't let anything bad happen to you. Ever. Do you understand me?" thumbs away your tears as you nod, "Good." He stands up and kisses your head, "Do you want to go back?"

"Can we stay here for a little longer?"

"Whatever my wife wants."

"I have to get used to hearing that," you mumble as you start to slowly move yourself back and forth on the swing.

Benedict watches you with soft eyes, eventually moving himself on the swing.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fic #benedict bridgerton imagine #fem!reader #f!reader #female reader

[avengersassemble-fics]

Linger

chapter 01 "such a fool for you" masterlist 2.4k words

The grandeur of Lady Danbury's ballroom shimmered with the radiance of candlelight and the elegant attire of London's high society. It was the much-anticipated event that marked the commencement of the social season, something the whole ton looked forward to.

It was where the Queen picked her diamond, where the tone was set for the new season, where ladies vied for the most eligible bachelor’s attention. It was places and events like these where you got glimpses of him.

You were no stranger to the Bridgerton family, you practically grew up side by side with Daphne. She was your dearest friend. But that meant also growing up close to her older brothers, one of which you had pined for for years. Since you came to even know what the word or feeling meant.

Benedict Bridgerton had been the man you dreamt of, longed for. He had an air about him that captivated anyone who paid attention to him. Dark hair, deep eyes, a generous smile, and a soft touch (when he did graze your skin during dances or careful passes). You were a fool for him.

Several summers back, when you were just 15, your parents had made haste for Paris. A true hub of sophistication that matched London, you were able to hone your language skills and etiquette, as well as see some fine art along the way. When you returned just before your debut last season, so you could go through the challenges alongside your friend Daphne as new debutantes.. You noticed a change in Benedict.

He was more watchful, more keen to seek you out, more than willing to have his name on your dance card. He had also made it known when he didn’t particularly like a potential suitor.

Last season, he had all but ran off any gentleman who had wanted to even formulate the idea of courting you. This season? You vowed you wouldn’t let him stand in the way, unless he had some kind of explanation for his behavior.

Tonight, you had sought out Daphne as soon as she arrived, eager for some companionship that did not warrant endless get to know you questions from a gentleman.

“Has your Grace sent you off to fend for yourself this evening?” You asked her from behind, which made Daphne immediately turn on her heel to face you.

“I’m afraid he has,” she played along. “Though with my most trusted friend by my side, I believe, together, we can handle this evening.”

Arm in arm, Daphne and you made your way through the crowded room, towards her family. Always nestled together, deep in their own conversations within one another, it was sometimes like the rest of the ton didn’t matter.

For Benedict, that was true, until he could make out your form coming closer with his sister.. And looking as enchanting as ever.

“Remarkable,” he muttered to his brothers, Anthony and Colin. “Utterly remarkable.”

They followed his gaze over to where you were on the far edge of the group, reacquainting with their mother. Anthony hummed a sort of acknowledgement and Colin rolled his eyes.

“I swear, if I had a shilling for every time you mumbled under your breath for her, I'd be a rich man,” Colin said, earning a glare from Benedict.

“I don’t know what you mean,” he tried to play off. Anthony laughed lightly, clapping his hand down on his younger brother's shoulder.

“Are you just going to run off more possible suitors for her this season?” Anthony asked in a hushed tone. Benedict shook his head.

“I did no such thing,” Benedict protested. It was Colin’s turn to sigh.

“Good God, get a hold of yourself,” Colin said lowly. “You could just tell her your intentions.”

Benedict stewed over his brothers words for the majority of the evening. He weighed the cons, but the pros vastly outnumbered anything that could prevent him from you. But he needed some time to get his head straight, his spirits up, before he approached you before the end of the night.

“Sorry to intrude,” he said as he interrupted whatever conversation you were in with his sister. If Benedict had to watch you dance with another man one more time this evening he might need a lobotomy. “Daphne, may I steal her for a moment?”

“If she wishes to be stolen away,” Daphne said and you nodded your head. Daphne gave an all too knowing smile, not at all oblivious to what was transpiring between her brother and you, before leaving your sides.

“Ben,” you spoke to him quietly, and he immediately felt his skin aflame. “You wish to steal me away?”

“Just for a moment of your time,” he managed to get out. “You have been rather occupied with dances and conversations this evening.”

“Well if one hopes to marry, you must divulge a little,” you replied and your slight smile made his stomach twist. “Though if you wanted my attention earlier, you could’ve stolen me away sooner.”

Benedict smiled, though it teetered on the line of a grin. He was so enamored of your wit, and to be on the receiving end of it, unlike the other men in this room, was dear to him. Was this a flicker of admission on your part?

“Do you wish me to steal you away?” He asked softly. He could see your eyes flicker over his face, trying to read him, read what his intentions were. But you knew.

“If only you knew what all I wished of you,” you admitted, a bit breathless. If anyone was watching or listening, you knew the whispers that would be spoken. How improper it might be, even if you two were beating around the bush.

Before Benedict could respond, you two were interrupted by another gentleman who wanted your attention. Much to his dismay, you returned his attention and even accepted a dance. He had to watch you be whisked away for a dance and Benedict seethed. 

Retreating back to his brother's side, Anthony grinned after taking a sip of his brandy. “Go well?”

“Say another word and I may end you,” Benedict grumbled and Anthony laughed. 

You did your best to steer clear of the tall and handsome Bridgerton for the remainder of the evening. You were close to accomplishing that when you had slipped away from the prying eyes of the ton and into the night. 

The air was warm, slightly cooler than earlier in the day. The moon was hidden behind clouds but it did not hinder its illumination. Lady Danbury’s gardens spanned as far as you could make out as you rested against the railing of the stoop. 

You just needed a moment to catch yourself. To try and calm your mind-

“Do you often sneak away from the countless gentlemen vying for your attention?”

So much for slipping away unnoticed, but did it surprise you that Benedict followed?.. partly. You turned to face him as he stepped closer to your side, hands tucked behind him. 

Little did you know it was to conceal the tremble in them. 

“Only when I need a moment,” you admitted. 

Benedict sounded a soft understanding as he came closer. His gaze seemed darker, even without the consideration of the night. He was searching your face for something, though you didn’t know what. 

“What did you mean?” He asked softly. “When you said I didn’t know all you wished of me?”

You tensed up slightly, cursing yourself for your brazen but true words earlier in the evening. You could feel your hand tighten against the railings. 

“Ben.. maybe this isn’t-“

“Please,” he said, his hands finally becoming visible as he reached out to touch your arm with one, the other on his chest. “Forgive the urgency in my words, for my heart and soul can no longer bear the weight of this unspoken truth. There's an ache within me, a relentless torment, fearing that time may slip through my fingers.. That you may slip through my fingers.”

“I cannot go on not telling you how ingrained you are in my mind. How even the mention of your name by my family makes me weak in the knees, how you have bled into my canvases, into my essence. 

“I am tethered to you, my dearest (Y/N). The thought of you accepting a courtship from another man casts a shadow over me I don’t want to see to fruition. Perhaps that is selfish of me.. but if that means having even a chance to have you then I will be selfish.”

You weren’t sure if you had taken a single breath as he spoke, as he laid himself bare to you of his intentions. Everything made more sense now. How Benedict had looked at you for the last year, how he had cut in when men approached, how he practically chased away your potential suitors. If you were a fool for him, he was equally a fool for you.

“What do you ask of me?” you asked, your tone quieter than you intended, but the notions of everything occurring was making your mind and confidence dizzy.

Benedict hesitated, his gaze unwavering but completely captivated by the way your eyes seemed to shine. Was there any way he could be more captivated?

“What do I ask of you?” he echoed, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. “I.. Ask for a chance to court you, to explore the possibility that there is something more between us then familiar friends. I do not wish to rush or pressure you but my feelings for you run deep.”

Benedict sucked in a breath before continuing. “Will you allow me the privilege of courting you?”

You could see the sincerity and pure intention behind his eyes. It was what you had wanted to hear from him since before you debuted last season, something you had only been able to think about in your daydreams. Was he your future?

“Yes,” you breathed and could immediately see the tension he had in his shoulders deflate. “Your honesty is refreshing and.. In fact, it has left me a bit dazed. I believed you to be an artist not also a wordsmith.”

Benedict chuckled, the sound was warm and made you smile along with him. The hand he had on your arm skimmed upwards to cup your cheek. His gaze felt heavy on you, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away.

“If you have appreciated my honesty up until this point then maybe I can push my luck further,” he said to you. The playful glint in his eyes shifted to a more mischievous expression. “I must confess, I have been tempted for quite some time to do something I probably shouldn’t.”

His thumb traced over your skin to your lips, gently gliding over your lower lip which fell open slightly to catch a breath.

“I have thought about kissing these lips many times,” Benedict admitted, his voice suddenly sounded low and intimate, and it shook you to your core. “I’ve imagined the taste of sweetness that must linger on them. It’s like the mere thought is an irresistible temptation, and I find myself longing to explore a flavor I don’t even know, yet drives me wild with desire.”

“Do you ever wonder how you must taste to a man who cannot seem to get enough of the mere thought of your lips?” He asked you. 

God.. He would be your undoing, any ounce of restraint you had was quickly evaporating. You had yet to respond, but Benedict watched as your cheeks flushed, your chest seemed to rise and fall more prominently.

“You seem to like being praised,” Benedict remarked. He knew what he was doing, you were sure of it. The way his eyes darted over you all but solidified it. “Are words all I needed to get you in my grasp this whole time?”

“You’ve never been this brazen before, Mr. Bridgerton,” you finally managed to get out. The way his thumb hesitated under your lip made you wonder if he liked hearing that, or maybe hearing it from your lips. You hadn’t ever wondered if any man had thought about the taste of your lips like he had shared with you, but now knowing he had thought of it immensely would linger with you for who knows how long.

“Careful,” Benedict warned you. Was it possibly for his tone to shift even lower than it already was? It sounded like it. “I have not given into my desires but that can quickly change.”

“And cause a scandal?” You asked him and all he did was chuckle.

“You know I don’t mind the whispers,” Benedict reminded you. “But.. I promise to preserve your reputation. So long as you don’t call me that again.”

“I believe we may be at an impasse,” you whispered. “Because I quite like calling you that, if it elicits even a similar response you have given me this evening.”

Benedict realized that there was definitely a flourishing connection here, because he knew you would never be so open with him if you hadn’t already had some sort of affection for him. He decided he wouldn’t waste this chance, to have or claim you.

“We should get you back inside,” Benedict said after clearing his throat of nerves. “Before anyone notices we are gone. You, more so than me.”

“You may be right,” you agreed. Benedict reluctantly removed his hand from your chin, and watched as you moved around him back towards the door. You stole a final glance from him before disappearing around the corner to return to the winding down festivities.

Benedict took a moment to collect himself, for this was the change to everything. He knew this would be a tumultuous journey, one he had craved and wanted but never believed would come true. After a few minutes, he took the same path back inside to remeet with his family. He couldn’t wait to return home and tell his brothers he had actually done it - he had asked to court you and you accepted.

You were aflame with a new purpose. Everything was shaping up just as you desired, with the man you had dreamt of for years. You knew that this courtship would prove to bring you both closer and eventually.. You would be wed. You would have him.

…Right?

#benedict bridgerton #Benedict bridgerton x reader #Benedict bridgerton x you #Benedict Bridgerton fic #bridgerton fic

[barbiewritesstuff]

Love is Patience, love is kind

---

AN: I'm back! And this time it's a Benedict Bridgerton fic! Don't know if it's good or how long it'll be but I'm hoping it's a slow burn. As always, this isn't proofread.

Also this is soooo long, I'm not sorry :)

The title is still a work in progress.

TW. None I don't think but shoot me a message if you think one applies.

--

The servants quarters at the Bridgerton house are never quiet in the morning. It’s a miracle it doesn’t wake the household, Kit thinks, serving tea to everyone crowded at the kitchen table.

Because there are so many servants and maids, they usually do the morning food service in two goes. The Lower servants get first service, because they’re up earlier than the rest, and an hour later, the upper servants come down for their breakfast. Dinner is the opposite, with the upper servants eating first, and the lower servants eating afterwards. It’s only at lunch that everyone eats together while the Bridgertons luncheon upstairs. It’s short and rushed, especially for the Footmen who have to eat between food courses but cook is practised at her art and makes meals the boys can scoff down as they run plates upstairs. Mr Graves, the steward, doesn’t mind, so long as the boys aren’t still chewing on their food when they’re within eyesight of the family.

It’s rare that the staff finds a moment to converse around the kitchen table as a group outside of their respective mealtimes, but everyone tries for birthdays, Christmas and Easter, and, like today, for employment anniversaries.

Despite being the one rushing around, serving tea, it’s Kit’s employment anniversary. She’s been employed by the Bridgertons for seven years today, and it’s gone by in a blur. She started off as a scullery maid and two years ago, moved to kitchen maid. She’ll likely stay there until Cook retires, which might be some years yet. Cook’s no spring chicken, but behind her facade of cute little old lady hides a strength and energy she only allows to be seen when something isn’t to her liking in her kitchen. The kitchen is Cook’s domain. Her kingdom. And she rules it with an iron fist and all the mercy of a dictator.

That being said, Cook really is a kind and caring woman. Which is why, unbeknownst to Kit, she’s been up for hours preparing a treat. She’s had to clear it with Mrs Wilson, the housekeeper, weeks in advance and then hide it before Kit could discover her surprise, but as she finishes pouring tea and passing around the milk, Cook pulls out the plate of hot scones, cream and raspberry jam. It’s still steaming when she sets it out on the table with a satisfied grin at Kit’s surprised face.

The staff cheers but waits patiently for Kit to have the first one, watching with hungry eyes as she smears the jam on first and then drops a measured dollop of clotted cream to finish it off. They even hold off long enough for her to take a bite. As if waiting for her approval, as soon as she smiles, they all throw themselves on the plate to grab their own scone. In the hubbub, the jam spoon flies off, hitting a wall by the staircase that leads upstairs but no one notices.

Then, in less than five minutes, everything has been eaten, and the lower servants down their boiling hot teas as fast as they can before the shift starts. Soon, the merry conversations of the kitchen tables turn into orders and task lists and only the upper servants remain seated. Next to Kit, Cook pulls out her notebook and begins planning the day, and meals.

“Isn’t the new scullery maid supposed to start today,” Mrs Wilson remarks, tapping Mr Graves’ arm in order to get his attention.

He looks at his watch, a present from Edmund Bridgerton some years before, “She should be here in time for the Lunch service,” he replies, turning back to his tea, drinking the last mouthful and then shaking his cup at Kit to signal for a refill.

“Patience, you’ll be showing her the ropes,” he tells Kit, who he simply refuses to call by her nickname, stating that “Your parents put such thought in your first name, I will not show such disrespect as you call you by anything else,” and ignoring her when she tries to tell him that even her parents call her Kit. Only her brother Michael calls her Patience, or Patsy, when he’s cross with her.

Kit nods, until two years ago she’d been a scullery maid herself, and since her promotion, she had been juggling both jobs herself. It was a relief that Mr Graves had finally hired someone else, she’d be able to sleep more, and it would give her skin and lungs some needed reprieve. The cleaning chemicals she used to scrub everything clean were effective, but they were quite harsh on her. Graves’ reluctance to fill the scullery position was a mystery to everyone else too, the Bridgertons’ were more than rich enough to pay another member of staff, and even Mrs Wilson, who usually followed Mr. Graves’ instruction to the letter, had been on his case about hiring someone else.

“You should have --” Mrs Wilson starts

“I will not hear of it,” Mr Graves says, cutting her off, “I have now, there’s no need to harp on about it.”

The housekeeper throws him a look. If Kit didn’t know them as well as she did, she might be tempted to say the two were secretly courting, but as it stood, Mrs Wilson made her opinion of Graves perfectly clear. He was her superior and therefore worthy of respect and blind obedience, but privately, she thought him a self-important little man.

Before Graves could reprimand the housekeeper for the glare, the bells began ringing. Lady’s maids and valet stand up from their chairs, climbing up the stairs to the main house to assist their family member, then, the footmen stand up, finishing their tea to set the table and bring breakfast. Eventually, Humboldt and Mrs Wilson leave their place at the tables too.

After another cup of tea and a specially made jam on toast, Mr Graves bids Cook and Kit goodbye and retreats to his office, a small room to the side of the kitchen.

“I do not wish to spoil the fun of your special day, Kit dear, but we must get on,” Cook says. Springing to action, she tidies the kitchen table, neatly stacking plates, cups and cutlery by the kitchen sink and then, almost automatically, peeling vegetables.

For lunch, the Bridgertons will have asparagus soup, cold meat, cake and fruit. The soup is a special request of Violet Bridgerton herself and Cook wishes to make the Viscountess' soup of her own hands, while she busies herself with that, Kit moves on to the rest.

Then, as they finish up, the new scullery maid is announced by one of the Grooms as he walks in, traipsing mud and horse manure all over Kit’s perfectly polished floor.

Amused by the death glare she throws his way, the Groom introduces the girl, “This is Elaine,” he says, “And this is Cook,” he tells the girl, “And the Kitchen Maid,” he adds, winking at Kit, “Her name is Patience, everyone calls her Kit,” he adds.

“Except you,” Cook says, trying not to giggle

“That’s right,” The Groom smiles broadly, “My name is also Kit, short for Christopher,” he explains, “So to keep things clear, I call her ‘the lesser Kit’. So there’s no confusion,” he adds, winking at the girl. She giggles.

“I suggest you do not try to call me that,” Kit warns the girl.

“I’ll leave you lovely ladies to your work then,” Christopher says, “Happy anniversary. It’s been a pleasure to tease you for so long,” he adds over his shoulder as he walks out. Despite her best efforts, it does force a smile out of Kit.

“I’ll leave you to clean. I must go to market, and Mrs Wilson has asked me to inventory the pantry,” Cook says, taking off her apron and hanging it by the back door, she picks up her basket and then shakes the tea tin she keeps by her prized cookery books over the table and picks up the few coins that fell out. With a wave, she exits the kitchen, leaving the scullery maid and Kit by themselves.

Knowing that the dinner service needs to be prepared in less than two hours, and that the staff will descend upon the kitchen in roundabout an hour, Kit wastes no time showing Elaine where the cleaning supplies are kept and what must be done, how and when. The girl takes it in, asking any question she can think of as soon as she can. By the time Cook is back, Kit is suitably impressed by the girl.

The rest of the day goes by without a hitch, Elaine watching all she does very closely.

“I’ll do the end of day cleaning with you for a week,” Kit says, “And then you’re on your own. You managed the cleaning fine after lunch, so I don’t think you’ll need me much,” she sighs, “Right, let’s get on with it. We start with the counters, obviously, then dusting and we finish with the floor,” Kit says, handing Elaine a brush, nodding towards the chopping block where Cook butchered the pheasant the Bridgertons ate for dinner. As the scullery maid got to scrubbing, Kit worked at the other end of the kitchen, cleaning the remnants of the staff lunch. She then moved on to the fireplace, picking up the sand they had spread to catch the grease and spills of whatever Cook had boiling in her cauldron, and then spreading new sand.

Elaine worked valiantly at the stove, braving the leftover heat of the coals to get everything clean without a word of complaint. And then, right as Kit started the yawn, the two girls set about cleaning the floor. It was the least pleasant job, in Kit’s opinion, worse than cleaning bloody chopping blocks, or sticking your arm in the warm stove. Cook despised mops and insisted that a scrubbing cloth be worked around the floor with bare feet, and that the water must be ice cold, as she thought any temperature above simply wasn’t as effective. By the end of it, Kit and Elaine’s toes were numb, but the floor sparkled, and painful feet were worth avoiding Cook’s wrath.

“Tea before bed?” Kit offers. Elaine happily agreed, taking a seat at the table while Kit pulled out a teapot and two cups.

“If your name is Patience, why are you called Kit?” Elaine asks, halfway through her cup, “If it’s alright to ask.”

Kit grinned, “My mother named me Patience Katherine Byrd,” she says, “I don’t like being called Patsy, so Kit was the next best thing.”

Elaine nods. She’s about to say something else when the door opens and someone starts down the stairs. Kit expects it to be Hyacinth on her weekly trip to the kitchen to wrestle some leftover cake out of Kit with puppy eyes and pretty pleases, but the footsteps seem too heavy.

The person stumbles, missing a step, and catches themselves on the railing with a groan and a mumbled swear. A few steps later, shoes and trousers come into view.

It’s a man. It cannot be Colin Bridgerton, for he is out of town, and it cannot be the Viscount, as he left for his own bachelor house earlier in the evening, taking his valet with him. Sure enough, Benedict Bridgerton soon steps into view. He’s white as a sheet, and barely able to walk.

“I was hoping someone would still be awake,” he says, swaying as he stands two steps away from the bottom of the stairs. Kit and Elaine stand up, remembering themselves.

“Would it be possible to have some warm milk?” He asks.

Kit always liked Benedict best of all the male Bridgerton’s. They’ve crossed paths twice in seven years but he’s always been polite to her, despite her status and in spite of his.

“Please,” he adds

“Perhaps you would like to sit,” Kit offers, pulling out the chair closest to where he’s standing. He nods, holding his hand against the wall for dear life as he walks down the last two steps. He stumbled down onto the chair, crash landing haphazardly onto the seat with a pained moan.

“You can go,” Kit tells Elaine, “Go to bed, we wake at dawn tomorrow.”

She then turns towards the stove, lighting it under Benedict Bridgerton’s watchful gaze. She warms up a pitcher of milk and pours it into a cup for him. Unsure of what to do with herself, she stands by as he sips it.

Kit’s never heard the kitchen so quiet. She could hear a pin drop from miles away but despite the awkwardness, she struggles to keep a yawn from surfacing.

“I’m sorry,” Benedict eventually says, “I am keeping you up.”

“It’s alright, sir,”

“It’s not. I’m sorry. I’m sure you have plenty of work to be done tomorrow and I am keeping you from sleeping. I’m sorry I’ll be the cause of your tiredness,” he says, looking genuinely sorry, “I couldn’t sleep,” he eventually adds after finishing his milk, “I have such a headache, and Andrew couldn’t find the laudanum. I thought I would be okay but it’s too much.”

“If you wait here, I shall fetch you some of mine,” Kit offers, unsure of what the alternative could be. She knows just how painful headaches can get, and because she has no choice but to work through them, she keeps her side of the wardrobe well stocked with homemade laudanum.

Kit opens her bedroom door as quietly as she can so as not to wake Dorothy, one of the lower housemaids, with whom she shares the room. She steps around the bed and opens the wardrobe door, fumbling the keys and almost dropping it. She feels around for a glass flask until her fingers close around its neck. Once the medicine is in her possession, she leaves the room again. Walking to the opposite side of the corridor, passing through the door announcing the male servant’s rooms, Kit makes her way towards Andrew’s quarters. His room is all the way towards the end, as close to the main house as it can get, in case his gentleman were to have an emergency. Kit’s been here before, but never unchaperoned, and the distance between Andrew’s room and the safety of the communal corridor is a curse.

Eventually, she knocks on his door but he doesn’t respond. The Valets have been asleep for hours now, and she imagines Andrew is much the same. Wishing she didn’t have to, she pushes the door open and steps in. She walks closer to the bed, putting a hand on Andrew’s sleeping shoulder and gently shakes him. He wakes with a start.

“Say, Kit, I’ve always wanted you in my bed,” he mumbles groggily, grinning at her, “But I wasn’t expecting it to happen today.”

“Very funny, you incorrigible rake,” Kit grins back, “Your gentlemen is looking white as a sheet in my kitchen, you might want to come with in case we need to fetch a doctor,” she explains. Andrew sighs, picking his trousers off the end of his bed.

“I cannot be seen in my sleepwear, you go first, I’ll join you in a moment,” he adds, shooing her away with a wave of his hand.

Benedict Bridgerton seems to only have gotten worse by the time she is back. In the flickering light of the fireplace, his palour has turned to colouring his face a strange shade of green. Seeing this, and perhaps selfishly afraid for her clean floors, Kit hurriedly pours the second eldest Bridgerton a bit of laudanum. He downs it in one go and coughs.

“Christ, that’s strong!” he says, looking surprised.

“Well, it’s homemade,” Kit explains, “It’s alcohol and opium. The doses might be different to what you’re used to but I promise it will work.”

“Yes,” he coughs, “I daresay I needn’t more than a few sips for this to knock me right out.”

“Well, you did say you had trouble sleeping,” Kit mumbles to herself, not expecting Benedict to hear her but a laugh soon bubbles up from his mouth. It’s delightful but short lived, for merely a second later he coughs again, bends over, and spills the contents of his stomach all over the hardwood floor.

Kit’s fury is immediate, and Benedict knows it. He stands here, green and ill, looking like a deer in the headlights.

“I did not -- I’m awfully sorry --” he sputters.

Her anger doesn’t last, there’s something about Benedict that softens Kit’s heart, much to her dismay, and as much as she would have liked to send him away with a scolding and a glare -- as she would have done with anyone else -- she steps forward instead, placing a hand over his shoulder to place his back against the chair. As she would with her own brothers, she then places the back of her hand against his forehead.

“You have a temperature,” she states, just in time for Andrew to swing the door open, dressed but dishevelled, a cowlick lifting all but one tuft of hair on the left side of his head.

“I see I’m too late,” he comments, ignoring how close his gentleman and Kit are, “I’ll take you back up to bed, sir, and I’ll ask one of the footmen to fetch a doctor.”

“I’m awfully sorry for your floor,” Benedict apologises again, looking greener than ever and as though he might be sick again.

“It’s nothing Kit’s not seen before,” Andrew says, placing one of Benedict’s over his shoulders and lifting him up to a standing position. Gingerly, Andrew walks Benedict back up the stairs and into the main house, leaving Kit to clean the floor all over again.

By the time she’s finished, the sun is shining low on the horizon, the roosters in the courtyard are crowing and Cook opens the door to start her day. She stands on the threshold, surprised.

“Don’t ask,” Kit says, throwing her cloth in the kitchen’s laundry basket, “It’s been a night.”

“I can see that,” Cook says, “Has it been a fun night?” She asks, mischievously.

Aside from cooking, Cook’s only interests are gossip and matchmaking. She has been on Kit’s case about finding her a nice young man since the second month of her employment.

“Andrew’s been up all night too,” she adds with a wink, “He’s a handsome lad.”

“Don’t let him hear you,” Kit groans, “Master Benedict came down for hot milk last night. He was taken ill. I had to fetch Andrew.”

Cook sighs, disappointed, “Well, I was certainly hoping for something else.”

“That makes both of us,” Kit sighed

“Oh does it now?” Cook grins, turning Kit as red as her hair, unaware of how her words could have sounded.

---

Everyone else is already fast asleep by the time Elaine and Kit finish cleaning the kitchen and sit down for their last cup of tea. Swearing her young scullery maid to secrecy, Kit shaves off two thin slices of cake to have next to their drink. They eat it slowly, savouring every mouthful, but much like the day before, right as they finish, the door to the main house opens, and footsteps descend the stairs.

They’re steady today, and confident, but Kit recognises Benedict’s shoes before much of him comes into view.

“Pardon my interruption,” he says, “I merely wanted to apologise again for yesterday.”

Kit can feel Elaine looking to her for an answer. She throws her a look promising explanations later. As a maid, an apology like that can have a range of reasons, from the innocent to the rakish. With the reputation the Bridgerton boys have, it isn’t hard to imagine that Elaine is thinking more on the scandalous side of things.

“I hope you feel better,” Kit says, avoiding any words of forgiveness towards her soiled floor -- after all, she hasn’t forgiven him. She’s been up since the day before at dawn and the sheer exhaustion she has felt all day is nothing she has ever experienced -- and it seems Benedict has noticed. He grins at her.

The three of them stay quiet for a moment until the silence becomes more than Kit can bear, “Well, if it’s all, sir, I think we’ll go to bed.”

“Right,” he says, looking down at the floor, “Of course… Yes. Good night, Miss. Goodnight Kit,” he says.

“Miss Byrd,” Kit corrects him before she can stop the words from leaving her throat. While calling her by her first name is a disrespect, correcting her employer so rudely is a greater offence than anything he could have done. If word of this reacher Mr Graves, Kit is in for a telling off she has never experienced before.

“Pardon me, Miss Byrd. I meant no offence,” he says, “I seem to forget my manners.”

“Well, goodnight,” she says, hoping it will make him leave. Surprisingly, Benedict seems rather unwilling to leave her kitchen despite the awkwardness making her want to run away.

He takes the hint and with a nod in either direction, walks back up the stairs.

Kit stands there, unsure of what to say for a moment, “He vomited on our floor last night. I’m rather surprised he was brave enough to face me, I thought my glare had scared him off,” she eventually says.

Elaine stays quiet.

“You don’t believe me?” Kit sighs

“No, I do,” she eventually says, “It’s just…” Elaine hesitates, “You ought to be careful.”

“How so?” Kit asks, feeling herself blush at the situation. A sixteen year old scullery maid giving her lessons, Kit should like the floor to swallow her whole.

“I have heard things about the masters. Other maids think they’re rakes,” she says, then, casting her eyes on the floor, she adds, “At my last household, one of the Masters charmed a maid. He got her in the family way and it left her ruined.”

Kit remains there speechless.

“I don’t know what I have done to give you such a poor opinion of me, Elaine, but rest assured that I am not that kind of girl. I have no desire to run around with a master of the house and ruin myself,” Kit says, furious, “I think it’s best you go to bed. I’ll finish up here.”

“I did not mean --” she sputters, “It’s just --”

“Leave.”

Elaine nods, leaving her cup on the table. She vanishes through the service door seconds later.

Kit sits there for a while, stewing in her own anger. Partly at Elaine, and partly at Benedict. If anything were to come of this, be it rumour or inappropriate behaviour, she would be ruined and destitute. No household in London would ever employ her, and she could kiss the position of Cook, and its high salary, goodbye.

Still fuming, Kit stands up, washes the teapot and cups and climbs up to bed.

“You’re angry,” Dorothy says, sleepily, “You always stomp around when you’re angry.”

“I can’t believe the little --” Kit starts, “First that spoiled ass sicks up all over my pristine floor, then the new maid suggests he might try to ruin me!”

“Seems like a jump,”

“He came back to apologise,”

“Right,” Dorothy says, “She’s just looking out for you, I’m sure.”

“She’s sixteen!” Kit whispers back, “She’s a child!”

Dorothy sighs.

“Do you know what would happen to me if Graves hears what she said?”

“Kit, that’s enough,” Dorothy says firmly, “Nothing will happen because nothing untowards has happened. Now go to bed, I don’t want to deal with your moods in the morning.”

Kit glares at her.

“You can look at me like that all you want. It won’t change anything,” Dorothy says, tucking herself back into her duvet, “Sleep tight.”

Kit climbs into bed, huffing and puffing.

“I’ll vouch for you if Graves asks,” Dorothy eventually says, on the verge of sleep.

“Good night,” Kit replies, falling asleep as soon as her eyes close.

It seems like only a second has passed before the bell rings in the corridor and Kit must rise again. She shaked Dorothy awake and gets dressed, quickly brushing her hair and pinning it up in a tight bun. Downstairs, Cook had boiled water and made tea. She serves Kit a cup, and then Elaine when she appears a moment later. Wanting to avoid Elaine as much as she can, Kit throws herself in the day’s work, speaking as little as possible.

“Out with it,” Cook orders as soon as they step out to the courtyard after the lunch service. The scullery maid is inside, cleaning up.

“Something’s bothering you,” she adds, “I could taste it in your soup.”

“What?!” Kit asks, confused and wondering what kind of cookery witchcraft Cook knows of.

“You salt too much when you’re cross,” Cook shrugs.

“Oh,” Kit sighs, “It’s nothing. Elaine gave me advice yesterday, I didn’t appreciate it.”

Cook laughs but says nothing.

“Do you think Benedict Bridgerton is a rake?” Kit asks.

“I think he likes ladies, yes,” she responds, “I don’t think he likes maids.”

Kit sighs in relief, “Elaine seems to think --”

“Elaine was previously employed by Lord Berbrooke,” Cook cuts her off, “Give her some leeway, she’s only working off of her own experiences. The Bridgertons are different, they’re a good family with kind hearts. The Viscountess and her late husband raised them right.”

“They seem nice,” Kit replies, “I didn’t like that she was implying that I would be such a… Well, you know. That I would go above my station.”

“I don’t think that’s what she was implying, Kit dear,” Cook says, patting her arm. They stay quiet for a moment while Kit ruminates on what she said.

She’s not completely naive. She knows about these things. Maybe not everything, but she’s been working a while, and before the Bridgertons she worked with another family. She saw things she hadn’t been prepared for, then. But since working for the Bridgertons, she hadn’t thought back on it. She hadn’t felt unsafe, worried or scared that a moment alone or spent with a man might result in something she could never erase from her mind.

She’d taken Elaine’s advice so personally, like an attack on her own character. She hadn’t even thought it might have been a reflection of her own experiences. She hadn’t even thought it might be a warning on Benedict’s character. And strangely, she hadn’t thought, although it felt a little true, that the attack felt so offensive because Benedict had an effect on her Kit didn’t want him to have.

Benedict Bridgerton is undoubtedly a handsome man, but more than that, it was the boyish grin and big blue eyes that charmed her. She wasn’t in love, obviously, but he did have a certain effect on her.

“I think it’s time we go back,” Cook says, grabbing Kit by the arm and gently leading her back in to see Elaine finishing up the kitchen. Just as she throws the cloth into the laundry, they start messing up the kitchen, pulling out flour, vegetables, to start on dinner. As the sauces simmer and vegetables cook, Mr Kingman walks into the kitchen holding a couple of partridges and a hare.

“For dinner tonight,” he says, smacking the birds down on the table so violently it scares Elaine, who looks on dejected at the mess they so quickly created, “And for the family, I have a nice deer coming in. The boys are a little slow with it though,” he says, looking over his shoulder. Three voices argue loudly behind him, trying to wade through the muddy courtyard. Kit leans to see what the commotion is behind him. Carrying the biggest deer she has ever laid eyes upon, she can just about see Edmund, Francis and Frederic, the three gardener’s assistants Mr Kingman has borrowed to bring his prize.

Somehow, they negotiate the doorway and manage to fit the deer inside the kitchen. Elaine and Kit spring into action, removing chairs from the kitchen table so the boys can put it down.

Cook looks on, satisfied, “That’ll do nicely, I daresay,” she says. Then, she picks up one of her best knives and hands it to Kit, “We’ll need the bones for stock, and I’ll make a nice stew out of the organs, so be gentle with it.”

“If you keep the pelt in one piece, I’ll make a nice coat out of it,” Mr Kingman says.

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Kit braced herself. She’d only done this a handful of times, but it never got any more pleasant. Still, under the watchful eyes of the game warden, the three boys, Elaine and Cook, Kit begins to skin and quarter the animal.

Glancing back at her audience, she saw she had gathered a few more spectators. Mr Graves looked on from his office window, arms crossed over his chest with all the concentration of a man trying to keep his lunch inside while being entirely unable to look away.

Turning back to her work, she continues her cuts. She keeps going, asking the boys to roll the animal halfway through so she could replicate her butchering. Then, once she had finished cutting off the skin and quartering the animal, she and Cook moved all the meat to the cold room for safekeeping.

As much as Kit would have liked to take a shower to wash off the grime and blood, there was no time to waste. The leg would take a while to roast, even over the fire, and the kitchen needed to be cleaned, a job which, in light of the deer, Elaine could not complete by herself.

By the time it was time to return to her quarters, Kit could only think of a nice long bath. She drew the water and brought it upstairs, careful not to spill any on the stairs. Then, she undressed and gingerly lowered herself in the copper tub.

Kit closed her eyes, letting herself relax. She breathed deeply in and out a few times, then slipped under the water. Holding her breath, she opened her eyes. From underneath the water she could see almost nothing, just the flickering light of the candle at the side of the tub. She exhaled gently, watching the bubbles rise til they hit the surface, and then pop.

She resurfaced again a moment later, wiping her hair from her face. Water in her eyes having temporarily blinded her, Kit felt around the side of the tub for the little table she had put the soap and cloth on. After a minute, she felt the soft bar underneath her fingers.

One of the perks of working for the Bridgertons was without a doubt the soap. While other households often stocked soap for their servants, it was rarely of a good enough quality that it was worth using, but the Bridgertons’ or Mrs Wilson, anyway, regarded the staff’s overall appearance as highly important and hygiene most of all. They had therefore stocked each room with decent, scented soap. A treat Kit appreciated greatly.

She rubbed the soap over the cloth to make it bubble and then washed herself with it, breathing in the smell of jasmine on her skin. Then, with the same soapy cloth, Kit washed the top of her head til it bubbled up enough to clean the rest of her long hair. Once rinsed and ready, she stepped out of the bath and dried herself off and blew the candle out. Feeling more human than she had in days, she made her way back to her room.

To her surprise, Dorothy was still up, reading a long letter by candle light.

“From your Pa?” Kit asked, eliciting a humm of agreement from her friend, “How is the family?”

“My sister’s getting married in the spring,” she replied, “She’s marrying our vicar’s son. Ma says it’s a nice match but I get the feeling Pa’s not so happy about it. I don’t see why not though,” she says, “It’s not like she can do any better. He seems nice, and he’ll provide for her.”

“That’s nice!” Kit says, excited. She’s always loved weddings, and while she’s never hoped for a love match herself, finding someone willing to provide and care for her has always seemed just as good. In her books, Dotty’s sister isn’t doing half bad.

“Do you think if I ask Graves he’ll let me go for the wedding?” Dotty asks

“I don’t see why not,” Kit replies, “He’s a pain but not a monster, you know.”

“That’s only because he likes you, Patience,” she replies, emphasising her legal name.

Kit laughs, “Say, have you ever noticed how funny his name actually is?”

Dotty shakes her head.

“His name is Robert Graves. Rob Graves.”

Dorothy grins, “Leave it to you to find that out,” then, she sighs and without a word, goes back to reading. Suddenly exhausted, Kit climbs into bed and falls asleep almost immediately.

She wakes up late for the first time in seven years. By the time she makes it downstairs, Cook is already starting with breakfast. Without a word, but with a disapproving look, she hands Kit a bag of flour, some yeast and a little water.

---

Kit’s outside for a tea break when Michael, her ten year old brother, walks into the courtyard, newspaper in hand. 

“Any good news?” Kit asks, pressing a coin in his hand.

Michael shrugs, “I dunno, I don’t read it, I just sell it.”

Kit grins. She takes off Michael’s cap and ruffles the hair underneath it. It’s almost as red as hers, only much shorter and curlier. It suits him, she thinks, and paired with the freckles covering his face, it makes him look younger than he is.

He leans against her in a not-quite-hug. Michael likes to pretend to be older than he is, and very much resists any of his sister’s babying, but occasionally, especially when he’s tired, he’ll still hug her. She holds him there for a moment, savouring it. 

“Have you eaten anything?” She asks him

Michael shakes his head. He doesn’t need to say anything, Kit already knows. Their father’s out of work again, and despite all of the children working, money is stretched thin. Kit hates to speak badly of her father, but she hates that he’ll let his children go hungry if it means he never has to go thirsty. For every shilling that goes into food, three go into alcohol.

“Stay there,” Kit tells him. Michael watches her disappear inside, and then reappear a moment later, holding an apple and some bread. She watches him eat it all, and then fetches him some milk to wash it all down. Once she’s satisfied that he won’t drop from hunger, she lets him finish his route.

Once she steps back inside, it’s back to work. The staff having soup for dinner and the family is divided with the eldest going to a ball, and the younger ones staying behind. 

Seeing as it’s only the children having dinner, Cook has been bribed by Hyacinth to make tea sandwiches and cakes, and so, Kit spends the better part of her afternoon making cakes and breads. 

After dinner, it’s time to clean. The end of her evening clean with Elaine is upon them and after tonight Kit will be able to retire to bed alongside Dorothy. She’s been looking forward to it, she’s even asked Andrew to borrow a book from upstairs for her. 

There’s been very little chatting since Elaine gave her advice, and as much as Kit wants to apologise for her reaction, she can’t really seem to find the right words, and by the time she thinks she might be brave enough to try, the cleaning is done and it’s time to go home. 

Tonight, though, Kit is determined to do it. She’s been talking herself into it since she woke up this morning and her chance finally appears as they remove their shoes to work the scrubbing cloth around the floor.

“I wanted to apologise,” she says, staring firmly at the floor, “I misunderstood your intentions earlier in the week and I was awfully rude.”

Elaine seems surprised, “I shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t my place, I’m sorry.”

“You were looking out for me,” Kit says, “I appreciate it. Thank you,” she smiles at the scullery maid, “I’ll be careful.”

Elaine smiles at her, moving as fast as she can on the cloth before her feet become numb. They’ve done most of it now and the end can’t come soon enough. 

“Tea?” Elaine asks, already reaching for the teapot and mugs. Kit smiles and nods, turning around to rummage through the cupboards for jam and a few slices of fresh bread. 

She spreads jam on the slices as Elaine pours the tea. They eat in comfortable silence, all awkwardness dissipated by their apologies. Right as they bite into their bread, the front door of the main house opens upstairs announcing the elder Bridgertons’ return home from the ball. They hear them climb up the main stairs, and minutes later, the bells ring for the valets and lady’s maids. 

Quick as a flash, Kit hides the teapot, cups, bread and jam on one of the empty chairs. She shoves whatever toast she still had in her hand into her mouth, making sure Elaine does the same, before the upper servants enter the kitchen and file up the stairs to the main house. 

As soon as they’re gone, the contraband is placed back up on the table and their chatting continues. By the time the upper servants come back down, the tea is finished, the food is eaten and Kit has washed away any evidence of their midnight snack. Elaine soon bids her goodnight and climbs up to her quarters while Kit stays to chat and gossip with the Lady’s maids. 

“I say Master Colin will wed by the end of next season,” Rose says, “And I wager a shilling, he will marry Miss Featherington.”

Kit laughs, “I wager he will not. I hear Miss Featherington’s dowry has already been gambled away by her father. I doubt Master Colin would marry without a dowry.”

“Kit, you sadden me,” Andrew says, “True love will vanquish all. I say he will marry her regardless of the dowry,” he adds, earning oohs and aahs from an appreciative Rose, “But,” he says, raising his index finger in warning, “I say it takes him two more seasons.”

“And when do you plan to wed, Andrew?” Bernard, Colin’s Valet, asks with a grin

“As soon as Kit gives me the time of day,” Andrew replies, shooting her a wink. It earns him a laugh from Bernard and Nicholas, Anthony’s Valet, as they clap him on the back.

“A bachelor forever, then!” Nicholas guffaws 

“I’m going back to bed,” Andrew announced, faking grumpiness, “Goodnight!”

Soon after his departure, the rest of them climb up, leaving Kit alone in a quiet kitchen. She’s about to go up when the door above the kitchen opens once more. 

Hyacinth chats loudly as she comes down, leaving no wonder as to who is disturbing Kit now, but she’s not alone. Trailing not far behind is Benedict Bridgerton, wearing only sleepwear.

“Hello Miss Byrd,” he says, sheepishly smiling, “We were rather hoping --”

“Is there any cake left?” Hyacinth cuts him off.

Kit rolls her eyes at the girl, earning herself a toothy smile, “I made you three different cakes for dinner and you still haven’t had enough?”

“Please?” Hyacinth begs, putting on her best puppy eyes, knowing very well it’s Kit’s one weakness.

But she holds strong, largely because Benedict is standing right behind, and she feels that if she does not stay stern, he’d get ideas. 

“Please Miss Byrd,” he eventually says, “We’re awfully hungry,” he adds, joining in on the relentless beating down. 

Kit lasts only a minute longer before giving in with a sigh. 

“This cannot happen again,” she says, as sternly as she can. Benedict smiles at her and much to her surprise, Kit’s knees go weak. She lets go of the plate she was holding, and it shatters all over the floor, sending bits of ceramic flying everywhere. 

She immediately bends down, grabbing all the pieces she can see. Shuffling around on her knees, she doesn’t see where she’s going. Soon enough, she bumps her head against something hard and yelps in pain. Expecting to see a table leg, she raises her head only to come inches away from Benedict Bridgerton. She stands up as fast as she can, taking as many steps back as she can as he does the same. They look at each other across the room, both trying to catch their breath. 

Trying to get a grip on herself, Kit slices two bits of cake and places them on two new plates. She hands them to each Bridgerton, expecting them to take it up to their rooms, but only Hyacinth does. As soon as the kitchen door closes, Benedict puts his plate down and reaches for the broom Kit had left leaning on the door.

Half expecting him to hand it to her, Kit is surprised when he starts sweeping.

“Oh you don’t -- I’ll --”

“Am I not doing it right?” he asks

“No, it’s -- Sir, I’ll take care of it,” she eventually says, “You may go up, you must be tired.”

“I am awake enough to sweep, Miss Byrd,” he smiles

“Perhaps, but you really oughtn’t,” she replies, gently taking the broom from his hands, “Go up, go to sleep. If Andrew finds out you missed out on sleep because of me, he’ll have my head.”

“Goodnight,” he says eventually, seeming unsure of what to do, before turning around and following his sister. His slice of cake forgotten.

“Goodnight, sir,” Kit replies.

---

The morning has been everything but calm from the moment Kit steps out of bed. All the late nights she’s been doing have started to take their toll and she’s starting to make mistakes, from burning the toast to cutting herself chopping vegetables, Kit is visibly perturbed, but Cook doesn’t ask and doesn’t comment. The servants live in close enough quarters that soon enough, she’ll know without needing to pry.

Kit doesn’t appreciate the looks though, and she’s grateful when tea break comes around. Cook’s made it for her, a rare treat, as she’s usually in charge of it. It’s piping hot and very sweet, the kind of cup of tea that fixes everything. They take it out in the courtyard, on a little rickety wooden table soaked through by the previous night’s rain, instead of standing by the back door like they usually do.

Cook takes out her pipe and lights it, alternating blowing big puffs of smoke and sipping her tea. The women stay silent, looking around at the Bridgerton’s garden through a small gap in the gate while a duck and two chickens circle them for crumbs.

Mr Colpher and his boys have done a wonderful job. The grass, the trees, the flowers all look as beautiful as they could be in the autumn colours.

Kit cranes her neck to see more, attracted by voices out in the garden. It’s the Viscount and Daphne, running around with their younger siblings, playing a game Kit doesn’t know. She looks on for a few more minutes until she’s rudely interrupted by the duck. Kit catches him, beak in her pocket, pulling out her handkerchief which she had wrapped around a leftover piece of bread.

“Oh go on, leave me be!” She tells him, “I'll turn you into a roast if you don’t mind your manners!”

Cook chuckles but Kit, unamused, bends down to pick her handkerchief out of a muddy puddle. She picks up the bread too, but throws it away as far as she can to spite the duck.

A few minutes later, Cook stands up, signalling that the break is over and they must return to work. Kit follows suit, energised by the tea and sugar.

When they walk in, Andrew is waiting for them.

“Ladies,” he says, with a dashing smile, sitting back on a chair, his boots on the dinner table, “Looking wonderful, as always.”

“Are you pestering the scullery maid, Mr Fitzwilliam?” Kit asks with a grin, “Feet off, I don’t want to eat whatever you traipsed on here.”

Andrew puts on a look of shock, ignoring her remark about his boots but sitting properly all the same, “Now Kit darling, you know my heart only beats for you,” he says, dramatically placing a hand over his heart, “Say, Cook, mind if I borrow your kitchen maid for just a flash?”

“Only for a flash, Andrew,” Cook says, sternly shaking a finger at him. Andrew stands, knowing that Cook’s soft spot for him means he’ll face absolutely no repercussions for not keeping his word.

Andrew leads Kit back outside and leans against the wall, fishing a pack of cigarettes out of his coat jacket. He lights one, then offers it to Kit, who refuses.

“Bridgerton asked about you,” he says, meaning Benedict, “Asked if I knew you. If you had a special someone,” he continues with a grin, “If you were always so stern.”

“And what did you say?” Kit asks, stomach in a knot for reasons she can’t quite place a finger on.

“I said you had a fiancé,” Andrew shrugs.

“Whyever would you say that?”

“What? Wanted me to tell him you were single?” Andrew laughs, “I thought you’d appreciate me shutting the questioning down.”

Kit sighs, “I suppose I should thank you.”

“Kit,” Andrew says, pushing himself off the wall, “He’s charming and he’s nice, I’ll give you that. But he’s looking to marry well so he can sustain the art career he desperately wants. I don’t want to see you hurt,” he says, putting both hands on her shoulders, “Besides, if Graves finds out, he’ll let you go and I don’t need to warn you of the trouble you’ll have finding somewhere else to work.”

Kit shakes him off, pulling the cigarette out of his mouth and dropping it on the floor. She stomps on it with her foot until it’s thoroughly covered in mud and animal waste.

Andrew grins, “I don’t want to lose my best girl,” he says, “No one makes a cake quite like she does.”

Kit smiles, “Flattery will get you everywhere.”

“Will it get me a date?”

“Sure,” Kit grinned, “Why not, since you asked so sweetly. Where are you taking me?”

Andrew stands there, dumbfounded for a moment, “I thought you would refuse me. I hadn’t thought that far ahead.”

She laughs, and he smiles, a blush spreading over his cheeks, “You better take me somewhere nice, Mr Fitzwilliam. After all, you are competing with a Bridgerton. Apparently…”

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