#benedict bridgerton reader insert

[peterpparkrr]

Unwritten - Epilogue: Northanger Abbey | A Bridgerton Series

Series: Unwritten

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: Eloise and Violet are both surprised by unexpected gestures. The married couple enjoy some marital bliss.

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: pregnancy, children, mentions of childbirth

A/N: This is unmitigated fluff. I know I said it when I posted the last chapter, but thank you so much for the love this series has gotten! I hope you enjoy this little glimpse into their lives. 

previous chapter // series masterlist

“I can’t believe you married my brother,” Eloise grumbled from the chair across from you. 

“Eloise, we got married three years ago, you’re going to have to get used to it eventually,” You reply with a wry smile as Benedict who’s hovering nearby lets out a slight (and ungentlemanly) snort. 

“Yeah, but knowing you gave birth to his child is dredging it all up again,” Eloise groans in annoyance as she pushes herself against the back of her chair, slumping down. 

“You can hold her if you’d like,” You offer from the bed as you hold the baby currently nestled into your chest out towards Eloise.

“Oh,” Eloise says in surprise as she looks at the baby with caution and mild suspicion.

“You are her godmother, you’re gonna have to spend time with her eventually,” You point out with amusement as you continue to hold your child aloft, gesturing with your eyebrows to get Eloise to take her into her own arms.

Eloise shakes her head almost imperceptibly. “Can’t I just wait until she’s old enough to read?-” She starts to ask before Ben has moved to the other side of the bed and takes the child from your arms before promptly depositing her into Eloise's arms.

“Oh!” Eloise exclaims as she looks down at the baby now resting against her. 

“Viola Eloise Bridgerton is going to take after her aunt, I can already tell,” You tell her with a wide grin as you look over at the pair. Benedict mirrors your grin with one of his own as he looks down at his sister and daughter. 

“You.. you named her after me?” Eloise asks after a beat as she looks up at the pair of you in shock.

“Of course we did,” Benedict replies simply, as if it was obvious. And for the two of you, there was no other option. No one had been there for either of you as much as El had been. 

Even though she didn’t love that you had married your brother, she had remained your best friend, and was the first person to read anything that you wrote. Which still, three years into your marriage, bugged Benedict more than he wanted to let on. But she was the person you trusted with your words more than anyone else. 

And you wanted her to know that you trusted her with your daughter in much the same way.

“Well, that is…” Eloise trailed off as you heard her voice hitch slightly as she looked down at her little goddaughter. 

“Completely unnecessary! I’m already her godmother!” Eloise practically shouts as she abruptly stands and thrusts Viola back into Ben’s arms with a huff before leaving the room.

“Are you certain it isn’t too late to name her after one of my more stable sisters?” Ben asks as the pair of you silently watch Eloise leave, used to her antics.

“It’s a middle name, she’ll be fine,” You reply as you wave your hand weakly in a dismissive motion.

“Well, we do make excellent children, darling,” Ben tells you, pressing his lips to your temple as he sits down on the edge of the bed beside you as he readjusts Viola in his arms to help her settle. “Perhaps we should get started on another?”

“Slow your horses,” You reply as you shift yourself slowly and gingerly to make room for Benedict to join you fully on the bed. “I just gave birth, you ridiculous and insatiable man,” You reply with a grin.

“Only for you,” He replies as he presses a kiss this time to your mouth, “And the moment the doctor clears it I’m going to show you just how insatiable I am.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t help but smile at your husband's antics. It does boost your ego slightly to know that your husband still wants you in your current state. 

Your maid helped wash most of the sweat (and other things) off your body, but after spending the entire night before in labor it was hard to feel anything less than exhausted. As happy as you are to have a healthy daughter, the toll of the whole ordeal left you nearly completely drained.

“Are you all still awake?” A voice called from outside the door.

“Of course, Violet, come in,” You call out as you push Benedict off the bed and away from you with as much strength as you can muster.

Ben’s mother enters the room and immediately breaks out into a wide smile at the sight of the three of you.

“Would you like to meet your granddaughter?” Benedict asks her as he moves towards his mother and places your child in her grandmother’s arms. 

“Oh, she’s perfect,” Violet cooed softly as she looked down at her granddaughter. “Have you decided on a name?”

“Viola Eloise,” You tell her with a shy smile.

“Viola?” She asks, looking up from the baby at her son and daughter-in-law with surprise.

“From Twelfth Night, I couldn’t help it. But also for you,” You explain. “You have always been so kind to me, and such a wonderful mother to Ben.”

“We thought it was fitting,” Ben tells his mother. “You’ve always supported us, even when no one would have expected you to.”

“You love each other, that’s all I could ever dream of for my children,” Violet tells the couple, tears already beginning to brim in her eyes. “And now you’ve given me a beautiful, healthy granddaughter,” She adds as she looks down at little Viola. “I think I’m the lucky one.”

“I love you,” Benedict murmured against your hair as you laid in bed that evening. 

You were both exhausted, after the sleepless night before you had each only managed a few hours of sleep during the day, taking turns whilst the other spent time with your new arrival.

But now that it was bedtime, neither one of you wanted to fall asleep. 

“I love you,” You reply, pressing yourself against your husband gently.

“Look at our family,” Ben whispers as he looks across the room at the crib. “It’s perfect.”

You nod in agreement. 

“Ben?” You ask after a moment.

“Hmm?” He hummed.

“Could you grab me some paper?”

“Are you serious? You just gave birth,” Ben replies as he sits up in bed, propping himself up on one elbow as he stares down in disbelief at your sheepish face.

“This morning,” You argue. “That was ages ago.” 

“You are a madwoman,” He mutters as he pushes himself out of bed reluctantly and makes his way over to your desk. 

When he returns with paper, a quill and ink, and your little lap desk you kiss him soundly when he places the desk across your middle as you move to sit up against the pillows.

“Thank you, my love,” You tell him as you uncap your inkwell and dip your quill in as you situate a fresh piece of paper.

“What has inspired you?” Ben asks curiously as he nestles into bed beside you again. 

You silently pick up your quill and start scratching at the paper in a flurry of action. 

Ben waits silently, patiently, as you sketch out your first immediate thoughts, knowing you’ll answer his question once you’ve finished writing.

 “I want to write something for Viola,” You finally explain once you have your immediate thoughts down on the paper, confident that you won’t forget any of your ideas. “A book about our family so that she’ll always know how much love we have for her.”

“And you say I’m the romantic,” Benedict replies with a smirk as he watches you continue to write, never looking away from the paper.

“Perhaps you’re rubbing off on me,” You reply with a small smile as you finally turn your head back to him and see him already grinning at you. You smile back and allow your free hand to fall back to the bed, intertwining your fingers with his, squeezing slightly. 

“When I’m done would you like to read it?”

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[murdockparker]

Expectations

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: While the honeymoon may be well and over, the new Mrs. Bridgerton has yet to make her presence in the ton since the wedding. Anxious as ever, she listens to her husband and gives it a go.

Word Count: 4k

Warnings: mentions of pregnancy, reader is not pregnant, reader does not wish to be a mother, illusions to sex but no smut, drinking and drunkenness, fluffy fluff

A/N: Given the setting and time period, not wanting children is rather taboo, I feel. But not everyone wishes to be a mom and that's okay! I hope I did Benedict (and reader!!) justice!

__

On a far too quiet night in London, candles were beginning to grow short, along with the patience of a newly made missus.

“Must I go tomorrow?” (Y/N) sighed, turning to face her husband in earnest, placing her hairbrush on the vanity. 

“And possibly insult Lady Danbury again this season?” Benedict scoffed, looking up from his sketchbook. He had been making good on his earlier promise of the eve, giving his wife a worthwhile portrait. He had already made countless, of course, but this one was to be the best yet. “Darling you cannot keep avoiding her forever."

“Here I thought that was a Bridgerton specialty,” (Y/N) hummed, turning back to her mirror, keen to note Benedict’s crooked smirk in the reflection. “But if you insist that I cut our honeymoon short—”

“You know better than I that our honeymoon is well and over,” Benedict said, suddenly at his wife’s side, hands growing restless on her shoulders. “As much as it pains me to admit, and it does, truly, the rest of the ton is far too eager to make the newest Mrs. Bridgertons acquaintance.”

Kisses were peppered down her neck, just below her ear, warm and sticky enough to halt her thinking. “Life was much easier in the country,” she reminisced fondly. The lady was unsure if the fact her husband was making dutiful work on her skin was clouding her judgment, but her mind yearned for the weeks they had spent in bed, alone and carefree. “No need for this… fodder.”

“Ah to be a woman in the season,” Benedict jested, brushing her hair aside. “But I do think it’s a right idea to go to the soiree. If it makes you feel better, I do believe the duchess is planning to attend.”

(Y/N) groaned, pushing Benedict away. “Just as you begin to seduce your wife you find it fair to mention your younger sister?” 

He could only laugh. “I was unaware I was seducing my wife, I merely thought I was helping with her hair.”

“And the fine work on my neck was helpful... how?”

His fingers brushed through her hair again, slowly, deliberately. “Well, considering I was partially to blame for it’s unruliness, I figured I could only offer my services. I fear it came across as unhelpful.”

She fought back a grin. “I will go to Lady Danbury’s soiree,” (Y/N) said, looking Benedict in the eyes through the mirror. “But only if you promise to assist with the rest of my… hair.”

“What kind of a husband would I be if I refused?”

—

The carriage ride was as uneventful as she could have imagined. Not only did she loathe the rocking of the cab, but to not have Benedict’s company across from her—or under her—made the entire ordeal less appealing. Still, she persisted through the boredom and arrived to Danbury House, fashionably on time. 

“Mrs. Bridgerton,” Lady Danbury greeted, flicking her cane towards the not-so-new bride. “How lovely you managed to pry yourself from your cottage in the country and rejoin proper society.”

“Lady Danbury,” (Y/N) bowed, smiling as politely as she could. “You think little of me, I would never dare to miss one of your illustrious eves. My mother always spoke fondly of them—as truthful as she decided to be with me, that is.”

“A shame your mother isn’t joining us, those nasty headaches of hers will surely do her in.”

“Father sent for a tea from France,” (Y/N) recalled from her last correspondence with her parents. “I believe it was a recommendation from you, if I am not mistaken?”

“Your parents would do well from listening to me from time to time, I should hope you take the same advice,” Lady Danbury smiled, looking directly at (Y/N), gaze narrowing. “Do enjoy yourself tonight, dear. One tends to forget oneself whilst in a marriage.”

A footman ushered her into the great hall, handfuls of married women of the ton flocked to the walls, drinks already in hand. A few familiar faces flitted her memory as she walked past. Lady Green and Mrs. Harrison, both far too eager to set her up with their respective sons in the last season, smiled kindly as she nodded towards them. Dowager Countess Fairbanks was eagerly replacing her empty glass with another, the loss of Earl Fairbanks was still fresh in the public eye, it seemed. Then, there was Lady Kent, smoking away in the corner, grateful no men were around to stop such nonsense.

“Mrs. Bridgerton! I did not expect to see you here!”

(Y/N) turned to the cheery voice, belonging only to the Duchess Hastings herself.

“Your Grace,” (Y/N) smirked, addressing her sister-in-law properly.

“Daphne,” the duchess corrected, as she had many a time during (Y/N)’s courtship with Benedict. “I must say, I hardly think anyone expected your presence tonight. Surely my brother couldn’t have found it in himself to allow you to escape for the evening easily.”

“I shall spare you the sordid details of my trickery,” (Y/N) said with a murmur, her voice laced with a secret. “Considering they involve your brother and whatever little clothing he possessed.”

“Oh please,” Daphne waved. “You are married, I hardly think it is much to guess you and Benedict have been in such a state thus far.”

“If I may be so honest,” (Y/N) giggled, accepting a flute of a bubbly drink from a server, “he was the one who begged me to attend this evening. I was more of the mind to stay in and continue to enjoy our library here in London.”

“I did not know Benedict’s bachelor lodgings possessed a library.”

“They did not, which is why we purchased a new estate not too far from your Mama’s,” (Y/N) said with a smile. “‘Bachelor no more’, I believe were his exact words when he showed me the deed. It’s quite a lovely place. If I did not prefer the country so much I think I would like to stay here year-round.”

“I expect an invitation for tea sometime, then,” Daphne cooed, clearly overjoyed at her new sister’s happiness. “I assume there’s an adequate number of rooms?”

“Enough for a proper studio for Benedict’s leisure, a modest library for myself, an enchanting dining room and…” Her glass raised to her lips nervously. “I believe that to be all.”

“No nursery, then?”

“You Bridgertons and baby-rearing,” (Y/N) said, nearly sputtering her drink. “I say, you’re already on baby three, is that not correct?”

Daphne nearly radiated with joy at the mere mention of her children—a doting mother in every regard. “Oh yes, number three will be joining us in due time,” her hand grazing over her apparent bump. “But I believe you neglected to answer my question.”

“I think I am in need of far more drink to even entertain the question, dear sister,” (Y/N) downed the rest of her drink, hoping the dim lighting did an adequate job hiding her growing flush. 

“Very well,” Daphne conceded, still holding her small bump as if it were the most precious thing in the world. “I believe Kate has begun in the game room if you wish to join me in finding her?”

“Spending my night with my darling new sisters? Without my husband or your brothers to muck up our conversations and vex us? I must say, that might be your best idea yet, Your Grace. 

The duchess merely laughed as she led present company into the ballroom—now outfitted with many tables to accommodate the games of the night’s festivities. (Y/N)’s eyes went wide, clearly taken aback by the sheer sight of it all. Wives and widows alike, smoking and drinking over every inch of the transformed ballroom.

“I can’t imagine how you’ve managed to come to many of these things,” she shuddered in awe, leaning closer to Daphne.

“I haven’t,” Daphne said truthfully. “I’m usually back at Clyvedon with my family, it just so happens I’m in town on other business this go around to not ignore Lady Danbury.”

While it was difficult to get the Bridgertons all under one roof—with each new marriage and child that task became even more daunting—the brood did get together recently to celebrate the christening of both Edmund and Belinda. Anthony’s first and Daphne’s second. It wasn’t much of a shock that Daphne shared the news of a third Basset at the christening, either.

“Regardless,” (Y/N) took her place at a game table, sitting beside the duchess. “I’d much appreciate the evening to move swiftly, lest I spend more time away from home than I need.”

“Eager to get back in the bedroom with Benedict?”

The new Viscountess Bridgerton, Kate, spoke up behind the ladies as she took it upon herself to be seated next to her sisters.

“I was thinking more along the lines of his study,” (Y/N) hummed, feeling herself grow warm with honesty. “Perhaps our library? We do have a handful of new rooms to enjoy and christen, I think.”

“I recall making a similar promise to Anthony after our honeymoon,” Kate reminisced, smiling wickedly. “Makes me miss such a time in my marriage.”

“Miss a time?” (Y/N) laughed, accepting a drink from a roaming server. “You and Anthony only have been wed a bit over a year. Surely the flame has not died out?”

“No, no, not died out,” Kate quickly corrected. “It’s just, now with Edmund in our care, our flame has dimmed a bit—exhaustion keeps us both at bay to get at it like we once did.”

“Simon and I had a similar take after Amelia and Belinda,” Daphne chimed in. 

“Yet here you are, awaiting your third child in three years,” Kate barked with laughter.

“As you said, sister,” Daphne sipped her lemonade, “it merely dimmed.”

If her face had blanched, the dim lighting of the game room had the entire part of disguising her discomfort at the idea—the mere idea that her want for Benedict could possibly wane. 

“Dimmed,” (Y/N) repeated. 

“Say, it’s been a few months since your wedding,” Kate noted, “do you and Benedict have plans for children soon? I expect with your new house a nursery is just begging to be filled.”

A polite laugh escaped her lips, humor long forgotten. “We haven’t much discussed the matter of children.”

“Oh, come off it!” Kate admonished. “Surely you and your husband want to aid in the Bridgerton grandchildren numbers? I recall Anthony mentioning an old wager between them on who would have the most children."

“A wager—you’re not serious?” 

“Oh, that was merely a jest between brothers, I’m sure,” Daphne said, placing her steady hand on (Y/N)’s. Even in the candlelight, she could tell her newest sister-in-law was having no part in this conversation. “And knowing my brothers, it cannot be held to any regard.”

“Anthony seemed serious enough about it when I was carrying Edmund,” Kate shrugged. “No matter! We are here to play cards, yes?”

It was hard to pay attention to the game at hand—literally. With doubt and endless thoughts swimming through the new Mrs Bridgerton’s head, her glass never emptied and her mind never ceased. She won a sizable amount of money somehow—Daphne mumbled something along the lines of ‘rotten cards’ as she pushed the notes and coins to (Y/N)’s pot. 

“You’re sure you do not wish to spend the night here?” Lady Danbury offered much later in the evening, just as nearly every guest had left. Only the Bridgerton ladies remained. “I can have a guest room made up in a blink.”

“Ben will be anxious for my arrival,” (Y/N) slurred, trying to remain upright. “I shan’t keep him waiting.”

“I thought we intercepted enough of her drinks,” Daphne whispered, words only meant for Kate.

“She must have snuck a few on her way to the chamberpot,” the viscountess realized, albeit a bit too late. 

“I can handle my drinks just fine,” (Y/N) said, trying to cross her arms. It only took her two attempts. “Honestly, I just want to get home to my husband, thank you.”

“I will ride with her to her estate,” Daphne offered, already getting in (Y/N)’s carriage. “My carriage will follow close behind and I will retreat as soon as I see her enter her home safely.”

“What a good sister you are,” (Y/N) cooed, hand cupping Daphne’s face lovingly. “I wish I had a sister like you.”

“If you remember anything, let it be this, please just write to me in the morning,” Kate sighed, giving up hope on the cause. “Lest you want an angry visit from me tomorrow after you break your fast.”

“Get home safe,” (Y/N) listed, “write to Kate, do not make her angry. I think I got it.”

“Perhaps we should pin a note to her dress?” Lady Danbury laughed.

“I shall tell one of the maids to remind her,” Daphne said. “So she has no excuse.”

“You lot are being awfully nice to me,” (Y/N) said, stepping up into the carriage. The footmen were doing most of the work. “Nicer than I deserve right about now.”

“You’re family,” Kate said simply. “Besides, I reckon we have a part to play on just how much you’ve drank…”

“Quite,” Daphne nodded. (Y/N) began to look rather green. “Lady Danbury, I don’t suppose you have a pot or vase you don’t care much about?”

Wordlessly, a butler came running, holding a rather ornate bowl in his hands. After passing it off to the duchess, (Y/N) took it quickly and held it close to her head. 

“Do make sure Mrs. Bridgerton cleans it thoroughly before returning it.”

—

The sunlight hurt. 

In all of her years on this planet, the sunlight had never hurt as much as it did in this moment. A errant afternoon in the park, perhaps, leaving her skin a tad bit warm to the touch, but never did it sting like this.

“Ah, you’re awake,” Benedict sighed, walking over to her side of the bed. When had she gotten in bed?

“Unfortunately,” (Y/N) groaned, somehow managing to pull herself up to be seated. Her husband—doting as he was—had a tray of food and a pitcher of water waiting for her. “What’s this?”

“Charcoal,” Benedict tried his best to make it sound appetizing. By the look on his wife’s face, it had failed. “I had Cook mix it with some marmalade on bread to help with the taste. You need to sop up the booze somehow, love.”

“I didn’t drink that much,” (Y/N) lied, knowing full well she couldn’t fool even herself with it.

“I have never seen you in such a state,” Benedict nearly whispered, setting the silver tray on her lap. “I already sent correspondence to Daphne to thank her for insuring you got home safely.”

She took a hesitant bite of the bread. It wasn’t as awful as she imagined. Left much to be desired, sure, but it would do the job.

“I sent to Kate,” Benedict continued. “Told her you would meet her for tea later this week, as you obviously needed your sleep this morning.”

Another bite of the bread managed to go down before she reached for the glass of water in Benedict’s hand. “Thank you for that.”

“I’m still at a loss, however,” Benedict sighed. “What exactly went on at Danbury House?”

“I believe I need far more charcoal bread to entertain that conversation.”

“(Y/N).”

“It was a ladies night,” she chewed, trying her best to swallow her bite. “I cannot share what lewd gossip possibly came from it.”

He didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, beginning to wring his wrists mindlessly as he searched for the correct words to say. She hadn’t seen him do it since the day he proposed. Benedict Bridgerton was anxious.

“You said something, last night,” he finally confessed.

“I reckon I said a lot last night,” (Y/N) laughed lightly, polishing off her unfortunate breakfast.

“As I was trying to get you into bed, you kept mumbling a bunch of incoherent nonsense,” Benedict smirked lightly, “most of it made me laugh.”

“Glad to be a never-ending source of your entertainment.”

“You mentioned something about a baby.”

She didn’t dare look up at him.

“A few times, actually,” Benedict said. “Now, I don’t know what came of it, perhaps Daphne’s new addition sparked such an interest or you are with child now but—”

“But you wish for a baby,” (Y/N) finished for him, clasping her hands together. “Soon, yes?”

“What?”

“You purchased a new estate,” her hand motioned to their large bedchamber, “with various new rooms to fill with Bridgerton babies. A nursery already set up by our staff is only just down the hall. It’s only natural you expect that of me, given our honeymoon is over.”

“I bought our new home because my bachelor lodgings had nothing you loved,” Benedict corrected. “You yourself said you wished for an extensive library—I merely acted on those wishes.”

“Everyone expects us to have a baby soon,” (Y/N) groans, head in her hands. “All night I kept getting bombarded with questions and speculations about it! Most of it came from my very own family! Sure, I can handle a bit of gossiping from ladies who have nothing better to talk about, but my new family?”

“I had no idea—”

“It was the sole reason I had no desire to go last eve!” (Y/N) finally shouted, as if she meant to reach the heavens. “I know what is expected of me as a wife but what if—what if I don’t wish for that?”

“You do not wish for children?”

“No!” (Y/N) shook her head. “Well, maybe? Augh! I do not know!”

Benedict’s weight shifted on the bed, having now sat by his wife’s legs. “You do not need to know.”

“Of course I do,” she gasped. “I was raised for two things—to marry a respectable man and to have his respectable babies. One of those things I accomplished without much of a second thought—” 

“I’m glad you thought so little about marrying me,” Benedict jested.

“That is not what I meant and you know it.”

“It made you smile, so I think the comment was well worth it.”

It had made her smile, she realized. The near-permanent frown of the morning seemed to have eased away with her husband’s jest.

“Every time someone asked me about it,” (Y/N) finally admitted, “I found another drink to drown myself in. I don’t believe anyone but perhaps Daphne really saw what was happening.”

“Does the idea of children really cause you such anguish?”

“It’s just—we’re so happy now,” (Y/N) took Benedict’s hand in her own. “I don’t want to muck up the joy and elation we have in each other by bringing a baby into the mix so soon.”

“We never really spoke on the topic,” Benedict said. “In our courtship, I mean. Usually a topic such as that one finds its way onto the stage, but somehow we evaded it.”

She held her breath.

“Truth be told, I never really gave children much of a thought, if at all,” Benedict chuckled, “far too interested in other pursuits. But, that’s not to say such a topic hasn’t been on my mind of late.”

“Has it?”

“Well, with my new nieces and nephew running around—crawling, I suppose—it may have sparked interest in me, yes,” Benedict looked directly at his wife. “But, for all intents and purposes, having a child requires two people and if you have any hesitancy in the topic—no matter little or seemingly small—I do not wish to further the endeavor.”

“What if I am never ready?” Her voice was small, the sound nearly dissolving against the down of the bedding.

“Then we will live a perfectly happy life regardless. You with your books and me with my paint,” Benedict squeezed her hand. Full of love, full of support. “More importantly, we will live such a happy life together.”

Perhaps it was the headache, or the pain from the bright morning sun, but (Y/N) felt the tears she had been holding back finally spill down her cheeks. Without even a second thought, Benedict pulled her into his arms and allowed her to cry, rubbing her back with thoughtful circles. He had somehow already moved the tray out of the way, as if he was preparing for a reaction like this. He knew her too well, knew her better than anyone could ever plan to know her. This thought only made her cry harder.

“What did I do to deserve you?” (Y/N) asked no one in particular, sniffling as she tried to compose herself. 

“I rather think I should be asking you that,” Benedict said softly, kissing her brow.

“You truly do not care if I never decide to want children?” (Y/N) asked again, needing to hear her husband’s answer one more time.

“You could decide tomorrow and change your mind a hundred times and I will always be in your corner,” Benedict said seriously. “That is what a husband does. That is what I do for you.”

She smiled.

“Although, I will need to take special care in ensuring you do not become with child accidentally—we’ve been lucky thus far, but I do not consider myself much of a betting man…”

“Were the races last week an oversight, then?”

“Ah, but that was a sure thing,” Benedict snuggled her closer, “what was merely a point to best my brother ended up with us having a healthy amount of spending money! More paints and books in our possession. A win-win if I ever saw one.”

“Kate mentioned something last night,” (Y/N) tried her best to look up at Benedict, but his tight embrace made it difficult. “Something about a bet you and Anthony had regarding children?”

“Oh,” his cheeks flushed, “that.”

“So it is true?”

“In the sense we made such a bet? Yes,” Benedict nodded. “But we made that bet years ago—back when the only idea of us having children regarded heirs for the title, never fathoming we’d do it out of love.”

“What did you wager?”

Benedict smiled, finally pulling away from his wife to look at her directly. “Five pounds.”

“That is all?” She nearly shrieked with laughter. “With such a serious bet I truly would have thought you would have put more on the wager.”

“I suppose I am still expected to pay up one day,” Benedict said thoughtfully. “Perhaps I shall gift it to him on Edmund’s eighteenth birthday?”

She smiled at the thought. “I think that would make an excellent present.”

“Because even if we are to have any children,” Benedict continued, “and that is still very much up in the air, surely Anthony and Kate will be constantly going at it to rival my dear Mama for the title of most Bridgerton babes.”

“Giving him a win regardless,” (Y/N) said. “I believe you’re right.”

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel this way about children,” Benedict said, “I never want you to feel as if your voice does not matter. We are equals in this marriage—partners—in every sense of the word.”

“I may one day change my mind,” (Y/N) amended, choosing her words carefully. “But as of right now, I think we’re perfectly suited the way we are.”

“Well suited, indeed,” he agreed, pressing another kiss to her cheek. “But, I do think this morning calls for a bath—as much as I adore your natural musk, my love, I already had the staff begin to warm water up for you.”

She took a moment to sniff herself. She smelled of sick, smoke and booze. How Benedict was not repulsed was beyond her. “Oh. I suppose a bath is… ideal.”

He rose from the plush bed, outstretching his hand for his wife to take.

“A bath for two, I should mention,” he grinned wickedly. A grin she had loved from the minute she met him. A grin that made her feel wanted and safe, all in the same breath.

She took his hand.

#Benedict Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #Bridgerton #Bridgerton x Reader #reader insert #fluff #is this self indulgent? perhaps #I'm very much on the fence about children like reader is #children can be a blessing!! but not everyone wants one #anyway... enjoy!

[auroracalisto]

i was made for lovin' you

fem!plus size!reader, 2.4k words summary: the reader loves benedict bridgerton. when he dances the night away with her dear sister, she wonders if her love is perhaps... unrequited. a/n: my initial note for this fic was: i was the chubby unpopular insecure girl in school. i'm still the chubby girl. and i need fluff today. so that's what's gonna happen. i initially started writing this... last year. it's been over six months ago since i've touched this. the title is totally from the kiss song. tw: bodily description, vague description of anxiety, momentary insecurity, but it's brief!!

Curves adorned your body in a way that remained otherwise unknown to so many others. Thick thighs hid beneath layers of clothing. Your stomach pressed against the fabric of your top, threatening to squeeze the very essence of life out of you. But you stood there, discomfort climbing its way up your spine, threatening to call you out for being a fraud. You lived in peril, awaiting the blossoming of the flower of insecurity and fear.

No gentleman would ever look your way, even with the most expensive of clothing. Liquid gold could be dripping from your fingertips, and not one of the men in the 'ton would give you the time of day.

At least, that is what you told yourself. That is what you had believed since the time you could register the fact that you were the thicker girl.

And it's not that you hated your body. No, that was far from the truth. You had come to love yourself in your own way, trying your best to live with what the world had given you. But you knew men, and you knew the gentlemen of the 'ton. You were treated differently, just because of your size.

You were different.

But he never treated you as if there was something wrong with you. No, Benedict Bridgerton was your dearest friend, but you couldn't help but feel as if he never truly cared for you in the way that you cared for him.

The way that you loved him.

You had yet to properly talk to him, knowing his elder brother hosted the ball of the evening. It wouldn't surprise you if Benedict was busy entertaining other gentlemen—entertaining your sister, perhaps.

The clothing you wore that night was flattering, for the most part. You couldn't deny that. Your mother had chosen well for the ball, keeping your mind at bay. She had impeccable taste, regardless of the crude comments that so often left her rouge lips. But despite the clothing, despite the restricting fabric, you couldn't help but watch and feel less than others around you.

Especially when you knew the man you favored was out there, fawning over your sister (not even liquid gold would work in her favor—she merely needed to raise a finger, and men would fall to her feet, begging for a chance to be hers).

The beautiful women who danced passed you, hand in hand with a suitor or with a dear gentleman. Their dance cards were nearly filled at this point. The stunning men wore beautifully tailored suits, sending smiles and small nods to those they spoke with. Well-rounded pencils would need to be sharpened before too long.

You stuck out like a sore thumb in the corner of the ballroom, drawing imaginary attention right to your very soul.

Your dance card rested in the palm of your hand, not a single gentleman's name residing on it. Like many balls before, suitors avoided you—or perhaps, you avoided them. Staying in your safety corner seemed to be the best bet, but you knew it would catch up to you (eventually).

There wasn’t a possibility for a suitor to come to you, unless he wanted whispers to be spread. You were an outcast.

You made yourself an outcast. But perhaps our worst enemy came from our very own minds, taunting us and keeping those we love far, far away.

Had you been your elegant sister, dancing the night away with the handsome Bridgerton boy amongst many other men, maybe you would have felt more comfortable.

Her card was completely filled, and now, she milled around with her friends, looking for a gentleman to speak with. The season wouldn't last forever.

And you knew it.

The season would be over in a heartbeat, and you would be left without a single name on your dance card.

How incredibly frustrating. You knew you were beautiful. You knew you had a grand personality, fit for that of a gentleman. You were smart and intelligent and you knew how to do so many things.

But standing here, you felt as if your clothing was choking you to the point of no return. It didn't matter that you could read a book in a day, or recite your favorite poetry. It didn't matter that you learned to cook from your favorite maid, or that you could write a piece of prose so beautifully it brought tears to your delicate sister's eyes.

Warmth flooded throughout your body. You hesitantly pulled up the fabric of your skirts and made your way to the crowd, finding the cool night in an instant. The chill of the breeze cooled you down the best it could, but it could only do so much for the roaring fire in your mind.

Your mother would surely have yet another snide comment about the fact that she did all this work just for you to avoid the crowd. Your father would listen silently, but you knew he agreed. He always did.

Your sister would yet again set on a suitor, her beauty and gracefulness the only blessing upon your family. She would be set for life while you die a lowly spinster.

Maybe she would bless you with a quaint cottage of your own. She'd be able to marry the richest man in the 'ton, if she was so pleased to say yes.

You walked closer to the fountain that sat in the middle of the courtyard, eyes closing as you came to a stop. The chatter and music from the manor wafted in the air, and the smell of freshly trimmed grass plagued your nose. Goosebumps appeared on your skin as the air around you only seemed to get cooler. Perhaps outside wasn't your best decision, but anything was better than the scrutiny of roaming eyes.

Solitude found you best, creativity striking you when you were all alone—most of the time. Today, it only brought you a fraction of the comfort you sought.

Despite your indiscretion, you weren't alone for very long.

"Lady L/n?" a voice came from behind you.

Your eyes shot open and you looked over your shoulder.

Benedict Bridgerton.

He had danced with your sister nearly three dances ago—you hadn't seen him since then.

He sent you a soft smile, relaxing when he saw you.

"May I ask what you're doing out here all alone?"

"I could ask you the same thing," you said. "Sir Bridgerton."

His smile only grew.

The two of you had known each other far longer than you would ever admit, and every time you saw him reminded you of why you fell for him to begin with. But he belonged with someone else—he would be good for them, and marrying into a family of money would secure the safety of the woman's future and her family's future.

You would take what you could get, even if it meant waiting until your father made you a match… if even he could manage such a feat. He quite hated the idea of society. It was your mother who pushed him into the world, making him do good by the ‘ton and his family name.

Benedict deserved someone good—someone who would boost his status in society, and always be there to love and care for him.

Many weren't so lucky with their marriages (your mother and father, for example).

"That's no way to talk to a gentleman, now is it? Whatever would your dear mother say if she were to find out how you speak to me?" he asked, feigning offense as he placed a hand over his chest.

"Trust me," you said, turning to face him with a soft smile. "I promise she will find little problem with it when she knows you are on Katherine's card."

"Hm," he tilted his head as he watched you. "And who have you danced with, Lady Y/n? I have yet to see you out on the dance floor tonight, and now I find you all alone. It feels as if autumn is already upon us. Surely you don't want to catch a cold as well?"

"I have danced with no one," you said, looking back at the fountain. "And you surely shouldn't be here with me, alone. Quite a scandal you'd create for your sister to cover up."

"Is that not why she is the Duchess? So I can create whatever scandal I dream of?"

You could practically hear the smug smile on his face, but you didn't turn to face him. Your arms hesitantly wrapped around your torso as you continued to stare at the flowing water.

"Y/n?" he softly spoke, coming to stand beside you. "Are you alright?"

His hand touched your cold arm and you immediately pulled away.

"Should you not be back inside with Katherine?" you asked. "It will be quite a scandal if you were to be out here with me."

He furrowed his eyebrows. "What is with you and scandals? Nothing of the sort will happen. I'd much rather spend the rest of the evening with you."

You frowned. "If you must, perhaps we should return inside. You should sign my dance card to keep my mother from asking questions."

"I would do so, gladly, Y/n, but I did not think you wanted me to do so," he said, eyebrows furrowed as he spoke.

"Why wouldn't I want you to?" you began, averting your gaze. "You know me better than I know myself."

He tilted his head curiously. "I do believe there are things I've yet to acquire," he said, gently taking your hand as he spoke. This time, you didn't pull away. "Whatever is the matter?"

"You are a dear friend, Benedict," you said. "I would never want to do something to put our friendship in jeopardy."

"Perhaps you will if you continue alluding me so. I asked you a question, my Lady."

A beat passes, the music coming from inside becoming light and jovial for the newest dance. Your sister was already dancing with another, enjoying herself and smiling all the while. Not that you could see.

"Y/n, please," he said, voice barely above a whisper—defeated, one could safely say.

"I care for you," you said. "If—if my sister is what you want, if she will make you happy, then by all means, you have my blessing."

He blinked slowly at you, lips parting to speak, but you speak first.

"I understand why you care for her so. She is beautiful, and she will be an excellent wife. She is so unlike me. She... she will make you so unbelievably happy, Benedict."

"Wait."

His fingers laced with your gloved hand as he gently pressed his other to the side of your face, making you look at him.

"Where is this coming from?" he asked, allowing his hand to drop. "Who said... who said I was interested in her?"

"No one. Nothing needed to be said for me to assume. Did I assume correctly, Lord Bridgerton?"

He chuckled softly, tilting his head as he watched you. "Not at all, my dear," he said. "You are so far from the truth that it is quite... comical."

"Comical?" you blurted, looking up at him in disbelief.

"Your sister was... helping me. I had planned to ask you in such a grand manner that I needed some assistance. Perhaps her planning skills would be far superior to mine when it comes to an event such as... well..."

"An event? What—what have you been planning, Benedict?"

His eyes softened. Were you blind? Or had he been so secretive with his feelings for you that you remained oblivious to the fact that he loved you more than life itself?

"Benedict, please," you said. "We do not have all night. They will notice we have left the party, soon enough."

"I wanted to know what would be best to ask you," he said.

"Ask me what?"

"To marry me, Y/n."

Time stood still. Big eyes stared up at him in disbelief, lips parted as you swam in an ocean of words, but nothing broke the surface. Was he serious?

"Benedict—"

"—will you marry me, Y/n?"

"I—"

"—I had planned on asking you soon, with flowers and a ring, and perhaps a grand occasion so the gentlemen knew you were taken, but—"

"—Benedict..."

He looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed. You were going to say no. He could see it in your eyes.

"You want to marry me?" you asked, hand holding onto his. "You... do you... I care for you, deeply, Benedict."

"And I, you, Y/n."

You searched his eyes for a sign—for an answer, perhaps. You had dreamed of this night for so long, and here it was, front and center. He cared for you. He wanted to marry you.

"I will," you said.

He released a breath, suddenly pulling you into his arms. You said you would. Yes. The answer was yes. Benedict would marry his best friend.

Benedict fought the urge to kiss you, despite knowing you would allow him.

“Let us return,” he softly said. “Perhaps you should inform your mother of your latest rendezvous.”

Your eyes widened a bit.

“Of course, I will be with you. Wouldn’t she enjoy seeing that?”

Your lips spread into a soft smile. “Yes. She would.”

Benedict took your hand and led you back to the porch. No one else stood outside.

“I will return first,” he softly said. “I will find your sister, and then, I will come and find you.”

“Oh, you do not want a scandal, dear Benedict?” you asked, a grin forming.

His eyes hardened as he looked back at you. “Would you like a scandal, Lady Y/n?” His voice betrayed the look he gave you, and instantly, his hard look dissolved into a smile. “Allow me to return. We will have enough gossip to go around once the news has broke in the ‘ton.” He took your hand again and pressed a kiss to your gloved knuckles. “Until we meet again.”

“I will see you inside,” you said, smiling all the while.

Benedict left you, and you waited merely a few minutes before you returned. You remained blissfully ignored, and for once, you appreciated the fact. You found your mother in an instant, and only when Benedict found you again did you tell her the news.

#benedict #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #chubby reader #fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #y/n #use of y/n #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fanfiction

[mordredisacoolname]

BRIDGERTON BROS FALLING FOR A MALE READER

Male reader

HEADCANONS

Characters: Anthony, Benedict, Colin

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

Anthony

-this boy is in DENIAL

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

-he's so doomed

-you were very tight before

-spent every day together

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

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

-you don't understand why

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

-so you think you did something wrong

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

-he is jealous of every man you talk to

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

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

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

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

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

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

-anthony steps closer to you starting intensely at your eyes

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

Benedict

-he first meets you in an art class

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

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

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

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

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

-he spends the leading days thinking about you

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

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

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

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

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

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

-"so, what do you think"

-"this is amazing" you tell him

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

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

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

-he smirks looking into your eyes

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

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

Colin

-you're a featherington relative visiting your family

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

-you arrive together at the ball, all dressed up

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

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

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

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

-"the famous bridgerton, what a pleasure"

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

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

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

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

-he's absolutely smitten

-your voice, your smile, everything

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

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

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

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

-except he does focus, just not on the game

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

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

-his heart sinks

-"what?"

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

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

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

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

-"is everything well Colin?"

-"don't go, stay here"

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

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

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

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

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

[thetalkoftheton]

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

Benedict: What did you do?

Anthony: Nothing!

Y/N: Anthony Bridgerton!

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

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

[thebadgerclan]

Pining

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by Anonymous

Summary: Benedict is happy to pine from afar, until...

Benedict had never held such affections for a woman, not before he met you.  It had been an ordinary night that Benedict had decided to spend at Granvil’s place downtown.  Said place happened to be a brothel, but he never partook in the more carnal activities.  Instead, he spoke to like minded individuals about the art world, the pieces they were working on, or busied himself painting whatever model was posing that evening.

Then, he’d met you, and the world tipped on its axis.  You were singularly beautiful, but Benedict’s attraction went far beyond that.  You were well-read, witty, sharp, and talented.  Your still lifes rivaled those of William Blake, and you managed to capture your subject in such a way they appeared they could leap off of the canvas.  He’d approached, and the pair of you hit it off instantly.

You also hailed from a large family, though you were the eldest while Benedict was the second eldest.  “Though I am a daughter, so I do not know if it counts.”  Benedict had merely laughed.  “Do not sell yourself short, Y/N.  You are most certainly a credit to your family.”  Before he knew it, Benedict was spending nearly every evening at the brothel, though he brought no artwork home to show for it.  Instead, his nights consisted of conversing with you, learning every little thing about you, and, as Benedict soon realized, falling in love with you.

He would have been content to pine from afar had it not been for a newcomer: Mister Alexander Smithwell.  He was fresh off a tour of the Continent, and was boasting the masterpieces he had seen.  You, it seemed, had struck a friendship with Mr. Smithwell, but the so-called gentleman quickly became far too close to you for Benedict’s liking.  He stood too close, touched too casually, things that lit the flames of rage in Benedict.

You were a lady, for heaven’s sake, you deserved to be treated like one.  Such was the case now.  You were speaking to Mr. Smithwell about the museums in Rome, laughing at some joke he told, while Benedict sat on a nearby chair, clutching his glass of whiskey so hard, he feared it might shatter.  You looked over Smithwell’s shoulder at him, your face crinkling into a soft smile when you saw him, something that eased the tension in Benedict’s chest.  “Excuse me,” you said, ducking out of the conversation and making your way over to Benedict.

“You ought to get that looked at,” you said, and Benedict frowned.  “Whatever are you talking about?”  “That scowl,” you responded.  “Surely it is not healthy for one to scowl so much for so long.  What has you so verklempt, Benedict?”  You had forgone formalities, at least here, as your friendship was strong enough.  “He is too bold,” Benedict answered.  “Too casual with you.  Smithwell forgets himself.”

“No more than you,” you said, and Benedict whirled to look at you.  “You cannot be in earnest,” he said, brows raised.  “He speaks to you as he would a shop maid I speak to you as–”  “As what?”  “As an equal, as one I respect.”  You saw it then, the way his jaw clenched when he looked at Smithwell, the way he was quick to defend you.  “Wait a minute,” you said.  “You’re jealous.”  “I am not,” Benedict replied, all too quickly, and you laughed.  “You are!  Benedict Bridgerton, you are jealous!”

He flushed scarlet, and you laughed again.  “Perhaps I am,” he hedged, and you smiled.  “My word, I do not think I have ever had a gentleman be jealous over me.”  “Haven’t you?  I find that quite hard to believe.”  You cocked your head.  “How so?”  “Well,” Benedict answered.  “You are quite beautiful, and your intellect rivals that of many gentlemen I have spoken to.  I would think men would be throwing themselves at you.”

You shook your head.  “They aren’t.  None I care for, anyway…”  A heavy silence descended between you, and Benedict picked up on the slightest hint.  “Would you…mind if I called upon you, Y/N?”  You sighed, a smile on your face.  “I was wondering how long it would take you to ask, Benedict.  I would be delighted.”  To his shock, you pressed a fleeting kiss to his cheek before you rose and departed, leaving Benedict stunned.  He brought a hand to his cheek, swearing he could still feel the impression your lips left there.  Tomorrow morning, then, he would call on you.  And hopefully, soon after, he could call you his.

#benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton reader insert #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Grand Deception - Part One

As a seamstress, you know your way around a ballgown. A ballroom is a different story, but you are determined to experience it for yourself.

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Personal Disclaimer: I wrote this having only watched the Bridgerton tv show. About a week ago, I discovered that Benedict's book-canon love story shares some similarities with my fic. These similarities are coincidental. After posting a poll about the topic, I decided to share this work anyway. Please know I am aware of the situation!

Rating: Mature. Minors, do not interact

Word Count: 5,200

Warnings: A lot of backstory, trespassing, lying about identity, alcohol consumption, flirting, references to Regency-era values. Author played fast and loose with rules of Regency dining etiquette.

Next | Masterlist

---

It was of some comfort to you that - when the situation inevitably unraveled - you could not claim to have invented the idea yourself. 

You were hardly the first seamstress who used her skills to disguise herself. Nor were you the first to use her overheard knowledge to learn who may be hosting a masquerade ball so she could attend. 

To that end, Madame Delacroix had told you of her own experience infiltrating the ton’s events. You had learned well, but you were merely another follower, not a visionary. The penalty for your transgression would not change, but your conscience would be eased slightly with the knowledge. 

The single inspiration you could claim as entirely your own was that of your shop. You purchased gowns at the end of every season, researched coming trends for the next season, and altered the gowns to fit. 

Ladies of rich and respectable families were willing to part with gowns for a relative pittance, but most of your gowns were from society matrons. When their time playing chaperone to some wide-eyed miss had ended in a successful engagement, the lucky matron retired to a comfortable life in the countryside. What use did she have for extravagant society gowns there? And, with the style of gathers and ruffles for married women, you could easily fashion multiple gowns from one matronly dress. 

Your shop was hardly the most popular one in London, but you ran a brisk enough business. There were no investors to keep fat with your profits, and you poured most of your money back into the materials and help you hired. It could tax the nerves to operate with such a small amount of money in your coffers, but such was the nature of the business. The lead-in to a season was incredibly busy and profitable, but the off season could ruin you.

But you were happy. Your work was varied and interesting. You worked with sumptuous fabrics in the richest colors. It was a necessity to keep abreast of the latest fashion trends. You truly could not have imagined a better life for yourself. 

And yet… you were unbearably curious about how it would feel to wear one of your creations. You were occasionally hired to style a hopeful debutante, but you handed her off to a chaperone before she walked out through the front door of her own home. You witnessed all of the preparations and you had been party to the aftermath, but you had never had the opportunity to attend a ball. 

It was a silly dream. You were the daughter of a tailor, and not one who served the upper echelons of London society. Your mother spent her time running the household herself - a necessity, as your family could not afford to keep servants. Your brother worked at a newspaper, operating the printing presses. Your sister had married well, wedding a butcher who lived above his shop in a respectable section of the city. 

You had already achieved one silly dream when you had opened your own shop. Rather than satisfying you, that achievement only convinced you that you were capable of incredible things. Why should a ball be the exception?

Fortunately, the ton was an uninspired thing and thus wholly predictable. At least once every season, at least one family believed themselves to be the most creative souls and hosted a masquerade. 

Your ability to foresee the trend had allowed you to plan far in advance. After the last season had ended and you made your purchases, you had bought just enough fabric to fashion yourself a dress. The material was simple, but of high quality, and you had embroidered beading and embellishment enough to allot the finished product an artistic simplicity rather than leaving it painfully plain. 

The mask you had chosen only assisted the illusion of being understatedly gilded. It was a shining silver - not a true metallic mask, but a close enough facsimile that it seemed to be a choice due to the weight rather than the price of the silver. There was a delicate tracery over your brow and along the swells where the mask arched over your cheekbones. 

The effect of the outfit was far from dramatic, especially when you very well knew the sort of dresses that the young ladies of the ton would be wearing at the ball, but you had been purposeful about it. You were trying to fade into the background, and it seemed likely that you would succeed. 

One of your more clever ideas had been to cut the dress as a matronly garment rather than a daring one meant for a debutante. Doing so would relegate you to the realm of mamas, chaperones, and spinsters. Few bothered to steal a second glance at that foreboding cloud of judgment, disapproval, and eager plotting. You were too pragmatic to think your plan foolproof, but you had taken as many precautions as you could imagine.

The Lawsons had been the ones to secure a masquerade theme for the season, and you strategically arrived at the home at eleven, a full hour after the ball had begun. It was a simple thing to slip around the corner of the great manor house, entering through a side corridor. When you passed any of the house’s servants, you ducked your head and nervously arranged your hair. 

With that attitude and countenance, they would likely believe you were returning from some secret tryst in a private place, not attempting to sneak in entirely. Servants were paid for their discretion - at least, in the eyes of the ton - so your exploits would not be disseminated until the following morning at the earliest. 

Your matron-styled dress allowed for a more flexible corset than the most fashionable styles, but you still found that your breath was short as you reached the ballroom. You were thankful for the music, as it gave you a better idea of where your ultimate goal was. 

The room was cavernous, yet filled to the brim with intricate details. A second-story balcony curved around the majority of the room, rather like the opera house you’d had the privilege to visit once. A grand staircase descended from the middle of that balcony, and it was full of still-arriving debutantes and their chaperones. 

The orchestra was sat on the balcony along either side of the staircase, and you noted the way each instrument seemed to take precedence in turn as you walked along the length of the floor. They were playing a quadrille at the moment, and the dancing couples seemed as enamored by the music as much as by each other.  

Above and all around, candles glowed and flickered, casting small pools of light across every surface. A chandelier hung overhead, eye-catching in its size and brightness. The crystals set among the candles sent tiny reflected rainbows dancing across the crowd beneath. The reflectors behind the candles on the main floor helped catch the brightness that would otherwise be wasted on the walls, throwing it out into the room until it looked near daylight. The effect was multiplied by an array of mirrors set around the room, refracting both light and the furor of activity in the ballroom. 

Conversations filled any spaces left in the music. Everywhere, men and women chatted, laughed, and told stories. They were eye-catching with their grand gestures, only made more fascinating with their ornate clothing. You longed for a scrap of paper so you could make note of the styles of this season, and how they might be adapted to meet the styles of the next. 

A table at one side of the room was manned by a servant offering refreshments. You knew from the stories you had heard that a supper would be served at one, but there were beverages for any guest or dancer who may need one. You accepted a glass of iced punch with a grateful nod to the servant. It was remarkably hot in the room, especially compared to the chill of the January evening. 

Sipping the strong punch - and abruptly understanding the wisdom of such small glasses - you ventured forth to find a vantage point for observing the crowd. 

You found one buried in the crowd of matrons and chaperones. They were watching the dance floor with great interest, speculating about matches and comparing notes on how the gentlemen and young ladies had been occupying themselves during the season thus far. It was the perfect location - a view of everything and in earshot of all the information you could possibly desire. Some of the information was likely to be nothing more than rumor, but you cared little. It was entertaining enough to compensate for a lack of veracity. 

“Benedict!” one woman called. She was a handsome woman, dark hair perfectly coiffed to match her elegant dress. You recognized her even from behind as the widowed Lady Bridgerton. 

A man separated from a group of other young men and approached, smiling expectantly. He bore a strong resemblance to Lady Bridgerton, and was wearing the simple black mask that seemed popular among the men of the ballroom. “Yes, Mother?” 

“Do dance with Miss Harper this evening,” Lady Bridgerton instructed. “She needs cheering after the loss of her uncle. And she would be quite an excellent match for you.” 

You wrinkled your nose. Arranged marriages were less common than they had been when you were a child, but the aristocracy still tended to take a heavy hand in deciding their children’s future spouses.

Unfortunately, the young Bridgerton glanced over his mother’s shoulder and took in your expression. You hurriedly glanced down at your glass, as if your face had been a reaction to the strong punch, then applied yourself to staring around the room. 

“I will take that under advisement, Mother,” Benedict said. Your wayward glance prevented you from seeing his face, but his voice was filled with laughter. “If you’ll excuse me?” 

He departed then, retreating back across the ballroom. However, you were far from unobservant, and you counted the multiple times he noted your position from among the group of laughing gentlemen. You did your utmost to ignore him, taking solace in the knowledge that your mask protected your identity from whatever scrutiny he may choose to apply. 

You could hardly pretend surprise when you found him standing beside you scarcely an hour after you had overheard the conversation between Lady Bridgerton and her son. He was facing quite the opposite direction, but you could not fail to miss the way he inched closer every time you took a step away. 

At long last, he bumped into you with his broad shoulder, sloshing your punch onto the floor and still refusing to acknowledge you. 

“And to think Bridgertons are said to be well-mannered,” you snipped waspishly. 

He glanced back at you, eyes bright. “I beg your pardon, miss. I did not see you. Allow me to fetch you a new glass of punch in recompense for my rudeness.”

“No, thank you,” you said, the coldness in your voice detracting from the politeness of your words. “I would not take the risk of another incident.” 

“Did it stain your gown?” he asked, taking your elbow and looking you up and down. However solicitous it may have seemed at first, the mischief in his expression belied the gesture. 

You glared at him until he dropped your arm. “You need not feign concern, Lord Bridgerton. You have apologized, I have accepted it, and my gown escaped the incident unscathed. There is no need to continue our acquaintance.” 

With a final frown for good measure, you turned away. Benedict seemed undaunted, keeping step with you as you found a servant to take your near-empty glass. 

“May I ask your name, then?” Benedict asked, for all the world like you had not dismissed him. 

“Lady Sharp.” 

It was a falsehood you had planned well in advance. The Sharps were one of the largest families in London, some branches so far-flung that no one seemed capable of remembering who was who. 

Despite your confidence in your assumed identity, Benedict paused for a moment and your heart stuttered. At long last, he smiled. “Is that so?” 

“Yes.” 

Perhaps if you continued to be short with him, Benedict would understand that he should leave you well enough alone. 

And yet… The young Bridgerton continued to stay close as you watched the dancers, interrupting your overheard bits of gossip with remarks of his own. His commentary was amusing, but you continued to be irked by his presence. He was drawing attention by standing with the chaperones, dowagers, and doting mothers, and some of that attention was reflected onto you by virtue of proximity. 

“You need not remain close as some form of apology, Lord Bridgerton,” you informed him at last. “You have more than adequately apologized for your earlier misstep, and I would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s scorn if you miss your dance with Miss Harper.”

Benedict shrugged. “Miss Harper is occupied well enough with other partners. It is my duty to see to it that every lady may dance if she chooses. Shall we?” 

You frowned deeply, staring from his face to his proffered arm and back. “I do not dance.” 

He paused at that. “Surely you are simply being modest…” 

“I assure you, I mean what I say,” you told him, voice appalled, “I do not dance. If you feel a particular urge toward the dance floor, I urge you heed it and find a suitable partner before they have all been otherwise engaged.”

Benedict turned slightly, his gaze traveling from one end of the crowded ballroom to the other. When he had completed the visual circuit, he faced you, grinning engagingly once more. “I appreciate your concern, but I would rather continue our conversation.” 

Your mouth fell inelegantly open. Thankfully, the room was called to attention before you could loose a scathing comment about your time together.

Lady Lawson stood at the bottom of her grand staircase, Lord Lawson standing attentively to her left. A servant you recognized as their butler announced in a booming - yet not abrasive - voice, “Lord and Lady Lawson invite you to adjourn to the dining rooms.”

To your dismay, the men and women of the ballroom paired together. The crowd moved steadily in the direction indicated by the butler. 

Benedict offered his arm once more. “May I escort you to the dining room, Lady Sharp?” 

You paused, frantically searching for a reason you might excuse yourself. If the Lawsons had arranged for their guests to sit in predetermined places, your presence would not only be marked, but commented upon and questioned. And yet, the gathered crowd meant that slipping away would be nigh impossible. 

“Lady Sharp?” Benedict asked again, pulling you from your thoughts. “You are attending dinner, are you not?”

“Yes… yes, of course,” you said, immediately belied by your trembling voice. From a sheer lack of options, you accepted Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He inclined his head as if to silently acknowledge your thanks and steered you into the dining room. 

Truly, there was far more than one room in which to dine. There seemed to be at least three hosting tables set with full arrays of silver plates and utensils. The dining areas seemed far less brightly lit than the ballroom was, the low lighting offering a soft intimacy that made the surrounding couples perk with excitement. Clearly, the flirtations of the dance floor would not be suspended due to a simple supper. 

“May I help you find your seats, sir?” 

You had been too entranced by your own thoughts - the sudden appearance of the servant made you start like a spooked horse. Benedict patted your hand. The gesture was a bit condescending, but you found it oddly soothing. Far more worrisome, however, was the sight of small name cards resting at every place setting on the tables.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he said. “I believe I was to be seated with my family a few tables behind you. This is Lady Sharp. I will dine with her this evening.”

“But sir…” The servant looked bemused, white brows drawing together. “Lady Lawson was informed that the Sharps would not be in London for this year’s season. Lady Sharp reported that Miss Rosalie Sharp was far too ill to be moved out of her confinement in the countryside.” 

You stammered weak protests, but Benedict smoothly interrupted. “Surely Lady Lawson is aware that Lady Clara Sharp decided to winter in London this year. The physician said that a change of scenery would be good after leaving a confinement of her own.”

“A confinement of her-?” The servant shook his head. “My mistress said nothing of this when she was preparing the ball.” 

You gathered your nerve. If your ruse were to fall apart, it would not be at the hand of an overly curious servant. You drew yourself up to your full height, giving your best steely-eyed, matronly disapproval. “I had assumed that my lack of an invitation was no more than an ignorant oversight. However, I begin to suspect that it was something far more intentional. Perhaps it would be best if I departed…” 

“My apologies, Lady Sharp,” the servant hurried to say. “Please, allow me to find a place for you.” 

You inclined your head in the shallowest nod you could muster, watching imperiously as he rushed off to find a place setting for the fictitious Lady Clara Sharp. 

“These events are growing less organized by the day,” Benedict confided, shaking his head in mock despair. 

The servant returned, sparing you the effort of inventing a response. “I will guide you to your seat, Lady Sharp. Lord Bridgerton, you requested your seat moved beside Lady Sharp’s, did you not?” 

“Yes, I believe I should like to dine with Lady Sharp,” Benedict said amiably. 

“Very good, sir,” the servant said. “This way.” 

You did not particularly enjoy the tone with which Benedict said ‘Lady Sharp’. In his voice, it sounded less like a title and more like a private sort of jest. 

Fortunately, your arrival in a far dining room provided a much-needed distraction. This was clearly the last table to have been filled, and as such was seated with an interesting amalgamation of people. 

A timid-looking young lady sat nervously adjusting and readjusting the skirt of her dress. Her watchful chaperone eyed the process with fascination and concern. Seated at the chaperone’s other side was an older gentleman who seemed to have overindulged in punch, if you were to guess from his flushed face and exaggerated gestures. 

On the other side of the table was a young man who kept glancing at the young lady and pretending that it had been accidental any time he was caught at it. Beside him were two place settings. From the lack of name cards above the plates, you assumed they were meant for you and Benedict.

Abruptly, a wave of vertigo washed over you. You had accomplished so much to be here, yet how many accomplishments were too many? It was as if you had climbed something terribly tall - every time you moved upward, it only left you with further to fall. And if you were to be discovered during this dinner? You would have very far to fall indeed.

“Are you well?” Benedict asked. 

You blinked. The servant was holding your chair, waiting to help you be seated. You weren’t hungry in the least, but there was no way to excuse yourself that would not draw more attention than was wise. The only way to return to safety was to continue on as if nothing were amiss. 

“Yes, thank you,” you demurred, moving to your seat. 

When the skirt of your dress was safely tucked under the table, the servant offered a slight bow and moved away. The first course was laid out on the table, a manservant lingering nearby incase someone required a dish from a different part of the table. 

“What may I tempt you with?” Benedict asked. His smile was a touch too wide for the question to be entirely innocent. Before you could say something harsh, he half-stood, fork extended toward a dish holding chilled cuts of meat. 

You took a moment to study everything. “Roast chicken, please. And perhaps a few prawns.” 

Benedict took your plate and began transferring the items you had requested. “Soup as well?” 

“Perhaps a little.” 

You eyed the women across the table. The young lady was picking delicately at a few scraps of meat and you were concerned by the quantity of the choices you had made, but her chaperone was tucking into a plate piled high. 

Benedict placed your dishes back in front of you and gathered his own selections. When you were both seated again, you cut a piece of chicken and ate it as delicately as you could manage. It was delicious and you congratulated yourself once more on choosing to attend the ball dressed as a chaperone rather than a debutante. 

“So, a Sharp in London,” Benedict mused. “I rather believed you all traveled together. Like a herd or a pack.” 

You gave him an unamused look at the animal references. “And you pretended to know all of my family’s concerns when we were finding our seats. Do you always lie to achieve your own ends?” 

He gave a wince, but it was decidedly playful. “‘Lie’ is such a harsh word, Lady Sharp. I simply choose the path most likely to lead to my destination and follow it.” 

“By lying?” 

“And I suppose you are a paragon of virtue?” he asked, and you fell silent. It would be rather paradoxical for you to blame him for a lie when you were currently lying to an entire ballroom of people. 

“That was not an admonishment,” he clarified after a moment. “Nor was it a bid to halt our conversation. I was enjoying myself.”

“From what I have gathered of your temperament, I doubt you often suffer from the lack of enjoyment,” you snipped. “You seem to find infinite amusement in everything surrounding you.” 

Benedict’s eyes widened. “I… am flattered, truly, that you’ve taken such pains to truly detail my character. Perhaps I should return the favor.” 

“Do not.” You regretted the warning a moment after you had issued it. Rather than looking dissuaded, Benedict seemed intrigued.

“Indeed, I may be unable to help myself,” he mused. “Your motivations are fascinating, and they would be even more so if you turned out not to be Lady Sharp after all.”

“I am Lady Sharp,” you insisted stubbornly. 

“Of course you are,” he agreed easily. “But imagine if you were not. Why would you pretend to be?” 

Your mind halted abruptly when faced with the task of imagining your own motivations as if they belonged to another. What should you say? What could you say? For all of his casually friendly demeanor, Benedict was not stupid. It was possible that your false theories of your own motivations would provide him with proof that you were the very person you pretended to understand.

But still, the rules of polite conversation required that you provide some sort of an answer. Your voice was slow as you asked, “Who can begin to guess at the motivations of the poor?” 

It was more harsh than you had imagined it would sound, but Benedict did not recoil. Instead, he replied, “Motivations are mysterious, those of the poor and the nobility alike.”

The answer was vague, but you understood why - his eyes were fixed on the young lady at the end of the table and the young man seated across from her. 

“Miss Barrett, I found the most interesting flower in the park yesterday afternoon-” he started. 

He had the young lady’s attention immediately, a shy smile on her thin face, but her chaperone pointedly cleared her throat before the young lady could reply. “Elisa, it is not proper for you to answer him without being formally introduced.” 

“Finnie and I have been friends since before we could walk!” Elisa argued.

“His name is Lord Finlay Spencer,” the chaperone corrected. “And your childhood acquaintanceship does not matter. You have not been officially introduced in the time since he returned to London.” 

The young pair fumed silently, with nothing more than frustrated glances shared between them.

“Lady Barrett,” Benedict said abruptly, drawing the attention of everyone who longed to be distracted from the tension. “I understand you are a most loyal patron of the arts. Is that so?” 

“It is so, Lord Bridgerton,” Lady Barrett confirmed. “I believe in the importance of preserving artwork for years to come.” 

“As do I.” Benedict smiled at her… and at the red-faced man seated to her right. “And our sentiments are shared by our companion, Lord Hopkins. He has recently donated a number of works to your preferred museum. I believe they are to name a wing in his honor.” 

Lady Barrett turned to Lord Hopkins, an expression of mingled surprise and admiration. “I recently took in the Hopkins collection. Most impressive, Lord Hopkins.” 

Lord Hopkins blinked rapidly, clearly attempting to gather himself. He made an admirable effort as he returned her smile. “You are too kind, Lady Barrett. I mourn the loss of those works, yet they were wasted with only my family to appreciate them. And, if you will pardon my directness, I believe I may have been the only one of the Hopkins family to truly appreciate them.” 

“I am certain the Hopkins family has an interest in art ,” Lady Barrett demurred, “though I understand the sense that one has a keener appreciation for art than those around oneself.” 

With such a topic brought up, the pair slipped into conversation. Lord Finlay Spencer and Lady Elisa Barrett cast grateful glances in Benedict’s direction and began to speak in softened tones to avoid drawing the attention of the elder Lady Barrett.

“Neatly done,” you complimented lowly. “Yet it prompts me to wonder how often you concern yourself in the affairs of others.” 

Benedict shrugged. “I simply enjoy pulling strings to see what unravels. Perhaps that is why I find you so interesting.” 

You arched your brows. “And precisely what string of mine do you believe yourself to be pulling?” 

“That you are not Lady Sharp, of course.” 

He took a sip of wine as you fought to control your expression, and his utter lack of concern was infuriating. 

“Are we to continue this thought experiment, then?” you asked at last. “In truth, I am beginning to find it tiresome.”

“I do not need you to confirm my theory,” Benedict told you. “I have gathered proof enough of my own since we met.” 

“Proof?” you asked, attempting to sound skeptical rather than afraid. 

“You did not wait for an introduction, you claim not to dance, and you did not shyly simper away when I touched your arm,” he listed. “You are no more a lady than I.” 

These arguments were presented without censure, but you loosed an inelegant snort regardless. It was foolish and you knew it, but you could not prevent yourself from showing your own powers of observation: “You are wearing a fine silk shirt, a perfectly pressed cravat, and more perfume than anyone else in the room. I am a lady, so it follows that you may be one as well.” 

Benedict - unbelievably - grinned at your insults, his eyes crinkling at the edges. You fought not to return the expression, though you found it remarkably contagious. “I believe it is called ‘cologne’ when it is worn by a man. I confess, I’ve never quite understood the difference myself.”

“If you believe I am a fraud, why have you kept me company all evening?” you asked. It was not a confirmation of his suspicions, but it was close enough to make your heart race.

“You are interesting,” he countered. “Certainly the most interesting person here, and among the most interesting people I have ever met.” 

You would have found a reason to cut the conversation short if Benedict had pressed for any further information, but he did not. Instead, you continued speaking plainly together through the remaining courses. He wanted to learn your opinions on all manner of things, from politics to the latest fashions. 

When the time came to return to the dance floor, he stayed close. He was charming and amusing, but refused to be parted from your side. It could have been cloying, but you privately thought him akin to a particularly amiable sort of burr.

After a few dances had passed, Lady Bridgerton approached, nodding to you with an assessing sort of look. However, she spoke to her son rather than question you. You were grateful for the slight. “Benedict, I believe I asked you to dance with Miss Harper.”

“You did, Mother,” Benedict agreed, “but Lady Sharp and I are speaking of important matters. I could not possibly tear myself away.” 

Lady Bridgerton gave him a look filled with motherly disapproval and you cleared your throat. “Lord Bridgerton, we may speak at another time. The number of dances at this ball is limited and the hour grows late. I fear Miss Harper will be fully occupied if you delay longer.” 

Lady Bridgerton turned, triumphant, to her son. Benedict sighed and bowed shallowly in your direction. “I beg your pardon, Lady Sharp. I look forward to continuing our conversation after this dance.” 

He wove his way through the crowd, presumably in the direction of Miss Harper. Lady Bridgerton remained by your side, and you glanced at her in the silence. She met your gaze, tilting her head curiously in a manner that reminded you of her son. “I do not believe we have met, Lady Sharp. I am Lady Violet Bridgerton.” 

You returned her nod with one of your own. “Lady Clara Sharp. Lovely to meet you.” 

“I was unaware that any of the Sharp family were in London this season-” she started. Thankfully, she was interrupted by the arrival of a dark-haired young lady.

“Mama, I need to speak with you-” 

“Eloise, I am not-” 

“Mama, please!” the girl insisted, tugging at her mother’s elbow. Lady Bridgerton studied you for another moment before giving an apologetic smile and allowing her daughter to pull her away. 

As cues went, it was a fairly clear one. You steadily worked your way through the crowd until you could slip into an unguarded hall. From there, it was a simple thing to leave the Lawson house, find the cloak you had stored in a disused shed, and travel back to your shop. 

When you had removed the mask and the dress, you took careful stock of the evening. The dress and mask would need to be destroyed, and you regretted not bidding a true farewell to Benedict Bridgerton, but you considered the endeavor a success. 

One that could never be repeated.

---

Author's Note - As usual with Fanfic February fics, this is a two-parter. Tomorrow's chapter will have spice in it, so please be warned.

Thanks for reading!

#fanfic february #fanfic february 2024 #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #fem!reader #reader #reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #reader insert fanfic #reader insert fic #not suitable for minors #minors dni

[danvy121994]

Promised pt 1

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

Anthony Bridgerton x reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[supercap2319]

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

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

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

Benedict locked eyes with Y/N as he blushed.

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

[peterpparkrr]

With you, under the mistletoe

peterpparkrr’s 12 days of holiday drabbles

5. Mistletoe + Benedict Bridgerton

Summary: a yuletide kiss with your favorite Bridgerton.

A/N: I feel like Benedict would love Justin Bieber idk maybe that’s just me.

You were standing against the wall in the Bridgerton’s ballroom at Aubrey Hall playing your usual role, the wallflower. 

You’d lived just a way down the lane from the Bridgertons all your life. You’d grown up with the Bridgerton brood, and you and your parents had always been invited to the Bridgerton’s Christmas Eve Party for as long as you could remember.

A voice called out your name and you turned around to see Benedict Bridgerton standing behind you, grinning. 

“Mr. Bridgerton!” You greeted him with a smile.

“Somehow I knew I’d find you here,” Benedict says with a knowing look.

“I like to be predictable,” You reply. “Imagine how disappointed you’d be if you had to search for me.”

“Would you like to take a turn about the room? If you hide all night no one will dance with you,” He tells you as he holds his arm out for you.

“Is that not the point of hiding?” You ask.

“You don’t wish to dance?”

“No,” You reply. “Not particularly.”

“Not with anyone but you,” Is what you want to say. But you don’t. Because you know that Benedict doesn’t feel the same way. He’s never shown a preference for one lady in particular. He makes his rounds at these parties, dancing with every young lady, just as you suspect his mother requires him to. 

“Well, then you ought to come see the Christmas decorations in the hall. The servants truly outdid themselves this time,” He offers.

“Very well,” You reply as you accept Benedict's arm and allow him to lead you out of the busy ballroom and into the quiet hallway.

“Wow,” You murmur as Benedict leads you through the rooms of Aubrey Hall, pointing out various decorations as you slip further and further from the rest of the party. 

Your favorite room is the Bridgerton’s private drawing room. You assume this is where thee family will open their gifts tomorrow morning, as there’s already a large pile in the middle of the room. But the walls are lined with evergreen branches, springs of holly, and trimmed with ribbon and baubles.

“You were right, these are delightful,” You say as you take in the splendor around you. “I love holly.”

“I know,” Benedict replies as he comes to join you in a corner of the room. “It was embroidered on the gown you wore last year.”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” You reply as you glance back at him.

Benedict looked like he wanted to say something else. Instead, he stops in his tracks, and places a hand on your arm to get your attention as he glances up. 

“Oh look, a kissing bough,” He says as innocently as he can manage.

Your eyes snap up. You feel your cheeks warm as you look back at Benedict who is watching your reaction and your eyes widen.

“You knew we were standing beneath it!” You hiss in disbelief. “You are a terrible liar, Benedict Bridgerton.”

“A gentleman, tricking a lady into relinquishing a kiss? I would never,” Benedict replies as his hand comes up to tentatively cradle your cheek. 

You know you ought to move away. If someone were to see you in a compromising position like this your mother would have a conniption. But you don’t.

When Benedict realizes that you’ve allowed him to keep his hand where it is his thumb strokes your cheekbone gently.

You narrow your eyes at him.

“It’s tradition,” He adds.

“When are you ever traditional?” You ask as you gaze up at him.

“When the tradition gives me an excuse to do this,” He replies as he leans in and his lips brush yours.

Benedict Bridgerton is kissing you.

It’s a tentative kiss. But you can’t help but sigh before your find that you’re own hands are wrapping around the back of Benedict's neck as he moves to pull you closer and this kiss deepens.

When you finally break apart Benedict rests his forehead against yours and smiles.

“Merry Christmas,” Benedict whispers softly.

“Merry Christmas, Benedict,” You reply before you tilt your chin up and press your lips to his again.

#peterpparkrr's holiday drabbles #12 days of holiday drabbles #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton drabble #benedict bridgerton reader insert

[murdockparker]

Foolish Endeavor - Part 8

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: To be, or not to be (a Bridgerton), that is the question. One that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton has yet to ask.

Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: Mentions of sex, no actual smut, angst

A/N: it's a happy-sad chapter. that's all I gotta say mad lads

first part - previous part - next part

__

She hadn’t felt very well rested, not even the tiniest bit. No matter how tired she felt after last night’s escapades, the excitement that lingered in the air coursed through her veins, keeping her alert and awake for the entirety of the night. He hadn’t kept it much of a secret, not really.

Benedict Bridgerton was proposing. 

Today. 

While he practically proposed last night, bodies tangled together in a sweaty embrace, she knew a more formal question was coming later this morning or afternoon. It was only a matter of time before Benedict asked for her company, asked for her hand. She imagined he already discussed the details of their engagement, dowry and the like with her father before their visit to Aubrey Hall. Seeing as how her father couldn’t accompany them for the week and knowing how formal Benedict could be about situations just as this one.

A soft knock rang through the spacious room, followed by the entrance of Agnes, her lady’s maid. She was carrying a pitcher of fresh water and a rag, smiling lightly at the girl rolling in bed. 

“Good morning, miss,” Agnes said lovingly. She set the pitcher down on the desk, draping the cloth over the back of the chair. “I trust you slept well?”

“Of course,” she lied. “The beds here are divine, I reckon they’re stuffed with only the finest.”

“Oh yes,” Agnes nodded. “I’m sure the viscount has only the best in his home.”

“Did you sleep well, Agnes?”

“I slept just fine, my lady,” the maid said sweetly. “The staff’s lodgings are quite elegant. If I had half a mind, I would mention something to your mother…”

(Y/N) giggled, the sound dampening against the plushness of the bedding. “Consider it done, I’ll bring it up over tea.”

Agnes’ eyes lit up like a candle in the night—bright and ever glowing. She nodded softly before floating over to her lady’s bed to assist in her dressing. “I drew you a bath for this morning, I figured you may wish to take one after the exhausting day that was yesterday.” (Y/N)’s entire face flushed, the color creeping up from her neck. Surely the staff couldn’t have possibly heard anything from the study last eve, could they? “The carriage ride was much too hot for my liking, I myself washed up last evening.”

“Oh,” she coughed, patting her chest lightly. “Yes, I agree. Traveling in the summer months is always a hassle.”

“Should I set out your dressings for when you return, my lady?”

“Of course. That would be lovely.”

“Which one do you fancy for this morning?” Agnes asked, opening the wardrobe, now fitted out with the various silks and outfits they had packed for the week. Her eyes danced across the rainbow of colors before placing her hand on one. “I reckon Mr. Bridgerton will quite like this one."

“Agnes!” (Y/N) chided, suppressing a laugh.

“I’ll set it aside,” the maid hummed knowingly, placing the selected dress on the door to the wardrobe.

—

The dress Agnes had picked out was quite the stunning piece, the fanciest of the day dresses they had packed. The sleeves were almost entirely a thick lace, meeting the crook of her elbow with grace. Colored to match the sky on a summer’s day, the gown had matching white accents one could nearly mistake for clouds, a slightly darker azure pulled everything together on the bodice. It was the epitome of class, the finest handiwork once could find in the ton.

He thought she was breathtaking. 

He normally thought so, of course. This morning, however, she looked nearly as radiant as the sun. His sun. He knew it was going to be a good day, with her smiling as sweetly as she was. He had to restrain himself from reaching into his pocket and falling to his knee immediately, his better judgment getting the best of him. 

“Lady (Y/N),” Benedict greeted her, bowing lightly to appease the other eyes following them in the room. 

“Benedict,” she curtsied back. 

“Might you do me the honor of accompanying me on a promenade this morning?” He asked, brow arched up, his lovesick smirk ever apparent.

“Of course,” she nodded before turning to her side. “Though, we will need to find a chaperone—” 

“I’ll join you.”

“A walk could do me some good.”

Both the countess and dowager viscountess spoke in the same breath, flustered at the sudden attention on themselves. They both seemed too eager to join the happy couple this afternoon, for no reason in particular.

“You are both free to join us,” Benedict nearly laughed. “We are set to promenade around the gardens, I wish to enjoy your lovely flowers, Mother.”

“Oh yes,” (Y/N) nodded enthusiastically. “Lady Bridgerton, your gardens are quite the spectacle.”

Violet waved them off, nearly embarrassed. “Oh you two flatter me so terribly.”

“Oh but I have to agree, Violet. You simply must tell me where you found your florist,” the countess smiled. “Theodore would love the blooms you have out here.”

“Well, I hardly think they’re a secret,” Violet said, voice dropping to a murmur before leaning into the countess’ side. “But I’ll extend their information to you posthaste.”

The women giggled, both taken at the joy of the afternoon—Benedict and (Y/N) still in their own little world.

“Pall-mall is this afternoon,” Benedict said thoughtfully, extending his arm for his beloved to take. “I recall your proficiency at the game, has that changed?”

(Y/N) shook her head, beginning to walk with Benedict towards the gardens, mamas in tow. “No, of course not. If anything I simply have gotten even better than you recall.”

He let out a laugh, warm and thick like honey. “Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. Anthony suggested the match a day or so prior to your arrival, something about fond memories from childhood—” 

“Really? You’re sure he doesn’t wish to try and best his family to look good for his future bride?”

“Ah, the viscount would never dare use his family as a pawn for his marriage,” Benedict said seriously. “But, trying to best Daphne will be his greatest feat.”

“The duchess is joining us?” She asked, allowing Benedict to open the garden gate for her. He hummed.

“She would never dare miss an opportunity to lay claim to her rightful place as the best Bridgerton pall-mall player,” Benedict chuckled. “Well, I suppose she also wished to meet Miss Sharma, should Anthony get off of his sorry behind and actually propose…”

Violet Bridgerton loved her garden in Kent—her and her husband had a rather fondness to the country—leaving her gardens to be quite the sight to behold. The young couple spent many a day in the gardens in their youth, playing and chasing the other around. Last year, Anthony had commissioned a small fountain to be added for their mother's birthday, it was the new jewel of the grounds. 

It was the perfect place, Benedict had decided.

“Why do you think our mamas are following us so closely?” (Y/N) asked quietly, tightening her grip on Benedict’s arm.

“They’re pretending to be interested in the roses,” Benedict whispered, turning to look back at his mother and the countess. The women seemed flushed, their attention drawn a bit too closely at the blooms. “But I believe they’re waiting with bated breath for something extraordinary to happen."

“And what, pray tell, would they be waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?” Her heart began to pound, surely the small babbling of the fountain did nothing to hide it.

A grin spread across his face, one that was lopsided and all-too-sweet, his gaze warm enough to set aflame. “Perhaps they’re waiting for…this?” He removed his arm from (Y/N)’s grip, slinking down to one knee. Benedict thanked any God who would listen he had the bright idea to practice the gesture before this moment, as it hopefully looked as graceful as it felt. With only a slightly shaking hand, he took her own.    

“Oh!” Lady Kent squealed from behind. Lady Bridgerton was quick to pull her close—as if to not ruin the moment. 

“Lady (Y/N) (Y/L/N), you have been a constant at my side. Your friendship has been a balm on my worried heart for the many years I have had the pleasure of knowing you,” Benedict began, trying to keep his voice steady. “How lucky am I, to have found such a partner in my greatest friend? How lucky would I be, if that partner agreed to spend the rest of her days with me?”

“Benedict…” She had begun to cry. She had known he was proposing today, and yet, she still begun to cry.

“(Y/N),” Benedict repeated her name like a prayer, “will you do me the honor of making me half of the happiest pair the universe has ever seen? Will you marry me?”

A box suddenly appeared in his other hand, a glittering ring shining in the morning sun. It surely wasn’t a family ring, no, it looked to be brand new, like he had it made especially for her. Benedict had asked Lady Bridgerton about family rings but never quite found one that spoke to him—so he took matters into his own hands. 

A delicate cluster of pearls with shining sapphires, all adorned like a flower in bloom. He had been torn on the sapphires, but secretly, a part of him wished for her to have the staple Bridgerton color, blue, with her always. A small claim, a slightly possessive way for him to show she is his at all times. 

If she didn’t already have her answer before this moment, seeing Benedict on the ground, bearing his heart out to her in front of a beautiful scene—and their mamas—it couldn’t have come any easier. 

“Yes!” She squealed, falling to the ground to meet Benedict in an amorous embrace—dress be damned, society be damned.

He nearly fell over, arm steadily snaking its way around her waist, holding her tight against him. He knew he was close to tears, but seeing his love on the same precipice nearly sent him over the edge. “If our mamas weren’t looking…” Benedict whispered into her ear, holding her tight against him, his words a secret to her alone. 

“I simply don’t care,” (Y/N) murmured, turning his face towards her own, lips nearly attacking his. What started as a passionate celebration had melted into something more substantial—a far cry from any other kiss they had shared before. This was not just a kiss from a friend, a kiss from a lover, no, this was a kiss between a husband and wife. The passion was not lost on them, but it took perhaps a second too long to fully realize that their mothers were still very much watching.

“Ehem!” Lady Kent cleared her throat, cheeks rosy as the blooms beside her.

“Relax Mama,” (Y/N) giggled, pulling herself to her feet, assisting Benedict to reaching his own as well. “What is the worst thing to happen? Force us to marry faster?”

“I rather like the sound of that,” Benedict murmured, dusting off his pants. 

“Er, no, I suppose there’s nothing—” Lady Kent sighed, turning to Violet. “Should we petition for a speedy ceremony?”

“Oh hush,” Violet admonished, laughing lightly. “One kiss between betrothed is not a ruin. However,” she looked at the newly affianced couple with a narrow gaze, the one of a strict mother, “I would not make it a habit until you are wed.”

“Of course, Mother,” Benedict nodded, trying his very best to not laugh out loud. 

“My lady,” a butler had come up from behind the proud mothers. “The duchess has arrived.”

“Oh! Splendid,” Violet cooed. “Benedict, do see to it that you and your fiancée greet your sister, I am sure she would be most pleased at your news.”

“We shall inform the family before pall-mall,” Benedict said decidedly. “Just another reason to celebrate.”

“Just think,” Lady Kent sighed, turning to walk with Lady Bridgerton back to the estate. “By the end of the week you will have two sons set to be wed! A joyous celebration indeed.”

“If Anthony is truly engaged at the end of the week,” Benedict said quietly, words only meant for his fiancée to hear, “then the world has turned upside down.”

They both laughed. 

—

“Is Anthony still attached to the black mallet?” (Y/N) asked, arm in arm with her new fiancé. “I recall a near bloodbath for it the last time I played pall-mall with your family.”

“Far more than one would realize,” Benedict nodded. “One would suspect he carried and birthed the bloody thing…”

“Funny,” (Y/N) said. “He birthed the mallet? Here I thought he still had a stick up his—”

“(Y/N)!”

“What? I will not apologize for saying what I was thinking—and if I knew any better, you were too.”

“He’s been… a bit un-agreeable the last few weeks, regarding the whole notion of Miss Sharma and whatnot,” Benedict sighed.

“So you do not disagree.”

“He is my brother,” Benedict stated.

“Indeed,” (Y/N) hummed.

Even having descended these steps only two hours prior to their inevitable engagement, the yard had completely transformed. Shade and snacks had been put up for the spectators, hoops were currently being put in the ground and staff were carrying out the dreaded mallet container.

“What a lovely afternoon for pall-mall,” Lady Mary said.

“And a lovely afternoon to celebrate an engagement,” Lady Bridgerton added, looking directly at the happy couple. 

“Oh yes,” Lady Mary smiled. “Congratulations on the engagement, Lady Bridgerton, Lady Kent.”

“Save your congratulations for the ball in the next few days,” Lady Kent laughed. “I suspect it will be the talk of the ton anyhow.”

The older ladies laughed with one another. The younger adults began their trek to the mallet box, determination in each of their eyes. 

“Eloise, are you sure you do not wish to play?” Colin asked, turning to his younger sister.

“I have other matters to deal with,” she said sitting from the steps, nose in her book. “Besides, someone had to sit out so our guests could play…”

“I could have sat out—” Colin began.

“And the sky is green, Brother,” Benedict said, clapping his younger brother’s back. “Everyone knows you would’ve been a worse spoilsport if you sat out instead.”

“Perhaps Lady (Y/N) could have sat out, then?”

“You’d make my fiancée sit out?” Benedict gasped, clearly jesting. “She is to be your sister soon, Colin. It’s preposterous that you would even suggest such a thing!”

“Ben,” (Y/N) giggled, hand placed gently on his shoulder. “I do not think Colin truly meant it.”

“Congratulations, again,” Colin nodded towards the to-be-Bridgerton. “Why you wish to marry into this family is beyond me.”

“I fear I am still asking myself such a question,” she hummed, plainly ignoring Benedict’s souring expression. “But I am sure I’ll be reminded during our spirited game of pall-mall.”

“Reminded of what?” Daphne asked, walking with the Sharma sisters. She had been explaining the game in earnest to them.

“How much fun our family has playing a rousing game of pall-mall,” Colin said, shit-eating grin on his face. Anthony tried his best to ignore it, taking his attentions to Miss Sharma—the younger, not the elder.

“Shall we begin?” Anthony coughed, clasping his hands behind his back. 

“I shall pick first,” Colin said, reaching for the black mallet.

“No!” Anthony practically yelled, causing a shock to the group. “I-I mean, we pick based on alphabetical order.”

“So, by Bridgerton standards, eldest to youngest?” (Y/N) mused. Benedict huffed a laugh as his brothers began to fight.

“The only fair thing to do,” Daphne spoke up, ever the voice of reason, “is to let our invited guests choose their mallets and strike first.”

“Please, take your pick, Miss Edwina,” Anthony conceded, bowing to the younger Sharma. Edwina looked carefully over the mallets, eyes scanning over every color—almost as if she was afraid to pick the wrong one. She pointed decidedly to the blue one, Anthony grabbing it for her with haste. “An excellent choice.”

Kate wasted no time in choosing her mallet—black and foreboding. The mallet of death. 

“Would you look at that, Brother?” Benedict sniggered, clearly amused by Anthony’s annoyance. 

“Is this yours?” Kate asked. 

“Not at all. You’re welcome to it,” Anthony sighed.

“You near threatened to beat me the last time I touched—”

“You exaggerate,” Anthony fumed, eyes like daggers towards Colin.

“Are you the superstitious sort, Lord Bridgerton?” Kate asked, twirling the mallet like a prized trophy. “I know some men cannot perform without their familiar tools. Like a child with a blanket.”

“Oh I like her,” (Y/N) said softly, her words nearly lost amongst the guffaw of the Bridgerton family.

“I can play perfectly well with any mallet,” Anthony said.

“My sun, I do believe it is your pick,” Benedict said, clearing the laugh from his throat. She nodded, taking her claim on the lavender mallet. It seemed the most appealing and an easy color to spot from the grass. “Lavender is a fine color for you.”

“Shall we dilly dawdle all afternoon?” Colin sighed. “Or shall we…” 

It was like a hunt. Each of the playing Bridgertons tried to stake their claim on a mallet, all avoiding one in particular. Benedict grabbed a golden yellow, Colin choose green, Daphne a nice seafoam color, leaving Anthony with the pastel pink. 

“To the field of combat!” Daphne exclaimed, holding her mallet straight up in the air. 

Combat was an accurate descriptor. While it had been years since she had played pall-mall, even longer since she had played it with the Bridgertons, Lady (Y/N) found it refreshing. It nearly made her wonder if this could have been her life growing up—a lively life with siblings to bicker with and pick on. 

Regardless, it will be her life now, as soon as she marries Benedict. Soon she’d be a Bridgerton. Soon she’d have the family she’d always dreamt of. Siblings, children, the whole lot.

“I say, that was a good shot Lady (Y/N)!” Colin cheered, clapping politely at her latest hit. She had managed to knock Daphne’s ball near a cluster of bushes. “Always a win in my book to best Daph.”

“Oh hush,” Daphne rolled her eyes. “It was a bold move, I will concede to that, well done (Y/N).”

“Dropping her title, are we?” Benedict asked, stepping beside his sister. “You of all people know better etiquette, Your Grace.”

“And what is better etiquette than calling my newest sister by her given name?” Daphne sang, hopping along to her ball. She may be married and a new mother with one on the way, but she still was very much a girl at heart. 

“I truly don’t mind, Benedict,” (Y/N) insisted. “It won’t matter in a few weeks, anyhow.”

“Perhaps you won’t mind this, then?” Colin said. In a blink of an eye, her purple ball went flying towards Daphne’s. 

“Not at all, Colin,” (Y/N) curtsied. “You only made the game more fun, I would have been crestfallen if you were taking it easy on me.”

“Never,” he scoffed. 

“Exactly right,” (Y/N) said, following Daphne over to her ball.

“I’m happy for you. She’s a catch, Ben,” Anthony said, pulling his younger brother out of his love-sick daze. Benedict nodded, not fully listening. “Everyone suspected it to happen, since we were young.”

“I wish someone would have told me sooner,” Benedict jested, “it would have saved us both some time, I manage.”

“I believe Father had made a joke about it once before,” Anthony said. “But, I assume your head was too stuck in the clouds to hear it.”

“Father did, truly?” Benedict’s brow raised. “He was rather observant, I suppose I do not doubt it.”

“You know, I must hand it to you, Brother,” Colin said, cutting in with his brothers. “Courting Lady (Y/N) was a feat I’m surprised you pulled off.”

“Do you not think we are a suited match?” Benedict asked. “Am I not charming enough? Not handsome enough?”

“You are a Bridgerton, of course you are enough,” Colin said.

“I think he means he is just surprised you managed to snag the daughter of an earl,” Anthony said simply. “You are a second son, it is nearly unheard of.”

“She is more than that—”  

“Of course she is,” Anthony said, raising his hand in defense, the other on his pink mallet. “She is your greatest friend and soon to be your wife—of course she is more than just the earl’s daughter.”

“She is my sun,” Benedict said simply. 

Anthony and Colin gave each other a look. “Ever the poet,” Colin chuckled. “You could have stopped at ‘she’s more than that’.”

She had been trying to strategize how best to get her purple ball back to the next wicket. Colin had sent it rather far from the next target, but it was no matter. She was determined to get it back into play—to show the Bridgertons she could roll with the punches. A small wave was sent her direction, one attached to a rather love-sick man, tall and handsome with a wicked grin. 

She waved back, an equally lovesick smile on her lips. 

“How fortunate,” Anthony noted. “Now your son will inherit the earldom, yes?”

“I…” Benedict’s regard turned back to his brother. How easily he was distracted by Lady (Y/N). “Yes, I suppose that is what’s expected of our union, what her parents expect of us.”

“Just think,” Colin said boisterously, “two titles in one family!”

“A viscount and an earl, both Bridgertons,” Anthony cooed, much like a child. “Well done brother! What a success for our family—Father would be proud.”

“I understand the sudden interest in Lady (Y/N) now, Brother,” Colin said, balancing on his mallet. “It rather makes sense, does it not?” 

“I think Father would be more proud that I am marrying for love,” Benedict corrected, growing a bit annoyed at his brothers jesting. 

“Love? Oh yes,” Anthony waved. “Sure, sure. But the earldom? How lucky you’ve bagged her, Brother. Bridgerton, Earl of Kent!”

Benedict forced a laugh. 

“Well, that is not—” 

A purple ball rolled next to his feet, stopping just before his toes. 

She had looked like she had seen a ghost, Lady (Y/N). Her grip tightened on her mallet, white gloves contrast to the purple. “I think I shall cut out for the day.”

The Bridgerton brothers were silent, Benedict inching towards her.

“(Y/N)—”

“I am in need of a respite,” she said, not looking back. “Too much sun.”

Benedict felt his blood run cold, his hand glued to the air. Every sense of his was fleeting, his sight blurring, his mouth running dry. 

“You dolt,” Daphne admonished, smacking her second eldest brother as she came upon them. “You must talk to her.”

“I-I will,” Benedict nodded, not knowing what else to do.

“Well not now,” Daphne sighed. “Give her a moment to collect her thoughts. A conversation now could be… explosive.”

“Is the game finished, my lord?” Edwina pranced over, brows furrowed.

“Ah, yes,” Anthony cleared his throat. “Well, no. Lady (Y/N) and Benedict have cut out, isn’t that right?”

Benedict nodded numbly, dropping his mallet to the grass.

“The game is still set—minus yellow and purple,” Anthony said stoically, rightfully ignoring his brother heading towards the estate. 

Feet like lead, every step he took felt like a death sentence, a man on his way to execution.

Somehow, he much preferred that thought.

__

He knocked at her door, three hours later. 

For two hours he sobbed and for an hour he drank, trying to wrap his head around how he’d approach this, how he’d approach her. He had pressed a wet rag to his face. Helps with the puffiness, a staff member told him. He hoped for it to be true. 

He knocked again.

“Go away.”

Benedict sighed, leaning up against the wood. “I’m afraid that’s unlikely. We must speak.”

“I am not opening the door.”

“And I am not leaving.”

A pause. 

Then, the lock clicked. 

The man took a deep breath, preparing for every possible outcome. He was never much of a planner, but in this very instance? He wish he had clairvoyance, a crystal ball perhaps, to see how this would end. Benedict could only hope it ended with them at the end of the aisle, hand in hand at the altar. 

“You would have stayed out there all night,” she said simply as he entered the room. She had resigned herself to standing in the dead center of the bedchambers, her arms crossed.

“Yes,” Benedict said. “I would have.”

“Stubborn,” she scoffed, turning towards the window. 

He took the moment to shut the door—they were engaged, no need for propriety now. “We are expected at dinner this evening,” Benedict said quietly. “To celebrate the engagement.”

“Naturally.”

“You do not wish to go to dinner,” Benedict surmised.

“Naturally,” she repeated, her shoulders tensing.

“You must eat—” 

“I would rather starve.”

“That is a bit ridiculous,” Benedict scoffed. “Surely you are not that angry.”

“You do not get to tell me how angry I am allowed to be,” (Y/N) said, finally turning around. “If I do not wish to show face at dinner, I will not show face.”

Benedict’s gaze softened on her, finally seeing her face. He would never assume anything about her, it would make for a terrible habit for the years to come, but if he had to make an educated guess, she had been crying just as much as he had.

He wished he had a rag to offer.

“I apologize—”

“For which instance?” (Y/N) asked cooly. “For earlier? For dictating my feelings?”

“The first—both, I suppose,” Benedict ran a hand through his hair. Perhaps he was losing strands from the stress. “Look, (Y/N)—” 

“Do you take me for a fool?”

“What?”

“You have known me for many years,” (Y/N) said. “Do you take me for a fool?”

He had the fleeting thought of mentioning how poorly she played cards, how foolish her tactics were. The only time he’d ever call her a fool. He decided he’d be more the fool if he so much as loosened his lips on that thought. “No.”

“I do not need you to explain yourself, you and your brothers made it quite clear this afternoon,” (Y/N) tightened her arms, nearly folding in on herself. “Quite clear on your true intentions with the earldom.”

“My true intentions? My only intention is and ever was to marry you. Absolutely none of this came from the title.”

“Is that why you suddenly had an interest in me? To secure another title of nobility for your family’s lineage?”

“Of course not! I have loved you since I knew what love truly was, (Y/N). It did not happen overnight.”

Frustrated, she began to pace about the room, fire crackling nearly in time with her beating heart. The air was tense, thick. Shadows begun dancing from the flames, painting themselves onto the bookshelves with ease and without hesitation. Their furrowed brows were prominent against the flickering, set in stone. 

“‘Did not happen overnight’,” (Y/N) scoffed. “You had the opportunity when I debuted seasons ago, why now? Why not then?”

“I was fooling myself,” Benedict pressed a hand against his chest. “I know how this may look, my sun—”

“You,” she cut him off, eyes hardened. “Do not get to call me that. Not right now.”

Benedict took a step back. She was dead serious. He could only recall one other time in their lives that she had such a ferocity to her character—it had involved her father discarding a handful of books from her own personal collection, resulting in her not speaking to him for the better part of a month. If he thought her looks could kill then, Benedict Bridgerton was expecting to have his funeral by the end of the night.

“You misunderstand,” Benedict began carefully, as if to not break any eggshells. “My brothers—you know how they are. Anthony was merely making a joke.”

“It was in poor taste.”

“I agree!” Benedict exclaimed. “My laughter then, it was one of the forced kind, one I save only for the deeply unpleasant conversations I tend to have during the season.”

She stood silent for a moment.

“Yet you laughed."

“I… did. My su—love, I apologize from the deepest parts of me. I wish to marry you, earldom or not. Titles mean nothing, but you? Darling, you mean everything to me."

“So it was just a coincidence that you decided to show up at my door the morning after I shared the truth of my family’s wishes for my future match? Surely you do not take me for a fool.”

Benedict sighed, feeling the anger bubbling in his chest. “While you may have shared that information, the only thing I could even begin to think about since you had left that afternoon was that I had a chance!”

She blinked. 

“Imagine, loving your best friend, watching her and admiring her from afar, knowing she’s destined to be with and marry another. Marry some… some duke or titled man, someone every mama would be floored to have pair with their daughter,” Benedict felt as if he were on stage, his only audience watching him intently. “But to fathom you’d ever marry me? A second son? Surely you could consider me mad for ever entertaining that, for even ever dreaming of it.”

“You have no idea the type of man I wished to have married,” (Y/N) said, her voice cooler than ice. Calculated, perhaps. “Had you been honest from the start—”

“And ruin our friendship?” Benedict laughed, no humor found in his voice. “Lose you? The greatest thing to come of my time on this planet? No. Perish the thought.”

“You’re a fine actor,” (Y/N) said slowly, trying to keep her composure. “Because from the way I see it? You found a way to ensure a new title for the Bridgerton name—woo your ‘greatest friend’ and effectively ruin her by taking her on your brother’s desk!”

“Do not make it seem like you had no say in the matter—”

“I loved you!” (Y/N) screamed, finally reaching her breaking point. “I thought you would be the man I would marry! I wanted you, Benedict, more than I ever wanted anyone.”

“Loved…?” Benedict felt smaller than dirt. “You do not mean—”

“I will still marry you,” (Y/N) continued. “Only because you have effectively trapped me—what if I am to be with child?” She nearly laughed at the absurdity. “Seeing as you had the grace to not only ruin me, but finish in me—”

“Is that what you think?” Benedict broke, his voice quavering. “You think that I tried to trap you into a marriage to ensure my family a new title? That I had the thought—the foresight—to try and make you with child to give you no other options? In no way you could think so little of me—”   

“And yet here we are,” her voice was like venom. "Perhaps you will have your Bridgerton earl after all."

He dared not speak a word.

“I need some time to think. Mother and I are going back to Mayfair—do not follow us.” (Y/N) left the room, slamming the door so hard one might have assumed it cracked. 

Much like his heart.

__

TAGLIST

@nikkisilassheep, @cavghtbythewind, @chaotic-onigiri, @440mxs-wife , @mymyma , @perdynerd , @wotcherboo , @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake , @babyhoneystvles , @korol-lantsov , @riddlerloveb0t 

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #reader insert #oops has it been 10 months since i updated this story last? uh oh #and oops! angst! #sowwy sowwy

[rob1ns-liv1n]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-to find the room completely empty.

"Anthony, it's empty."

"What?"

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

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

"Hiding? But-"

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

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

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

"A novel....."

"A novel?!"

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

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

. . .

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

"Who do you think that is?"

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

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

...

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

"Brother?"

"Yes?" Came Benedict's squeaking reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Till morning."

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

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

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

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

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

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

. . .

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

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

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

The siblings collectively shook their heads, except for one.

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

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

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

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

"That can be arranged. Now-"

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

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

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

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

.

.

.

.

.

BONUS SCENE:

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

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

And there were no refunds..."

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

[weirdmorefics]

Hi can you do a male reader bridgerton I imagine him probably younger than Benedict and he has a limp due to an accident that happened when he was a kid causing him to use pain killers (almost like gregory house but without the attitude) thats the basics and anything else you can play around with to shape the story how you want I'd imagine a little angst or a lot both work

A/N- Thank you for the request. I hope you like it! I have a lot of experience with health issues, so I like to think this is pretty accurate. 

Warning- Painkillers, vomiting, and sleep deprivation

Pronouns- He/Him

Word Count- 866

Summary- Reader gets a stomach bug and can not hold down his medicine so he experiences withdrawals. Embarrassed about his symptoms he hides them from his family.

We Are Stronger As A Family

I spent the majority of the day getting ready and going to a ball, that I did not want to go to. I reminded myself of what Eloise said if she has to go have to go. 

I smooth out my vest and curse the person who invented staircases in my mind as I slowly ascend the stairs to the ballroom with my cane in hand. 

As I enter the ballroom I am immediately greeted by Eloise. “Thank goodness you came! I thought I was going to have to find a way how to sneak out of here all by myself,” she sighs in relief.

I laugh at Eloise’s antics when Daphne rushes over to me.

Daphne grabs my arm begging me to distract Anthony. He was chasing all her suitors away and she knows I am Anthony’s favorite brother. I shake my head at the last comment but I spend the whole night distracting Anthony.

At the end of the night, Daphne showers me with thank yous in the carriage but I am utterly exhausted. I had to fight to stay awake the whole ride home. I stumbled out of the carriage and quickly got to my room. I was too tired to change so I threw myself into bed and fell asleep almost immediately. 

 I am not sure what time I woke up but the windows were pitch black. I was sweating buckets but I was freezing at the same time. A wave of nausea quickly washed over me causing me to nearly fall out of my bed. I grabbed my cane and rushed to the bathroom. I spent the rest of the night vomiting food and bile. 

I was still sitting in the bathroom when I heard a knock on the door. It was followed by Daphne’s voice “Y/N are coming to promenade with us? I know last night was rough on you so Mother says you do not have to come.”

I debated on telling Daphne how truly ill I am but I did not want to worry the family. They get so nervous about illness since Father passed.

“I am going to have to miss this one but do not worry I am only a little sore,” I respond through the door. I am truly glad she cannot see my face right now because it would immediately betray what I said.

The family was out all day I assume they went to another ball after promenading. I spent the whole day puking my guts out. I think all my siblings thought I was already asleep and went to bed once they got home.

I spent the whole night getting sick and I think the dehydration and medicine withdrawal was getting to me. I could not stop shivering, think straight, and the pain in my leg was unbearable. I finally knew I needed help but I wasn’t sure if I waited too long.

I pulled myself up from the floor using the counter. The minute I stood up black spots appeared in my vision and I fell to the floor.

I woke up in bed with a pounding headache I went to sit up and was pushed back down.

Eloise shouted “He’s up! He’s up!”

Suddenly the whole family is rushing into the room all with smiles and tears on their face.

Mom bends down and holds my face “My son don’t you ever do that to me again.” She said sternly but raps me in the tightest hug known to man after.

Eloise looks like she is about to slap me “If you ever pull something like this again I will kill you! You are my big brother and you are supposed to go to all these stupid balls and ward off my suitors!”

I frown at how worried I have made my family. I did the exact thing I was trying not to do.

Daphne sits next to me on the bed “Why did you not just tell me you were sick we would have called the doctor much sooner. You know you have to keep the medicine in or you will fall ill.” 

“I am sorry... I just did not want to make you worry.” I mumble

“Yeah well, you sure did a fine job at that,” Anthony says crossing his arms.

I see out of the corner of my eye that Colin elbowed Anthony forcefully which of course caused Anthony to glare back. 

Benedict puts his hand on my shoulder “Come on give the poor boy a break Anthony. You know what it is like to want to be strong for the family even though I think that is ridiculous.”

Anthony rolls his eyes “ And why would you think that why?”

Benedict crosses his arms “I personally think we are stronger as a family.”

Eloise and Hyacinth gag at this statement causing me to laugh.

Benedict gestures “See we can even make each other laugh in a terrible situation. That is why next time you feel sick you will tell us. Isn’t that right Y/N?”

I nod embarrassed by my family’s love but I can most certainly say I would never trade my family for the world. 

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#bridgerton x reader #bridgerton request #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton siblings #bridgerton brothers #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton x you #bridgerton #daphne bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton x reader #eloise bridgerton #bridgerton! #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton reader insert

[thetalkoftheton]

Y/N: Fine! I will help but I'm going to complain all the way.

Benedict: Thank you, Y/N. We knew we could count on you.

Y/N: Do not talk to me. I don't like either of you. *Walks on ahead*

Colin: They did say they were going to complain.

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

[thebadgerclan]

Clueless

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by @imabee-oralizard

Summary: Benedict is clueless to your affection...

It was painful to watch Benedict be so clueless.  The Bridgertons and L/Ns had been friends for as long as anyone could remember, your homes were across from one another’s, your father was a well-respected Earl.  And in your childhood, you and Benedict were as thick as thieves, spending nearly every day together.  Then Edmund had passed and you drifted apart, though you still made efforts to spend time with him.

Through your debut into society, Benedict had remained your closest friend.  However, as time passed and the two of you matured, Benedict found his feelings for you evolving.  Where he once saw a girl, he now saw a woman; a beautiful, graceful, elegant woman.  Where he once saw someone to play tag with, he now saw a woman he wanted to bring flowers to, a woman he wanted to spend…oh.

Little did he know, you were in a similar situation.  Benedict had once been a gangly stick of a boy, but he had grown into a devastatingly handsome man.  He wasn’t the head of his household, he wasn’t titled, but that had never mattered to you.  Your father had always made it clear that you could marry whoever you wished, that money or status needn’t play into it.  And as time went on, you found yourself no longer thinking about Benedict as a friend, but someone you wanted to be with, someone you were slowly falling in lo–oh.

The three eldest Bridgertons stood along the side of the ballroom, watching the dance floor.  Anthony watched as his wife danced with Lord Kent while Colin chatted with Miss Featherington.  Benedict, meanwhile, was staring at you, his gaze positively lovesick.  You were dancing with the Marquis of Winchester, who had apparently just inherited his title, and Benedict realized he would give almost anything to be in his place.

“Need we call the fire brigade, brother?” came Anthony’s voice, drawing Benedict’s focus from you.  “What?”  “Your gaze will certainly burn holes in the back of Lady Y/N’s head if you stare at her for much longer!”  Colin burst out in laughter, and Benedict rolled his eyes.  “Quite entertaining, brother, truly.”  Benedict felt his face warm, and he sought out a servant rounding with drinks.

Colin politely excused himself from his conversation with Penelope, and Anthony followed suit, wordlessly agreeing to continue their teasing.  “You know, ladies have dance cards for a purpose, brother,” Colin said, and Benedict barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  “Yes,” he responded.  “They do; to keep track of the gentlemen vying for their hands for a dance.”  “Precisely,” Anthony chimed in, taking a drink from a nearby table.  “So, Benedict, do you think Lady Y/N still has room on her card?”

Benedict nearly spat out his drink.  “What?  I..whyever would you ask such a question?”  Colin disguised his laughter with a cough.  “Because, brother, she has been sneaking glances at you all evening!”  “She has?”  Anthony nodded, nodding gratefully at the gentleman who Kate had been dancing with as he returned her.  “Benedict, with how much you have been looking at her, I am shocked you have not noticed!”

Even now, Benedict was subtly watching you; watching as the Marquis escorted you to the refreshments table, watching as you smiled, as you laughed.  “Benedict!”  “What?”  “Good Lord, you are absolutely besotted!”  Colin clapped him on the shoulder.  “Go ask her to dance, you fool.  Please, if I have to watch you pine for her for another moment, I may be ill.”  Benedict shook his head, but set off across the room anyway.

“Pardon me, Lady Y/N?”  You turned to face Benedict, a warm smile on your face.  “Mister Bridgerton!  How lovely to see you!”  “Lovely to see you as well.  I know it is late in the evening, but do you have room on your dance card for me?”  Butterflies were running rampant in your stomach, and you held up your wrist, displaying the card.  “I happen to have one spot left.  A waltz.”

You left your waltz vacant at every ball you went to, hoping and praying Benedict would ask you to dance.  If others asked, you could play it off as being too intimate for an unwed lady, something no one would question you on.  It was truly a shot in the dark, but tonight, your aim was true.  Benedict smiled, taking the pencil attached to the card and signed his name.  “It would be my honor, Lady Y/N.”  “Please, just Y/N.”

Benedict smiled, and moments later, the musicians played the opening chords of the waltz.  You followed Benedict onto the dance floor, curtseying as he bowed.  The waltz was controversial, some saying it was far too intimate, some calling it outright scandalous.  But that was the farthest thing from your or Benedict’s minds as you began to dance.

His hand was on your waist, the other clasped in yours; your hand on his shoulder.  There was no more than 6 inches of space between your bodies, and you felt as if your heart could bean straight out of your chest.  “So tell me, Y/N,” Benedict said.  “Has the season been treating you well thus far?”  “Oh, I wish I could say it has.  There are plenty of suitors, yes, but…”  “But what, Y/N? We have no secrets, remember?”

It was a stupid pact you’d made years ago: to keep no secrets from Benedict, but it was a pact you’d stuck to….for the most part, that is.  “I have had my heart set on a true love match for so long, and I have yet to feel that with any men who have called upon me.”  “You will find that someday, Y/N, have faith.”  Benedict was trying so desperately not to get his hopes up, but then you spoke again.

“What if I already have?”  It might have been an innocuous thing to say, had you not pressed yourself ever so closer to Benedict, had you not squeezed his hand, and had you not looked so deeply into Benedict’s eyes.  It was so plain: the love you held for him, the desire to be his and for him to be yours, and how long you had wanted it.

“Y/N, are you…”  “I have no callers in the morning,” you said.  “And I hear the weather shall be wonderful for a promenade.”  Benedict’s heart skipped several beats, and when the dance ended, he made a bold move and kissed your hand.  “Well then, I shall call upon you in the morning.  Be warned, though, I have been told I am quite the romantic.”

You couldn’t hold the laugh that left your lips, and Benedict escorted you back to your chaperone.  In the morning, you were indeed greeted by Benedict, a bouquet of 20 red roses in hand.  No one in London was surprised when you were engaged a mere month and a half later, and married four months after that.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton reader insert #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fanfiction

[somedaylazysomeday]

A Grand Deception - Part Two

Some weeks after your infiltration, your shop receives an unexpected visitor.

Continued Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Rating: Explicit. Minors, please do not interact

Word Count: 4,600

Warnings: Money concerns, overworked employees, lying, discussions of sexual experience, discussions of keeping a mistress, kissing, fingering, unprotected sex, handjob.

Previous | Masterlist

---

The weeks after your excursion passed in a rush of activity. 

It had been simple to burn the gown you had worn to the masquerade. The day after the ball, you cut it into sections of fabric, disguised those in baskets of scrap material, and sent all of it to a nearby furnace. Your mask had ended up in the Thames. 

Speaking officially, it was not the time of year when your dress shop was busiest. The late months of winter saw a few requests for dresses and other articles of clothing, but most ladies had already purchased a full wardrobe by the mid-point of the season. Other than the occasional wedding trousseau, you would not see more orders until the weather began to grow warmer. 

However, you found yourself busier than usual in early February because one young lady had worn a dress with a particularly daring neckline to a recent ball. She had been met with censure by mamas in the ballroom, but had received some six proposals the next day. Young ladies and their mothers across the ton were demanding gowns altered to feature a similar neckline.

It was a simple enough alteration to make, but time-consuming with the delicacy of the fabrics. You and your two assistants found yourselves occupied with sewing from sunup until your eyes could no long bear sewing by candlelight in the evening. 

“I cannot stop crying,” Beatrice announced, rubbing at her watering eyes. Lottie reached out without truly looking, preventing Beatrice’s dropped garment from falling to the floor. “How many more dresses need to be altered?” 

“Seventeen,” you answered without counting. The ever-shrinking number had been your sole source of motivation, and yet it was still a terribly large number. 

A stunned silence met your answer. You sighed, lowering the dress you held onto the table you were all sharing. “Finish the dresses you are working on, ladies. After that, you may go home for the evening.” 

“It is but six,” Lottie objected. “And we have seventeen-” 

“I am well aware, trust me,” you interrupted. “We will not finish our orders this evening regardless, and we only risk ruining fabric if we continue to work while our eyes are weary. Finish what you are working on and I will send messages for the remaining fourteen. I will offer them a lower price for a later completion date. We will start work a half hour before dawn tomorrow in hopes of finishing sooner.” 

“Can we afford to accept a lower rate?” Beatrice asked softly. 

The impertinence of the question was excusable with how hard you had all been working, but even more so because you were warmed by her use of ‘we’. The business was yours, but it was wonderful to have two assistants who cared as much as you. 

“We shall be fine,” you assured her, smiling. “Come now, finish that gown. We cannot have you weeping on the fabrics.” 

Beatrice wiped at her streaming eyes, smiled, and bent back to her work. Lottie had been sewing steadily while you spoke and finished setting her stitches first. You examined her work, deemed it perfection, and dismissed her for the evening. Beatrice was not far behind, though you had to stop her from trying to surreptitiously pick up another gown. 

“The work will be here tomorrow morning,” you promised. “Good night. Be safe.”

The gust of winter chill that blasted through the back room of your shop pulled you from the comfort of your seat. You needed to search for the names attached to the gowns that were not finished, then send notices to them. 

It was no easier to write by the trembling candlelight than it had been to sew. You closed your eyes when the notes were finished, stealing a moment to breathe. 

You would never burden them with your worries, but you had not been entirely truthful with Beatrice and Lottie. The shop could survive discounting your rates for the unfinished necklines, but your funds were already low. You needed whatever business you could steal until the spring brought a flurry of orders for light weight dresses. 

The spring inventory had been ready months ago, and you were pleased to see that they were still on-trend. Your store had only to survive until the days grew longer and warmer. It was your responsibility to see that your doors were still open in two months. 

When you felt worry shift toward self-pity, you cut the thoughts short. You gathered your stack of notices and stepped out into the piercingly cold night, waving down a few messenger boys and instructing them where to deliver your notices. 

The cost of the deliveries was unavoidable, yet you felt the weight of your financial struggles bear heavier on your soul as you returned to the warmth of your shop. Perhaps you would attempt to finish another neckline or two before you closed up for the night…

The bell above your door jangled cheerily and the cold of the night rushed in, turning the warmth of your stove to something barely above freezing. You turned, striving for an even tone as you requested, “Please close the door.” 

Your guest did as you asked, turning to pull the door shut against the wind. You took the moment he was facing away as an opportunity to gather yourself.

What Benedict Bridgerton could be doing in your dress shop, you hadn’t the slightest clue, but he did not know your true identity. He could not. 

When he was facing you once more, your expression was politely neutral. “How may I help you, sir?” 

“I- am looking for silks,” Benedict said, his explanation disjointed. “For my sisters, of course. I have been tasked to find someone who can create garments for them. Do you-? Is that a service you provide here?” 

“Yes, sir,” you agreed. “I am no modiste, but I can shape silk garments well enough. Do they need only custom items? I have a selection of pre-made garments ready for sale. Gloves, scarves, bonnets..?” 

“I believe they need custom garments,” he told you, peering at you far more intently than was necessary from the question. “What is your name?” 

You smiled, leaning forward to ask conspiratorially, “Did you not see the sign above the door?”

Benedict looked stunned, then a wide smile broke across his face. “You are the owner?” 

“None other,” you confirmed. Who else would you have named the store after, if not yourself? It had been your labor that brought it into existence, and you had thought it only fair. “It is my greatest accomplishment.” 

“It is very impressive,” he agreed, looking around appreciatively. “Though I believe your greatest accomplishment was fooling a ballroom of people into thinking you a member of the Sharp family.” 

You had expected this, but you had also expected that he would hint about it more subtly. You stared at him in a silence that stretched far too long. “I do not understand.” 

“I recognize you,” Benedict said simply. “You wore a mask, but nothing could disguise the intelligence in your eyes or the strength of your wit. To find that you own a successful business is wonderful, but far from surprising. I expected nothing less of you.” 

The compliments mollified you slightly, gave you hope that he did not intend to drag you into the street to be accused of trespassing or worse. “Why are you here?” 

“We did not finish our conversation.” 

It was a simple answer, but it still made you laugh aloud. “That is true. But what could a Bridgerton care for the opinions of a dressmaker?” 

“Let us forget, for a moment, Bridgertons and ballrooms and social status,” Benedict suggested. “I greatly enjoyed your company when we met. I would like to spend more time with you. Do you feel the same?” 

You could not lie to him: “Yes.” 

He nodded, though he was already smiling again. “Good. That is… good.” 

“I must ask, though…” You lifted your chin, staring him in the eyes. “Precisely what would you like to do in the time you spend with me?” 

Benedict hesitated for only a moment. “Whatever you would like to do together. I will not pretend I do not find you desirable, but I would never push that on you.” 

“Benedict, I am no blushing virgin,” you warned. “I am no whore, but I have known men. Does that bother you?” 

“Not in the slightest,” he said instantly. “I am experienced as well. Why should it bother me that you are not untouched?” 

“The motivations of men are beyond me,” you said with a shrug. 

Benedict smiled at your faux-despairing tone. “On the topic of male motivations, I will state mine plainly: I wish to make you my mistress.” 

You considered the proposition for a moment. It piqued at your pride, though you had no objections to Benedict as a partner. “Why can we not simply enjoy each other without worrying about what we call our dalliance?” 

“I would prefer to have an arrangement between us,” he revealed. With an apologetic look from under his lowered brows, he added, “I fear I might become rather jealous of your time.”

Men, you thought irritably. Why could they not allow something to exist without attempting to own it? “I do not believe-” 

“I would provide you with all of the usual benefits of being a lord’s mistress, of course,” he interjected.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “And let us suppose that I am unfamiliar with the customs surrounding the practice of keeping a mistress. What benefits?” 

“I will rent an apartment for you. I will meet you there,” Benedict explained. “I will provide for your needs - food, clothing, and whatever else you may require to live a comfortable life while you are my mistress.” 

A sudden inspiration overtook you. “I have a counterproposal. I would like you to invest in my shop. It would not be charity, nor would you be purchasing anything untoward, but I would furnish you with a percentage of my profits at the end of each year.” 

Benedict eyed you. “You… want me to support your business. Instead of supporting you?” 

“Yes. I can support myself and, if we decide to form an attachment, you are more than welcome in my home. But this is what I value the most.” 

You gestured around the room. It was warm and cheerful, a candle reflector spreading the light of a long taper. That golden glow lent an intimate illumination to the finished dresses and bolts of fabric around the room. A mirror triptych with a stool in the middle helped you with fitting in the daytime, but after dusk, its reflection served as another light source for the room. 

“This is what I would choose for you to support if we were to be man and mistress.” 

“For a second time, you have sounded uncertain of this,” Benedict pointed out. “If you have doubts about this arrangement, I will not force you into anything.” 

“I simply believe it would be wise for us to see whether we are well-matched in the bedroom before we make commitments of any kind,” you said. 

Benedict’s look of shock was strong, but it melted into a lascivious smile soon enough. “You need not convince me. But first, I should ask… How many investors does your business have?” 

“You are the only one.” You paused. “Or perhaps you were asking about other relationships in my life…” 

“No, I truly was asking about your business,” he hurried to say. “And I am honored that you are allowing me to take part in something of such importance.”

“I have no other lovers,” you clarified, on the chance that was also a concern for him. “Not for a while.” 

“Neither do I,” he murmured, stepping closer to you. “May I kiss you?” 

“Yes.” 

The last sibilant letter had scarcely touched the air when Benedict pressed his lips to yours. One of his hands rose to cradle your jaw while the other cupped heat against the side of your neck. 

His lips were gentle against yours, asking for your acceptance instead of demanding it. You met his kiss softly, but your eagerness shone through the way you leaned closer. In the tightness of your grip against his forearm as you steadied yourself. In the way you were the first to deepen the kiss. 

Benedict made a noise of surprise, but it was clearly not one of displeasure. His hand tightened against your jaw, tilting your head to a better angle. The brush of his tongue against yours was welcomed, and you gave a satisfied sigh even as the furor inside of you raged higher. 

Time passed by as it ever did, yet you both seemed unaffected in the peace of your shop. It seemed a mythical burrow of some magical creature - a warm, quiet hiding place allowing some comfort against the chill pervading the busy street outside. 

When you finally parted, Benedict wore a dazed expression, and you were certain your own face mirrored it. Neither of you spoke immediately. For your part, you were entranced by Benedict’s reddened lips and the quickness of his breath. 

Your voice was low enough to keep the scene intact instead of bursting it like a soap bubble. “I do not believe we need worry about a lack of compatibility.” 

“No,” Benedict agreed, his eyes crinkling with his smile. “How much experimentation do you intend to do tonight?” 

“I would prefer to have a final decision before you leave my shop,” you answered honestly. When he seemed surprised, you hesitated. “If you object, of course, we can plan to meet up another time…” 

Benedict shook his head immediately, the motion strong and certain. You were relieved; the ache that had been building between your legs would have left you very unhappy if it were not sated.

“Forgive me for asking yet again, but I must know that you are certain. I am willing to wait as long as you require-” 

“I am certain,” you interrupted, laughing softly. “I truly am, Benedict. In fact, I am nearing desperation.” 

His eyes went dark. “We cannot allow that. Where should we go?” 

“One moment,” you requested. He waited patiently as you locked the door, then beckoned him toward the back room where you had been working with Beatrice and Lottie. 

The back room was smaller than the main shop, but even warmer. The lack of a large mirror in that space left it slightly dimmer, more intimate with the shadows filling the corners of the room. There were designs hanging on the walls, bearing your theories of what fashions might change between this season and the next. Scraps of fabric overflowed from a basket in one corner. Lottie had sewn together a charming little dog out of some extra fabric one slow day, and he presided over the basket.

“I like this room,” Benedict announced as he followed you in. It did not appear to be false flattery, as he studied every detail he could. He seemed particularly enamored by your designs. “These are quite good. You have a particular talent with lines.” 

You laughed despite yourself. Even before you offered an explanation, Benedict was smiling at you, sharing in your joy. “I should hope so. What is sewing if not a collection of lines?” 

“I believe you are right, though I’ve never considered it before,” Benedict admitted. He reached out to tangle his fingers in yours, tugging you closer with your joined hands. “You must forgive me. I find my interest thoroughly captured by one thing in this room above all else.”

“The patchwork dog,” you guessed. “His name is Scrap. You needn’t be embarrassed; he captures the interest of all.”

You had never before had occasion to be kissed while smiling, but you found it intoxicating. 

It seemed you had only just begun when the kiss began to change into something far more intense. While your previous kiss had been lovely and glimmering with tension, this was filled with intent. You stroked over the muscles of Benedict’s jaw before weaving your fingers through his hair. From there, it was a simple thing to walk him backward until his legs met the edge of your worktable. 

He made a noise of surprise, eyes opening to search yours. You glanced behind him. “The table is full, but I believe we can make good use of that chair.”

Benedict looked back as well, taking in the sight of a dozen neatly written dress tags, an assortment of sewing needs, and a diagram of how to alter the necklines of the gowns you had been working on. His gaze traveled last to the chair you had indicated, excitement flaring in his expression when he faced you once more. 

“I believe we can,” he agreed, voice low and intimate. “Shall we… oof!” 

Shoving a gentleman forcefully into a chair was inelegant. From the surprise on his face, this was the first such encounter Benedict had experienced and you were likely not doing credit to your social class. Unfortunately, you were far too impatient to allow for anything more leisurely. 

You straddled him a moment later, hastily shoving at your skirts to keep from sitting on them. There were far too many layers of fabric between you as it was. 

Benedict recovered quickly from his shock, his hands roaming eagerly over your body as you kissed once more. Your fingers were busy unfastening the row of small buttons holding his waistcoat closed, then worked on the ones fastening the neck of his shirt. You pushed the fabric away the moment you had finished your task, luxuriating in the feel of Benedict’s bare chest. Coarse hair met your fingertips and you kissed him harder as your body realized what was about to happen and responded with a surge of excitement.

“Wait,” Benedict urged, catching your hands in his to still your explorations. “You have yet to lose a single stitch. And, if my sisters are any measure, undressing a lady requires time. We must hurry; I am desperate for you.” 

You considered undressing, but discarded the idea after a single moment. While Benedict was quickly stripped, you were wearing far too many layers to allow for such a thing. At any rate, the air in the shop was cool and exposing yourself to it entirely seemed a poor choice. 

“Allow me to compromise,” you proposed, tugging at the skirt of your dress until you were pressed against the fabric of his breeches. 

Benedict still wore a confused expression, and you took his hand in yours. It took little urging for him to put his hand under your skirt and run his fingers over the cloth covering your mound. When he found the slit in your drawers and his fingertips made contact with your folds, he released a choked gasp. 

“One moment.” 

The next instant, you were were back on your feet. You had no recollection of standing, but Benedict’s hands on your waist told you that he had likely towed you upward. Without you blocking his access, he worked efficiently at the buttons of his breeches, quickly freeing himself from their confines. 

You caught a single glimpse of his cock, rising hard and proud from the puddle of the clothing that he had hastily shoved aside. Your study was cut short when he hauled you back onto his lap. 

“Allow me to ask a final time,” he started. 

“Yes,” you interrupted, kissing him again as you stroked him. The texture of a man was one you found incredible - hot velvet over unimaginable hardness. His tip was leaking liquid, ready to ease the push of him inside of you. From the state of your underclothes, it would be unnecessary, but the response of his body told you that his hesitation stemmed from consideration for you rather than from misgivings of his own. 

There was some amount of fumbling in getting yourselves positioned perfectly. Benedict tore a section of your skirt. You lost your balance twice. He ensnared himself in your drawers while trying to sheathe himself in you. During that last misstep, Benedict treated you to a blistering curse at his own foolishness while you laughed. 

“I vow to you, I am not as clumsy as I appear,” he explained. Embarrassment was not an emotion that seemed to come easily to Benedict, but color had risen in his cheeks. 

“Have you already forgotten our evening spent together?” you asked. “Of the two of us, I was by far the clumsier. Allow me.”

You reached between you, nimbly avoiding both your skirts and his breeches to take him in hand once more. Benedict twitched in your grasp, thrusting helplessly into your palm as you guided the flushed head of him against your entrance. 

If pressed, you likely could have deciphered which of you had moved first. However, in the moment, the magic of you lowering yourself and him arching upward thrust him into you in a long, slow stroke. It felt as if the moment would last forever, and yet you would never tire of feeling him stretching and filling you. 

When you blinked, you were sitting on Benedict’s lap once more, your body working to reconcile itself with the pleasurable invasion. Your chest rose and fell with your quickened breaths, your toes curled against the chill of the floor, and your hands were fisted in the unbuttoned halves of Benedict’s waistcoat. 

“‘S everything well?” Benedict asked. His voice sounded strangled, and you felt less embarrassed by the tremble in your own.

“Yes.” And because of the expressions playing over his expressive face, you returned, “And you?” 

Benedict gave a short laugh. “I believe ‘well’ would be understating the way I currently feel. You are… incredible.”

Heat rose in your face. You had not been complimented for quite some time, especially not in such a blunt way. Still, you sought to brush it away as if you were unaffected by Benedict’s praise. 

“And I believed the flattery would stop when we shared a bed.” 

“Flattery? My lady, I speak only the truth.” Benedict tilted his head back, all the better to stare up at you. “Though you have made a grave error. If this is the only way I can convince you to continue our arrangement, I will do my utmost to win you over.” 

“Then do,” you challenged. 

Benedict grinned, though it went a little slack as you lifted up on your toes to start riding him in earnest. His hands rose to your waist, helping you rise and fall on him in an ever-quickening pace. 

Your panting was loud in the quiet room, drowning out all sound from the street outside. Benedict was breathing heavier as well, matching you as your shared pleasure grew. Occasionally, a sound would escape one of you, spurring the other to repeat what they had done. 

You found that tightening the muscles of your core when you were at the bottom of each stroke drove Benedict wild. He twitched inside of you each time, the muscles of his chest jumping under your palms. For his part, Benedict had discovered that tilting his hips changed the angle at which he reentered you. His constant experimentation kept you from growing accustomed to the sensations of your joining, and each thrust was new and different yet managed to build on all of those that had come before. 

The slow and steady movement of you atop him had increased in pace and grown unsteady with the combination of weary muscles and need. Your thighs were trembling, and Benedict’s guiding hands had shifted to half-lifting you. The desire had grown thick inside of you, solidifying low in your belly as it wound tighter and tighter. The tension could not twist much further before it snapped entirely. 

Benedict’s hand wriggled roughly under your dress once more. It was not subtle - you watched, dazed, as he fought past the layers of skirts and petticoats until he reached you - but you still jolted with shock when his fingers made contact with you. Dextrous fingers parted your damp folds, pressing between them until he could stroke gently over the sensitive button at the top of your slit. 

You jolted again, tipping your head back to release an animalistic cry. That simple touch had snapped the tension entirely, and you were blinded by pleasure. Your body tightened and relaxed around him again and again, your inner muscles working over him even as the rest of your body continued to mindlessly shudder and thrust.

When you at last fell still, your core continued working around Benedict’s length. His hand rose to cup your cheek, and you glanced up to find him watching you with warmth in his eyes. “You are beautiful.” 

You smiled at him, pressing briefly into his hand before gathering your strength. You lifted yourself from his still-hard cock, but did not retreat far. You sat slightly further back on his lap and began working your fist over him. The shine that you had left on him aided your efforts, and you soon found a speed and grip that made Benedict’s breath catch in his throat. 

His hips danced subtly beneath you, working him through your hand until he gasped. Benedict’s hand wrapped around yours, tightening your shared grip as he sank his teeth into his lip and tried to contain a groan. His release burst from him a moment later, thick ropes of milky liquid coating your hands and leaking onto any clothing that had not been pushed far enough away. 

When the tension in Benedict’s grip eased, you followed suit. Some men could not bear to be touched so soon after they had reached completion. It was best to take your cues from your partner until you learned what he liked. 

There was a pensive sort of look in Benedict’s expression as he caught his breath. You reached over and snagged a scrap of fabric from what had been removed from the altered necklines and used it to wipe Benedict’s release from his skin. You took care to be gentle on both his manhood and his hand, then took the same care with your own fingers. 

When you were both clean, you glanced up to find him watching you with a smile playing around his mouth. It was a common expression for him, but you could not help but think it looked lighter than you had ever seen it before. 

“Cleaning us with silken handkerchiefs?” he teased. “What luxury.” 

“I should rather think the son of a lord wipes his bottom with silken handkerchiefs,” you fired back. 

“What an idea!” he said, pretending to consider it. “Perhaps I should suggest that when I return home.” 

You hummed noncommittally. 

Benedict allowed you nearly a full ten seconds of peace before he spoke again. “And? What is your verdict on our compatibility? I believe we are exceptional together.” 

“I believe… we could be very well matched, indeed,” you admitted. You did not hold misgivings about Benedict save that you could already feel your attachment to him growing stronger. When your dalliance ended - and it would - you would be left shattered. 

If only that seemed justification enough not to go through with it. 

“I agree,” Benedict said, leaning forward to capture your lips in another kiss.

---

Author's Note - Thanks for reading! I would feel too weird about having a story so close to canon for me to continue writing this fic, but I can't let it end without explaining that Madame Delacroix is the one who 'helped' Benedict find the reader.

I never do this, but I've gotten a good response from this fic, and I feel a little guilty because this is very much not my typical subject matter. If you like my writing and want to read more stories of this nature, you might enjoy Captured, which is written like an old pirate-themed bodice ripper. Or Dreams, which is similar to this in descriptions and certain themes, but is more supernatural. Both of the stories I've listed are a little darker than this one. I also have two Hobbit fics (A Boon and Dexterity - featuring Thranduil and Thorin, respectively) which have some Regency-ish manners and themes, but with a fantasy tilt. As always, check the warnings to see whether it's something you want to read.

Thank you for reading! I appreciate the kind words about yesterday's chapter. They really made me smile!

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