#benedict bridgerton series | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lydiimae · 16 days

Text

Adoration

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Part 1 <3

MDI!! 18+

Warnings: Mentions of sex work, mentions of alcohol abuse, mentions (very light and brief) of physical abuse to readers mother, oral (m receiving, vaginal sex, masturbation, dirty talk, talk of public sex

Word Count: 4.1k

A.N: ITS HERE. Part two of infatuation \^-^/! I had so much trouble trying to figure out how to extend this story, but as soon as I wrote this I was overwhelmed with ideas on how to continue it. I am so sorry I have been so very inconsistent with writing, I am nearing finals so I have been so low energy and motivation. (College is awful). For those who have sent me requests- they are coming I promise! Anyways my loves, here is Benedict Bridgerton and you being Benedict Bridgerton and you <3 I hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank you for your overwhelming support and love >_<

It has been two weeks since that lovely, lust-filled night with Benedict. Two weeks since you had officially become his mistress. Two weeks, and you still made sure to keep your past a secret, and the significant fact that you worked as a maid for the family that lives right across from him. There was a certain shame that came with both, a feeling that he would not want you to come to his townhouse anymore if he found out. You thought he might find it odd that you work so close to his house. Perhaps he might even come to the assumption that you were seeking him out at the party, that he would find you strange. None of that would ever be true, of course. Benedict adores the time he spends with you, he makes it clear every time you meet, but there is still an underlying sense of dread. Especially today.

Indeed, that dread is the same dread that is lingering in the back of your head now. You are chaperoning Penelope to tea with Colin, much to her excitement. You had spent almost three hours getting her ready beforehand, insisting that she looks good in whatever she wears. The both of you walked across the street, the young debutante grinning ear to ear. You, on the other hand, were a ball of nerves. You had met Benedict in his bachelor's lodgings just last night, but you decided not to speak of what he may see today. You were regretting that decision now as you knocked on the door with a shaky hand.

“Y/N, you are shaking. Whatever is the matter? Are you feeling well?” Penelope asks, looking at you with pure concern. “It is only a headache, my lady. Nothing you have to worry about. Today is about you.” You assure, smiling as brightly as you can as you fib. She smiles back, her face brightening. The footman, John, answers the door and grins. “Lady Featherington. Lord Bridgerton is in the drawing room. Please come in.” He says, opening his arm towards the entryway. You collect Penelope's shawl before bowing your head to the footman politely. She starts down the hall and you take a deep breath before faking a sparkling smile, following her into the drawing room.

Sure enough, Benedict is there, sprawled out across the sofa with his sketchbook and charcoal in hand. He looks up lazily when Penelope walks in, but his expression quickly changes to one of shock when you follow. Your face shifts from a bright smile to an apologetic one, trying to communicate your worries silently. A silent prayer that he will pick up on your lingering anxieties about working for his neighbor.

He clears his throat and comes to the door, where you are patiently standing. “You… for them?” He whispers as he approaches, his expression unreadable. You only nod in response, knowing that if you say anything it will come out a jumbled mess of stutters. “Why did I not know before now?” He asks, settling into a polite position near you. To anyone on the outside, it looks as if he is merely speaking to a maid about his brother and her mistress. “I... I suppose I did not find it important.” You fib.

“Well, I certainly do. You are so secretive.” He sighs, looking over at you. Your eyes settle on your feet, not daring to meet his. “Y/N. If you are going to be my mistress there must be some semblance of transparency between us.” He says softly, his pinky extending and curling around one of yours. The action makes your cheeks heat up. “I did not know if you would think it strange. I have worked there for so long… I thought you would perhaps think less of me.” You whisper, the reasoning sounding silly now that you have said it out loud.

"And why would I think that?" He asks, sensing your nerves and giving your pinky a comforting squeeze as if to say that he is not put off. "You do not find it strange that I have worked across the road from you for ages? I thought that you would think I somehow... sought you out." You whisper, a bit tense. “No, I only pity that you have to be in the same home as Lady Featherington, the woman is a wench.” He mumbles, nudging your hip with his own. You have to suppress a laugh as you look up at him. He looks down at you with an expression of adoration.

"Y/N, I do appreciate honesty. I wish for you to tell me things like this. You do not need to feel anxious around me." He says softly, turning from playful to concerned like a dime. "I do not. I promise. It is more anxieties that linger because of past experiences I suppose." You whisper, looking down at your feet. He senses that there may be something more underneath, and he also senses that you do not wish to speak about it any longer. "My statement still stands. I am not others, I shall not judge you for being a woman who needs to support herself. I certainly shall not judge you for being apprehensive of telling me the place of your employment either." He assures.

“Thank you.” You breathe, looking away before you slip up and do something entirely untoward. You watch Colin and Penelope interact, a small smile gracing your lips as you observe how sweet they are to each other. “Colin. Does he hold any affection for any of the debutantes this season?” You ponder quietly as you watch Penelope smile shyly at the young man. Benedict looks over as well and a knowing look crosses over his features. “He has been secretive about it. Unusually so.” He whispers back. “And Penelope?” He returns. “Penelope is ever hopeful about one.” You hum before returning your gaze to him.

He meets your eyes and nods, giving your pinky a squeeze with his own. “She is a sweet girl. I have no doubt she will be successful in making her hopes a reality this season.” He murmurs. You nod and look away once more, stolen glances getting all too much paired with the grasp of his finger around yours. “Have you opened yourself up to the idea of marriage, Benedict?” You ask though you do not wish to know the answer. Some strange ache spreads through your chest at the thought of him marrying someone.

He visibly tenses and shakes his head. “No. No, I wish to focus on my art. Improving it, getting ahead in the academy. No time for… marriage right now.” He nods, clearing his throat and quickly returning his gaze to his brother. You nod, something about his vehement denial of the idea of marriage making you calm slightly. “It is quite suffocating. The idea of having to give your whole heart to a person with the risk that they break it. Then you would be… stuck.” You whisper and he looks down at you.

“You believe so?” He asks, his brows knitting together. You look up and nod. “I… what if the person changes once you make your vows? What if they hurt you? I find it terrifying.” You admit. “You do not?” You ask and he shakes his head. “No. I find the risk all the more romantic. If you find someone who truly makes your heart swell, someone who you find you cannot breathe without, who plagues your mind day in and day out, would it not be worth the risk?” He asks and you cannot respond.

“Finding a woman that makes you feel as though you have discovered the reason behind why poets speak of love so greatly, the way that artists paint the feeling so vividly, is well worth the risk to me. It is what makes life so exciting, finding your person. Your reason.” He finishes, and your heart is practically hammering out of your chest. “That is a very beautiful outlook on love, Benedict.” You manage to whisper back, and he smiles. “It is the naive artist in me.” He whispers back, his tone right back to playful and you nod, smiling to yourself. Whoever Benedict marries is a lucky woman, you decide.

Soon, Penelope and Colin part ways and you are forced to let go of Benedict’s pinky. With a quick curtsy to the Bridgerton brothers, you lead Penelope into the entryway where you wrap her shawl around her shoulders. You curtsy once more to the footman before walking the young debutante back home.

She speaks of Colin the whole way back and for the rest of the afternoon. You find it endearing, the amount of love she holds for the young man. She has never once admitted it outright, but it has always been quite clear to you in the way she speaks and looks at him. Your heart used to break for her when she would come crying to you about the things she overheard him say about her, but recently that has all changed. They are both clearly in love.

It makes you think of what it would feel like, to be a young debutante in love. To have all of the dresses in the world, to have your every wish only an arm's length away, to have your every need catered to. You had concluded long ago that love was a privilege, just as happiness and comfort. After all, you never saw any of those things in the neighborhood you grew up in. Not in the families you were surrounded by, and certainly not in your own.

Your father worked in a factory and your mother, though she would never admit it, was a prostitute. When your father reached the age of forty-five, the factory laid him off on the claim that he was getting too old and slow to keep up with the children. That is when your father began drinking. You were about ten and seven at the time, and you had picked up a job under a modiste in town where you met Genevieve. Every night when you would return home you would find your father screaming drunken insults at your mother. Drunken insults turned into drunken actions that he would swear would never happen again, and one day your mother stopped coming home from her nights on the streets.

Then, when you would come home, your father would yell at you. The minute he even hinted at being physical with you, you packed your bags and never looked back. Happiness and love were dead, a silly idea that only people with money could have. You spent another three years living with Genevieve before the job at the Featheringtons was presented to you. You accepted Lady Featherington’s offer gratefully and have been working as a lady’s maid for Penelope ever since. The only person who knows the full story of your past is Genevieve, as transparency is another comfort only granted to those with money. Who knows what would be said about you if you openly admitted that your mother was a lady of the night?

“How do you know Benedict, Y/N?” Penelope’s voice snaps you out of the trance you had been in while brushing her hair out before bed. Your blood runs cold. Had she overheard your conversation? “Whatever do you mean, my lady?” You ask, playing dumb. She snorts and smiles knowingly. “You were talking with him like you had known him your whole life, not to mention the way the both of you were looking at each other.” She says.

“My lady I-” You start, trying to think of any excuse to explain the way you were speaking to Benedict, but she quickly interrupts. “Y/N, you know that whatever you share with me shall be kept with me. I promise.” She says with a comforting smile and you chew on your bottom lip, deciding if you want to tell her the full truth or the half-truth. You quickly decide that there is no point in lying, as you are quite terrible at it.

“We met at a party a few weeks ago.” You whisper as your cheeks turn pink. She turns, making your hands fall to your side. “Really? My God! He is handsome, is he not?” She says with a grin and you smile shyly. “He is indeed, my lady.” You agree and she laughs. “Have you met with him? Has your friendship grown?” She asks and you nod. “I do. I meet with him whenever I am able.” You reply and she nods. “You deserve something wonderful, Y/N. Perhaps he could-” She starts but you shake your head. “It is nothing like that, my lady. I am quite content with my life here, working for you. I see no need in chasing something I am not allowed to have.” You say and her face falls. She nods understandably nonetheless, turning back to the mirror so you can continue to get her ready for bed, the idle conversation turning to one of the books she has read recently.

You make your way down to the servants' quarters after making sure Penelope has everything she needs for the night. As you walk past the other servants one of the other maids stops you with a gentle hand on your shoulder. “Grace, what is it?” You ask and she grins. “You have a letter, Y/N. A young man snuck it in while you were taking Penelope shopping this afternoon.” She says with a knowing smile, passing you a small letter.

“Thank you.” You hum before making your way to your small bedroom. You walk in and shut the door behind you, lighting the candle on your desk. “Meet me at midnight, where the world sleeps and the stars whisper secrets. Let us share a moment under the moon's gentle gaze, just you and me, lost in each other's embrace. B.B.” You grin at his somewhat sloppy handwriting, tucking the note away in the lockable drawer in your desk before getting ready to go to his townhouse.

You pin your hair up and put on one of Genevive’s more risque creations, made just for you. A gift for your nineteenth birthday that you have never had a use for until now. It is a baby pink, almost seethrough material that hangs loose on your body. However, it hugs the assets that you find Benedict likes the most. You cover it up with a cloak to walk and slip on your stockings and shoes before making your way out of the Featherington estate.

He had thought of nothing but you since you arrived at his home, even now as he paints in the small drawing room of his townhouse his thoughts are plagued by you. He is trying to be patient, but he wants nothing more than to run to the Featherington residence and have his way with you. His grip on the paintbrush in his hand tightens as his thoughts turn to the way your body moves when you are in his bed. The way his thighs feel hitting yours when he is buried to the hilt inside of you, the noises he draws from your perfect cunt, the way your breasts bounce when you are on top of him.

He groans and drops the paintbrush, burying his head in his hands as his trousers become tighter. He closes his eyes and jiggles his leg, trying to take his mind off sex. How humiliating would it be if he answered the door with his cock fully hard already? He groans and runs a hand through his hair, standing up and moving to the sofa so he can take care of the problem himself. He leans back and unbuttons his trousers, letting his cock spring free against his clothed stomach.

He sighs and spits on his hand beginning to stroke himself to the thought of you. Your face when you reach your peak, the way you moan when he drinks from your body, how your lips wrap around his cock as your eyes look up into his, always so eager to please. He moans at the thought of your perfect breasts pressed against his chest, your nails dragging angry red marks into his back as he fucks you so hard his hips leave marks on your pelvic bone. God, he wants nothing more than to mark you as his for the rest of the world to see. He wants to parade you around all of London completely naked and on all fours.

You smile to yourself as you walk to the back entrance, deciding to surprise him. You are happy to find the back door unlocked and you let yourself in, expecting him to be in the drawing room sat in front of a canvas. You hang up your cloak and seak deeper into the home, making sure your bare feet touch the cold wood as quietly as they can.

You freeze when you hear a loud moan from the drawing room, your heart dropping to your feet. Surely he does not have another woman here, you thought that you had made your boundaries quite clear when he made you his mistress. You did not want to fuck him after he had just fucked another woman, the thought made your stomach roll over with disgust. You chew on the inside of your cheek as you peek inside the drawing room, your lips parting when you are presented with a very much-alone Benedict stroking his cock on the sofa.

Heat pools in your core as your eyes lock in his hand, moving up and down quite quickly. The tip is already an angry red, dripping with hints of his arousal. You take a deep breath and make your way into the room as quietly as you can, biting your lip to stop yourself from moaning when he lets out a very breathy, and wanton, “Y/N.” You drop to your knees in front of him, pressing a light kiss to his knee in hopes of not startling him too much.

His eyes shoot open and his hands automatically go to cover himself. You laugh at his startled expression and he sighs in relief, moving a hand down to cup your cheek. “How did you get in?” He breathes, running his thumb along your cheekbone. You hum and lean into his gentle caress. “You left the back door unlocked. So irresponsible, Bridgerton.” You murmur and he chuckles, the deep sound making your thighs all wet and sticky.

“Perhaps I was being hopeful.” He whispers back and you smile. “You have not commented on the dress I have on. I worked so very hard to look good for you.” You tease, jutting your lip out playfully. He rolls his eyes and gestures for you to stand, making you giggle as you do. “Jesus fucking Christ, Y/N. Are you trying to give me a heart attack?” He grunts, placing his hands on your hips. You swat them away and he huffs in frustration. “Do not pout, I want to please you. Please.” You whisper and all of his resolve suddenly disappears.

He watches as you sink back down onto your knees between his legs, slowly slipping his trousers off. Once his legs are bare, you begin to pepper the inside of his thighs with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He groans and slides a hand into your hair, making the pins fall out. He plays with your curls and grips as you press a kiss so very close to his twitching cock, his reaction making you smirk.

Without warning you take his tip into your mouth, sucking on it like an ice lolly. He groans and rolls his head back, his hips bucking up as he grips your hair to try and push you onto his cock. You allow him to guide you, tears gathering at the corners of your eyes as your nose gets pressed into his pubic hair. You look up at him just as he looks down at you, a cocky smirk plastered across his face as he begins to thrust into your mouth. The action makes you moan, your hand sneaking between your legs to soothe the ache that has settled there.

You whine and grind down onto your fingers, the vibrations making him grunt and stall. You gag and tap once on his thigh, pulling off of him when he lets go. Drool dribbles down your neck and between your breasts as you pant, looking up at him with glassy eyes. He curls his fingers around your chin and leads you up onto your feet. “So perfect.” He whispers as his hands find their way to the soft flesh of your rear. He squeezes and you gasp, moving to straddle him as if on instinct.

He hums and presses a kiss to your lips as he begins to undo the ribbons on your dress. The fabric falls and he lifts your hips, his lips still locked with yours. He throws the dress somewhere across the room and his hands come to your waist, moving you so you are lying flat on the sofa. He breaks the kiss only to lick a stripe down your neck as your legs wrap around his waist. He hums and bites your collarbone as his fingers plow through your folds, making you cry out loudly. He smirks and rubs his thumb around your clit, slipping one long finger into your entrance.

Your eyes roll back as his finger curls into that spongey spot he somehow knows how to find right away each time. He adds another finger and begins to twist, slowly getting your body ready for him. You pant hard and crowd a hand into his thick hair, tugging him up from your neck so you can steal a sloppy kiss full of tongue and tooth. You whine when the feeling of his fingers disappears and buck your hips up into his, silently begging for whatever he wants to give you.

He parts the kiss and presses his forehead against yours, his tip nudging your entrance. You whine and close your eyes, at which he grips your chin. “Look at me while I fuck you, Y/N. You know the rules.” He breathes and your eyes snap open. He grins and buries himself completely inside of you with one thrust, making you cry out as he grunts. “Fuck. Fuck, you… God. So tight.” He breathes, beginning to pound into you at a brutal pace. You grip his arms, your mouth hanging open as loud moans and whines slip past your lips beyond your control.

He pounds into you, your nails dragging down his back with every thrust. His hands press down onto your hips so hard you are sure that his fingerprints will be embedded in your skin. He revels in the slick noises he draws from your cunt, sucking a mark on your chest where he knows it will not be seen. The sound of thighs meeting thighs fills the small space, the smell of sex making your mind foggy. His pelvis slams against your clit with every thrust, making an utterly intoxicating feeling of pain and pleasure wash over your body as he fills you to the brim.

He is so close already, what with palming himself and a quick suck from you. He presses his head into the crook of your neck and bites down, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulders. His hand sneaks between both of your bodies and his thumb finds your clit, circling fast so that he can get you to where he is. It works wonderfully and your cunt clenches around him ad you call out his name. He pulls out quickly, spilling himself on your stomach as his fingers take you to your climax. A pinch to your clit takes you over the edge, seeing stars and babbling nonsense about how good he is as you do.

He lifts himself off of you and cuddles into your side, making you smile. He peppers your shoulder with kisses and you laugh. “Stay?” He whispers after a moment of nothing but kisses and the sounds of your breathing. Your cheeks heat up at the adorable, hopeful expression that crosses over his face. “Mmm. I think I can, Mister Bridgerton.” You tease, flipping him onto his back and crawling over him. “Jesus Christ. You are utter perfection.” He whispers, claiming your mouth again.

Perhaps, love is not that far away.

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peterpparkrr · 2 years

Text

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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writtenfangirl · 17 days

Text

Madness

I wrote this so long ago and then abandoned it because I didn’t know if the ending was satisfactory or not. I thought it would have a greater plot as well but when I couldn’t find it, I was dissatisfied until I reread it and realized the prose was too good not to publish.

Fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint hard enough.

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful, if Benedict was being perfectly honest with himself. Not the kind of beauty that had him picking up a paint brush and painstakingly striking an easel with lovely swirls of color but the kind of beauty that distracted him, made him brood in a dim corner of the room, watching the little twists of her mouth and the subtle way she arched a brow. Beauty to the point of distraction, like spending hours watching shooting stars dash across the night sky, not realizing as dawn approached on the horizon.

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

How was he meant to live, to exist and breathe, to witness such great beauty and yet have none of the capacity, the right, to keep it?

Just a glance from her, a single curve of her lips, and Benedict could feel his faith in God strengthening as easily as he could deny the Lord’s existence. Only a benevolent God could create such ecstatic beauty and yet no benevolent God could exist in this world if Benedict had to bear the cruelty of Y/N’s indifference.

Maddening.

He sighed, the sound bereft as he continued to watch her charm the eligible men of the ton. She had a veritable cabal of men gathered around her and if any other debutant had been in her position, they surely would have been overwhelmed by now.

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

With her head held high and her smile demure, she directed the men as easily as if she was holding court. A slight clearing of the throat and already, someone had a glass of lemonade in their hand while a flap of her hand would have the men falling over themselves in an attempt to get her a chair.

A queen holding court, indeed.

Benedict rolled his eyes at the man to her right, who practically shoved at the man on his left in order to catch Y/N’s attention. Not that it really mattered though, especially not when Y/N’s attention was focused on Benedict.

Even from across the room, the tension between them felt palpable. Exhilarating. It always had been with Y/N. Thick and smooth, the connection between them as tangible as their own beating hearts. Just a shared look between them and the world fell silent, the edges of his vision practically darkening at the edges until he saw only her.

Beautiful. Even as her face contorted with hurt for the briefest of seconds, her eyes pulling away from him and returning to the crowd of men that surrounded her.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the only sign of annoyance he let himself show.

“I see you are not quite so enamored with our diamond.”

Benedict’s head whipped to the left, finding Lady Danbury watching him with those shrewd eyes of hers. The old crone had her cane gripped tightly in her hands and Benedict fought his grimace at the phantom pain that shot up from his ankles. The dowager countess had a terrible habit of whacking gentlemen she didn’t like with that sturdy cane of hers and Benedict had felt the brunt of that pain far too many times for his liking.

Still, as a gentleman, he couldn’t very well ignore the woman. It would have been terribly rude of him to and it went against every fiber of the etiquette that had been drilled to him as a child.

He spared Y/N another glance before he spoke. “You think all those men enamored with her?”

“I think they think themselves enamored by her,” Lady Danbury said. “She is quite a beauty and accomplished too, I hear. Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

He had been, when he was young. As recently as a few months ago, Benedict had counted Y/N as one of his dearest friends but with everything that transpired between them…

“We are familiar with one another.”

Lady Danbury arched a brow, directing her attention back to Y/N. She was animatedly speaking with Anthony and Colin, the only time the entire evening where her smile didn’t seem a little bit forced. “Your brothers seem friendly with her. Why aren’t you?”

Because he was a stupid, bloody, idiot who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, that’s why.

But his pride would never let him say that, especially not in front of Lady Danbury. “We are familiar with each other.” He repeated, voice tight.

Lady Danbury’s eyes flickered. “I seem to recall your mother telling me about how you and the Lady Y/N were thick as thieves not so long ago.”

Bloody hell, the old crone was relentless. He didn’t want to talk about his and Y/N’s falling out, especially not with her.

He suddenly whirled, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I believe I hear someone calling me.”

No one was calling him but not even his impeccable manners could make him stay.

Lady Danbury harrumphed. “I may be old, boy, but I am not deaf.”

“Definitely hear someone calling me.” Benedict even cupped a hand, placing it on the side of his mouth before he yelled a quick, “I’ll be right there!” He turned back to Lady Danbury, who was looking at him as if she knew his claims were a lie. “Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

The dowager countess simply gave Benedict a knowing look yet let him go.

He ducked into the crowd towards… bloody hell he couldn’t find anyone he would rather talk to. His brothers were still off speaking with Y/N and he didn’t feel like speaking with his mother, who would likely hound him about his fight with Y/N. Which left the last person of their party, Eloise. A quick scan of the room revealed his sister in the other side of the room, conspiratorially whispering to her best friend, Penelope Featherington.

He zoomed towards them, turning his back on Y/N and Lady Danbury.

Eloise caught his eye as he approached and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Why do you look as if you’re expecting me to bail you out of a horrible situation.”

“Can’t I see my favorite sister with joy in my face without being suspected of ill intent?”Benedict said with a grin before bowing to Penelope, who returned the gesture with her own curtsy.

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

“To ask you why you’re sulking in a corner instead of dancing despite—“ he pulled at the dance card in her wrist, every single line filled with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Did you put fake names in your dance card?”

Eloise snatched her wrist back. “Yes. I thought that with Y/N grabbing the attention of so many of the gentlemen, I would be spared the embarrassment of having to entertain any gentlemen tonight. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

Benedict turned to Penelope. “How many approached her?”

“Six,” Penelope smirked, “and those six quickly turned right back around.”

“Well with a full dance card, I’m not at all surprised.”

Eloise rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me the lecture, brother. I’m sure I’ll hear enough from mother tonight.”

“She caught you?”

“After Eloise turned down the sixth one, Lady Violet began to suspect,” Penelope explained.

Benedict grinned. “When have you known me to lecture you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile, the kind that Benedict always knew would end with her barbed words. “Aren’t you meant to be fawning over Y/N? You’d done it most of our life.”

He bristled at her words.

Penelope shot them a curious look. “You never told me you were acquainted with the lady?”

“Hadn’t I?” Eloise frowned. “Lady Y/L/N’s family and ours have been acquainted for ages. Of course, she rarely ever came to London and if it hadn’t been for her father’s recent passing she wouldn’t have had a season at all. Mama had held hope that perhaps one of my dear brothers would begin to take some responsibility and marry her.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper that was so loud, it still reached Benedict’s ears. “Personally, I always thought Benedict would offer. He and Y/N had a special bond growing up. Even Daphne thinks so.”

Benedict had never hit a woman before but perhaps, just this once, excuses could be made for one’s sisters.

“So, well acquainted then,” Penelope said with a slight smile.

“I do recall Benedict pining after Y/N for years,” Eloise mused, uncaring as Benedict’s mood soured. “You never did tell me why it is you suddenly became estranged”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” He grumbled.

Eloise batted eyes innocently. “Irritable today, aren’t you, brother? Could it possibly be because of the cadre of men that hound every one of Y/N’s footsteps?”

“I have changed my mind. Francesca is now my favorite sister.”

“I love you too, Benedict,” she all but grinned.

He turned his attention back to Y/N, who, to his surprise, had taken her leave.

“She’s in the garden, if you wish to speak to her,” Eloise said, noting his wandering eyes and nodding towards the open veranda at the side.

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?”

Eloise simply rolled her eyes before tugging Penelope’s arm. “With Y/N taking her respite, I imagine there will be a sudden influx of gentlemen who would like to dance. Let us make ourselves scarce.” And she pulled Penelope along, the red head offering Benedict an apologetic look.

He glanced at the crowd once again before letting his feet carry him through the veranda and out towards the garden. There were still many people milling about outside that granted them protection from scandal but it was much more intimate than the loud din of the ballroom.

The night was cool, the spring air serene compared to the humidity of the ballroom.

He spied Y/N, her back turned against the door. Upon hearing his approach, she sighed. “Good sir, if you did not understand me, I wish to be al—“ she turned and her words died at her lips at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

She looked even lovelier up close. She always did. Whether dressed in a simple frock with her long hair flowing down her back or dressed ornately with jewels adorning her, she always looked lovelier up close.

“What do you want, Benedict,” Y/N said, dropping that societal mask she employed inside.

“To apologize.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You asked for my hand under false pretenses, I rejected you. End of story.“

“Under false pretenses?” He echoed, his own tone turning sharp. “You think my proposal to be insincere? Is that why you rejected me?”

“I did not think it insincere, I knew it to be insincere. I heard you and the Lady Violet discussing me. I heard when you declared your intention to ask for my hand in marriage simply because she had asked you to.”

Oh.

He remembered then, the conversation he had with his mother right before he proposed.

“Propose to her,” Violet had urged just as breakfast had been served, with only Benedict and Violet dining.

“I am not even courting her, mama,” he replied exasperatedly. It had been far too early in the morning to entertain his mother’s insistence on seeing him wed to Y/N. She’d pestered him about it in one form or another even before the Y/L/Ns had come to visit the Bridgertons and Benedict knew she would not stop until he and Y/N were formally engaged.

But Y/N had just ended her mourning period for her father. And though societal mandates dictated that it was perfectly reasonable for Benedict to ask for her hand in marriage, he knew how deeply she mourned the man, especially since his death had placed her in such a precarious position. The late patriarch of the Y/L/N family had been fond of his only child, even if she had been born a girl. And Y/N had loved him, even if his death left her and her mother saddled with financial debt despite coming from the longest line of barony in England.

“What does it matter that you are not courting?” Violet demanded. “You have known her since you were both children. You’ve been courting her all your life.”

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

“What is it that you do not like about her?” She insisted. “She is beautiful and accomplished and you have known each other your whole lives. Any young man would be fortunate to be bound to her in marriage.”

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

“Then why do you refuse to ask her for her hand in marriage? Doing so would spare her a season in London and limit their financial troubles.” And then she had gasped in indignation. “Or is their financial troubles the very reason why you refuse? I never raised you to be avaricious!”

Bloody hell. “I am not avaricious, mother. I do not care about her dowry or lack thereof!”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me it is because you do not love her. I have seen the way you look at her.”

Benedict had eyed his fork, had wondered if perhaps, it would be a better to shove it in his ears than listen to his mother’s hullabaloo.

Instead he took a scone, spreading a generous layer of clotted cream and jam so his hands had something to do rather than maim himself.

“And how is it I look at her, mother?” He drawled.

“The same way your father used to look at me.”

At that he had paused, scone half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t known what to say anymore. Mentions of his own father had always been capable of silencing his mind.

Finally, he had decided on telling her the truth, that his mother may finally stop pestering him.

“Asking Y/N for her hand in marriage had always been the plan, mother,” Benedict relented. “I was simply waiting for the perfect moment.”

Violet smiled at her son kindly. “There are no such thing as perfect moments, dearest. Only moments that can be made perfect. And whether you ask her later or tomorrow or next week, that moment will be perfect by virtue of you asking.”

She was right, of course. Violet Bridgerton was so rarely incorrect especially in matters of the heart and love.

Benedict had given her a smile, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Well, since you so graciously asked me to, I shall propose to the Lady Y/N, if only to make you happy.”

That must have been what Y/N heard. Not the whole story but the end, when Benedict had teased his mother.

Now he was convinced that God existed and that he must be cruel. Only the machinations of a cruel God could have lined up the timing perfectly.

Y/N’s eyes flickered as she regarded him. “I do not wish to bind you in marriage with someone you do not hold any affection for. You have fulfilled your promise to your mother and have asked for my hand. I rejected you. We no longer have any obligations with one another. Good night.” She made a move to pass him, to walk back to the ballroom to her gaggle of men but Benedict’s hand shot up, gripping her arm and keeping her to him.

His hands were gloved and even Y/N’s arms were sheathed in silk. And though he had never felt gloves to be particularly offensive, he wished to burn the ones that covered their hands. If only so he could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The heady scent of her perfume wafted through his senses. She smelled divine, like walking through a garden of roses under the cover of moonlight as the stars twinkled above his head. Utterly mouthwatering, and capable of driving even the sanest of men into insanity. The scent of distraction.

Always so distracting.

Benedict forced his mouth to speak before his brain could forget the words he needed to say. “Do you think so little of me? Capable of such cruelty especially when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s brows met, a flash of pain in her eyes and then it was gone. “It is the opposite, really. I think the world of you, Benedict. Only a gentleman would offer to marry a girl he has no obligations to simply because of her precarious position in life. You are an honorable man and any woman would be lucky to call you their husband. It is why I cannot accept your proposal, not when you do not love me. Not when there is no one on this world more deserving of love than you.”

Benedict frowned at her. “Why do you continue to insist that I do not love you?”

“Because you do not!” She pulled away from him, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Her eyes were pure anguish as she looked at him and the very sight of her pain had him staggering back. “If you truly held any affection for me, I would know. I have studied you all our lives, Benedict. And in all the time we shared together, you had never shown any affection for me beyond that of a friend. Your proposal hurt, Benedict. I have loved you in every way a man could be loved for so long and for you to ask for my hand in marriage out of pity—“ She choked, eyes widening as if she didn’t mean to say the things she’d said.

“You love me?” He echoed, heart beating quickly in his chest. He wondered, briefly, if his fast beating heart marks the day he really lived. If Y/N’s confession had been the reason he truly felt alive for the first time in his life.

Her face crumpled in pain as she stepped back. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please take your leave, Benedict. That I may salvage whatever scraps of my dignity is left.”

But Benedict did no such thing.

Instead he took her hands and lowered himself into a kneel, setting his eyes upon her. The arching light of the manor spilled over the veranda casted her in a soft glow that took his very breath away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm and whatever pain she held there was washed away by her surprise. “Benedict, what are you doing?”

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

But he held firm, his determination cementing his knees to the ground. “Forgive me, Y/N, for my grave transgressions against you. That you had ever lived your life doubting my affections for you, or wondering if I cared for you as more than a friend are sins I will carry with me to my last breath. It will be my great shame that I had not made it abundantly clear that I love you. Because I do love you. Most ardently.”

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

“You are right. It is madness. The way I feel for you would drive the sanest of people into lunacy. But if loving you is madness then I don’t ever wish to be sane.”

Her eyes gleamed silver with unshed tears that threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. “B-But that morning, the day you proposed—“

“I did not propose to you out of pity for you, I did it out of pity for me. I needed to put myself out of my misery and finally marry the only girl I ever had the privilege of falling in love with rather than continue pining after you in secret.”

She let out a a laugh through her tears, the sound like bells chiming during a storm. Light and beautiful despite the pouring rain that threatened to drown it out. “Ask me again.”

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding so quickly he struggled to get the words out. But they came nonetheless, the words clear and betraying none of his anxiety. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

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spideytingley · 3 months

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my fic recs!

marvel

peter parker

identity crisis by @heliads

bucky barnes

time after time (on-going series) by @intrepidacious

heal me, baby by @intrepidacious

first date, last night by @intrepidacious

little lion man by @wkemeup

these ties that bind by sweetascanbee on ao3

steve rogers

no other shade of blue by @barnesafterglow

love bites (series) by starfleetstgmgr on ao3

invisible string (series) by gracehateseggnog on ao3

pietro maximoff

hole in the wall by @sebsbarnes

realign by @astxrwar soulmate au

percy jackson and the olympians

luke castellan

a place with you by @supercutszns

fighting chance by @supercutszns

rotten to the touch by @supercutszns

bleedin’ me dry by @atlabeth

i beg you (and you don’t understand) by @emiliehornby

daylight, part 2, part 3 by @tangledinlove

percy jackson

anti-curse by @kamaluhkhan

dick grayson

the moon will sing (on-going series) by minnieears on ao3

jason todd

window pains by @sanguineterrain

reflections of you by dizarys on ao3

romantics by @yourlocalcringydaydreamer

suds and buds (yeah, sure) (series) by sbambs on ao3

baby steps (on-going series) by @lightwing-s

she hates me (series) by minnieears on ao3

damian wayne

flowers (series) by stargazer_lily_1996 on ao3. soulmate au

tim drake

late night park walks by @lightwing-s

sleepless nights by starkk on ao3. soulmate au

who we are (on-going series) by minnieears on ao3

the hunger games

finnick odair

our song and dance (on-going series) by @mrs-kmikaelson

one for the road by @libertyybellls

lover/fighter (on-going series) by aurabella on ao3 @bluemidnightmelody

cato

supernova (on-going series) by glossyybabie on ao3

it might kill me (on-going series) by frick6101719 on ao3

grishaverse

kaz brekker

bejeweled by @reve-writes

dense by @reve-writes

nikolai lantsov

come on back to me by @atlabeth

bad luck by @atlabeth

nine long years (on-going series) by @ellewritesalright

enchanted by @in-my-feels-probably

a familiar melody by thehistoriangirl on ao3

bridgerton

benedict bridgerton

drunk sketches by @delehosies

a lady’s guide to surviving the ton by @atlabeth

ACOTAR

azriel

the green emotion by @utterlyazriel

love will unravel me (so please keep your hands held tight) by @utterlyazriel

daughter of autumn by @writingcroissant

nightlight (on-going series) by @azsazz

cassian

flames and embers by @hellodarling1357

star wars

anakin skywalker

shifting gears by awritesthings1 on ao3

the handmaiden (on-going series) by rufflesandbows on ao3

my very soul (on-going series) by skywalkerog on ao3 @anakinskywalkerog

obi-wan kenobi

fleeting moments (series) by fitzfiles on ao3

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vengerb3rg · 16 days

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#gifs #netflix #gif #show #my gifs #bridgerton #series #benedict #benedict bridgerton #benophie #season 3 #Bridgeton season 3

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svd126 · 1 month

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So I am rewatching Bridgeton season one and the looks on the faces of the Bridgerton siblings when Penelope is being presented. Anthony ,Benedict and Colin look like they’re ready to fight Portia. Eloise looks like she just wants to wrap Penelope in a hug. Violet looks angry due to the fact Penelope, who is basically her daughter is being forced to do something that she’s not ready for. Gregory and Hyacinth look so confused like they just want to say, Penelope’s our sister she should be with us not being presented. The Bridgeton family are only people next to lady Danbury who actually care about her.

#penelope bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #colin bridgerton #bridgerton series #violet bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin x penelope #penelope featherington #portia featherington #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton #lady danbury

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renegadesstuff · 1 month

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Bridgerton Season 2 Bloopers ❤️

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danvy121994 · 7 months

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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

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bellarkeselection · 5 days

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1 - Welcoming the Bridgerton’s

Part 2

The Venus Muse

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

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

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

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

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

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

“It is not my place to speak on.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lady Danbury made a noise. “Hmm. “

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What is it, Reynolds?” I asked him.

He shifted his gaze to mine. “You're father is having an episode, Princess.”

“Ohâ€¦” I made a noise in discomfort. I knew of his illness

That was the secret my mother and the rest of my siblings and I kept hidden from thr world. They needed to believe that the king was just always busy and so his wide made the appearances out on the town. “Hmm it appears we may have to cancel the ball tonight for the Bridgertons.” My mother sighed in defeat knowing her husband came first.

“We shall not cancel.” My mother and Reynolds’s both shifted their attention over to me when I had spoken up the opposite of what they assumed would need to be done. “We should not cancel because I can represent the family in your place, mother.”

She tapped her chin in thought. “I suppose that could solve our problem. I don't wish to cancel the months of preparation that were put into this.”

“Exactly that would be a tragedy.”

The queen turned to her husband's helper with instructions. “Inform my husband I will come to his aid. Brimsley?”

“Yes, your Majesty.”

She gave him a different set of orders. “Inform the Viscount Bridgerton that my daughter shall be appearing tonight before myself.” He bowed and went in a different direction then Reynolds.

“Thank you, mother.” I smiled curtseying to her before we parted for the evening. It was quite a few hours before the ball with our castle subjects and the Bridgertons would even begin. By the evening the moon was shining up in the sky and the grand ballroom was lit up like a christmas tree.

Standing silently outside the currently shut double doors I stopped fiddling with my dress when one of the royal guards gave me a head nod saying it was time. I could hear the announcer's voice before the doors had even begun opening. “May I present to you her royal highness. The daughter of King George and Queen Charlotte, Princess Y.n of England.”

“Thank you, sir.” I whispered to another guard that came to me when I had made my entrance through the doors feeling all eyes on me. Sucking in a tiny breath he escorted me to the small throne before we unlinked arms leaving me on my own. The small crown on my head had never felt so heavy as it did right now. “Greetings my subjects. I am here to announce that my mother got called away tonight for an emergency. But she saw no reason why this event couldn’t go on as planned. So with that in mind let me extend a warm welcome to Violet Bridgerton and her family for traveling here for a few months.”

Everyone began clapping and cheering with an older looking woman who had dark brown hair up in a crown on her head that came up to me and gave a lovely curtsey. “Princess, it is a pleasure to get an invitation.”

“I hope I can get to meet your family greatly over your stay, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Princess Y/n, may I ask you something?” Someone called my name causing me to lift my gaze up noticing someone moving through the crowd. The figure paused beside the Bridgerton woman who seemed to give the man a confused but amused depression on her face.

I clicked my tongue and answered the stranger's question. “What is your question, my lord?”

“I was wondering if you would accept my offer for a dance together this evening.” The stranger seemed similar to the woman he was standing beside him. I was fairly certain they were related, but which son was he if they were.

He extended his hand up to me and I smiled, placing my smaller hand in his larger one. “I accept so long as I know which Bridgerton are you?”

“Benedict, Benedict Bridgerton.” He replied leading me out and onto the dance floor with the entire room having theur eyes focused on the two of us.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

Tag list - just ask to be added @abq654 @your-musicguru @imgondeletedis @eruannaaa-blog @cherrylovers-world @benedictbridgertonss @callmedarlingsstuff @carrotcaratsworld @sillynilly27 @emmampl-blog2 @bright-molina @erynel1zasworld @ynbutbetter @stranger-chan @blckbarbiedoll @sanaar3006 @ritz-hell-hotel

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gaypengwing · 17 days

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I’M SO READY 🫣

#bridgerton #bridgerton season three #bridgerton s3 #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #julia quinn #shonda rhimes #shondaland #bridgerton series #polin #penelope featherington #netflix

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peterpparkrr · 2 years

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Unwritten - Ch. 7: The Lady of the Lake | A Bridgerton Series

Series: Unwritten

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!Reader

Summary: Benedict crashes a wedding. A proposal is made.

Word Count: 3.1k

Warnings: n/a

A/N: Wowza! This is the last official chapter of Unwritten! There will be an epilogue but in many ways, this is the end of this story, and boy what a journey it has been!! Thank you so much for all the love this series has been getting, your comments make my days.

previous chapter // epilogue

Benedict had never been one to think that he was a hero. But as he raced through the English countryside towards the woman he loved for at least a moment he felt like he was about to be the knight in one of those children's books he sometimes read to Hyacinth and Gregory.

He found the image of you as a princess prick up in his mind and despite himself, he laughed. You were beautiful and wonderful but just about as far from a princess as he could imagine with your wild hair and your ink-stained fingers. You carried yourself with a grace and confidence that was regal, but your sharp tongue and wit were just about as far from princess-like as one could get.

Benedict had made it to your small village without too much strife. And the first woman he saw washing her laundry in the early morning sunlight was more than happy to give him directions to the town parish.

As he rode up to the church he found himself jumping from his horse before he’d come to a complete stop and was running towards the building before he had fully tied the reins to a nearby post.

Time was of the essence and he needed to be sure that he could get there and put a stop to this before it was too late.

“Stop! Stop!” Benedict shouted wildly as he ran into the church.

Until he froze halfway up the aisle when he realized there was no wedding taking place. Instead just a group of men standing in a cluster in the chancel all staring back at him with a mixture of confusion and perhaps mild amusement.

“There is nothing to stop, the bride disappeared from her bed this morning,” The vicar finally replied as Benedict looked around in confusion.

“What?” Ben breathed out.

“Where is she?” A man asked as he stepped toward Benedict.

“What?” Benedict repeated dumbly as he turned to see what he only assumed was your supposed fiancé making his way towards him.

Ben wasn’t surprised in the slightest by the appearance and general disposition of the man. Dowdy was not a descriptor used for men, but it seemed apt in Benedict’s mind. The infamous Mr. Townsend was clearly quick to anger, and his leering gaze felt uncomfortable even to Ben as the man glared at him.

“Where. Is. She.” The man in front of him ground out.

“Well obviously I do not know either, or else I would not be here,” Benedict shot back before he could stop himself.

Mr. Townsend huffed but turned away from Ben, giving up on him as he turned back to the others, pinching his brow tightly.

“That damned woman, we should have known she would run away,” Mr. Townsend muttered angrily.

“Be careful how you speak of my daughter,” The older gentleman replied carefully as he stared Mr. Townsend down with a quiet challenge.

After a few moments of painful silence, the older gentleman, your father, turned to Benedict with curiosity.

“Who are you?” He asked.

“Benedict Bridgerton,” He replied. “I uh, I met your daughter in London.”

“And why are you here now?” He asked.

Benedict floundered for a moment as he tried to come up with some sort of excuse or justification for barging through the doors of a church.

“To stop the wedding,” Ben admitted. “This might not be the time or place to say this, but I would like to marry your daughter, sir, if she’ll have me.”

The older man nodded thoughtfully as he took in Benedict’s strange proclamation. “If she agrees you have my consent,” Your father told him. “Now go find her.”

Benedict nodded to your father with a small smile as he turned to walk out of the church, now wracking his brain in a panic, trying to figure out where you would have gone, and how he could find you.

What had you written in your letter, maybe there was a clue? A hint so that he would know where to find you? There had been something about a river or a lake or something. Benedict rifled through his pockets to pull the letter out and find the line he was thinking of.

The brooks and meadows sing for me. I shall answer their call.

It was a wild guess, but Benedict vaguely recalled crossing a creek on this way to the church.

Forgoing his horse, Benedict took off towards the stream.

You may be many things, But a quitter is not one of them.

You would not marry Mr. Townsend. You’d die before you married him. Well, maybe not die-die, that seemed a bit too Shakespearean even for you, but you weren’t going to just give up without a fight. You would not go gently into this sham marriage that your uncle had concocted for you.

So you decided to devise a plan. To be fair there really wasn’t much of a plan to it, it was actually rather straightforward. But you spend the entire carriage ride walking through the steps in your mind.

When you’d finally arrived home late last night your siblings had been asleep. Your father had barely been able to look at you as you had silently entered the house and followed your mother upstairs to your bedroom.

Once you were inside, as she helped you out of your traveling clothes, your mother quietly told you that the wedding would take place first thing in the morning.

“I’m sorry,” You told her quietly as you sat down on your bed, sagging down along with the mattress as your shoulders pulled in.

“Don’t ever be sorry,” Your mother replied gently as she sat down beside you and pulled you into her side. “Not when you did nothing wrong.”

“But I did, I upset him over and over again,” You tell her. “And he’ll cut you all off if I don’t marry Mr. Townsend.”

Your mother sighs.

“My brother is a complicated, cold man. And he will never understand why I married your father, but we were happy, we were so happy for so long. If it weren’t for you, for your brothers, I wouldn’t have a single regret in my life. I’m only sorry that you haven’t been afforded the ability to make your own choices the way I did.”

You hadn’t know what to say to that.

And so once your mother had left you to sleep, you redressed, gathered a few of your belongings, and tied your bedsheets together before descending from your second-story window and absconding into the night.

In books when a hero or heroine makes a daring escape it’s incredibly tense and dramatic. In reality, it was just cold.

And damp.

And dark.

You’d lost count of how many times you’d stumbled or nearly tripped over a tree root or rock that you couldn’t make out in the darkness as you meandered your way through the fields and then the woods to the brook.

By the time you’d arrived at your old treehouse you were simultaneously cold and hot, and sweating more than you wanted to be. You climbed up the ladder into the treehouse and wrapped the blanket you’d brought with you around your shoulders before all but collapsed to the floor in exhaustion.

You were suddenly jolted awake by the sound of someone calling your name.

“Benedict?” You called out as you sat up and peered over the ledge of the treehouse to see Benedict Bridgerton standing beneath your tree, staring up at you.

You scramble to your feet and quickly descend the ladder to land on the ground.

“What are you doing here? How did you…?” You ask as you stare at Benedict in disbelief. You’d sent him his letter with the intention of reassuring him that you were okay, so that he’d know what happened to you. You never expected him to follow you here. If anything the letter was supposed to ensure that he would not.

“Your letter, The brooks and meadows sing for me. I shall answer their call.” He quotes. As if he had memorized your letter. He had memorized your words.

“And there were really only so many places to look, it’s not like you could have gotten very far on foot,” He adds.

You nod mutely as you still struggle to take in the fact that he’s really here, and that he’s standing right in front of you.

“Don’t marry him,” He tells you as he reaches out his hands to take hold of your own.

“I wasn’t going to,” You reply.

“Marry me,” He says plainly, squeezing your hands.

“I-what?”

“Marry me instead,” He repeats. As if that was the part you were having difficulties understanding.

“Benedict,” You start to say.

“No, I was going to come to ask you to marry me back in London, that's how I received your letter so quickly,” He tells you, trying to explain. “I love you.”

“No, you don’t have to,” You tell him quickly, shaking your head.

“I don’t have to love you?” He asks with an amused smile. “I don’t really think that’s something that you get to have a say in.”

“I’m asking you to marry me,” He emphasizes as he takes another step towards you, before his expression falters slightly and you can see himself beginning to doubt his actions. “Do you… do you not want to marry me?”

“Of course, I would want to marry you,” You tell him with a humorless laugh. “But not because it’s your way of helping me escape a different marriage. I can’t let you throw away your life because you have a sense of responsibility towards me. Because you think you love me. I want you to be happy.”

“I’m not doing this out of obligation,” Ben tells you quietly. Surprised that you’d even see it that way. “You already proved you didn’t need to be rescued when I arrived at the church and found your supposed fiancé standing there alone. I just want to be with you.”

“If you’ll have me,” He adds.

You look up at him through your lashes. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain,” He tells you with a chuckle. “I love you, and I want to marry you, I’m not quite sure how much more clear I can be.”

“I love you too,” You tell him after a beat. “I just never thought…”

He nods, silently encouraging you to finish your thought. Now that he knew you loved him he could be patient. You’d have all the time in the world.

“You were just supposed to be my fantasy. It wasn’t ever meant to become real,” You admit. “I never dared hope it would be real.”

“What do you mean?” He asks.

“My rewrites. For my novel it uh, it was good, before, but I’d always felt it was missing something, there was supposed to be a love story but the truth wasn’t there. Because I’d never felt these feelings before you. I’ve been reworking it ever since we met,” You tell him. “I think you’re my muse.”

“You are my muse, too,” Ben admits in turn. “My paintings, they’ve never been good enough, not to me,” He continues. “But once I started painting with you in my mind… everything seemed to fit.”

“Ben, the other thing,” You tell him. “My family…”

Ben shakes his head. “We will take care of them. You can continue to write, you can continue to do whatever you want or need to to support your family, but I want us to do it together,” He tells you.

“Together?” You ask with a hopeful smile.

“Your soul is the companion to mine,” Ben tells you. “I want us to be partners in everything.”

Then you can’t help yourself from laughing in disbelief. Disbelief at how lucky you are to have found him.

“Then yes, of course I will marry you!”

Benedict grinned at your exclamation before he reached his hands up to hold your cheek. His other hand falls to your waist and pulls you towards him, pressing his lips to yours.

You had thought your first kiss with Benedict had been special. Borderline magical. But Benedict was kissing you. Benedict wanted to marry you. And as his hand pressed into the small of your back, pressing your body against his, any rational thoughts you’d been having, even the irrational ones disappeared.

It was a storybook ending.

The marriage took place shortly after you returned to London. The ceremony was small, private, Lady Bridgerton had claimed. And the most scandalous part of the whole affair seemed to be your very brief engagement rather than anything to do with your family. It seemed the news of Benedict trying to stop your failed wedding hadn’t made it back to the city. Thank God.

The morning after your wedding night the two of you were sitting in your marriage bed, blissfully happy, despite your lack of sleep. You’d been discussing your future when the topic of your uncle came up.

“You never have to see him again, if people knew how he treated you-” Benedict told you quickly.

God. He would do anything to wipe that look, the pained expression that appeared whenever your uncle was mentioned, off your face. He’d stop at nothing to see the hurt your uncle had caused you erased.

“Would they really care?” You reply with a defeated shrug. “I was his children’s governess, he may be my uncle but my parents are not rich, and my father has no title. He has power and I do not.”

“Besides,” You continued, giving him a small smile as you tried to lighten the mood. “You don’t need to run him out of town to protect me, as much as I adore London, being a member of high society is never something I’ve desired.”

“Neither one of us even enjoys those events, we can go to galleries and exhibits, and to your art friends' parties, all the places he’d never dare set foot,” You tell Ben with a grin. “He can partake in all the stuffy dinners and predictable balls he wants. We can have all the fun. We’ll never cross paths.”

“You are perfect,” Ben replies as he presses a kiss to your forehead and pulls you from your sitting position back against his chest.

“No, I am not,” You disagree. “But I am yours.”

“I love you,” He tells you as he wraps his arms tightly around your middle as you hum happily.

“I love you, too.”

“I have a cottage,” Benedict said suddenly. “Out in the country. How do you feel about spending our honeymoon there?”

“Is there much to do?” You ask as you turn your head to look at him.

“I imagine there will be ever so much to do,” He replies very seriously. “Very little of which will require us to leave our bedroom,” He adds, his voice lowering as he wiggles his eyebrows at you suggestively.

“Oh,” You reply as your cheeks begin to feel warm and your lips begin to quirk up slightly at the thought of all of the things you might have the chance to do with Ben.

“Have I piqued your interest?” He teases as he squeezes you gently.

“You are very wicked when you want to be,” You tell him with a look.

“I always want to be wicked when I am with you,” He mutters as his hands begin to trail down your sides yet again as Ben plans to prove those words to you very literally.

Benedict was very pleased to say that he had hardly left the bedroom since you had arrived at My Cottage. Neither had you, until a few minutes ago when Mr. Crabtree arrived with the post and you’d scampered out of bed with eagerness at the shout from Mrs. Crabtree that there were several letters for you, along with a mysterious package with your name on it.

Benedict was more than content to lay in bed whilst you read your mail and wait for your return. He had decided to use the time productively, thinking of all the devious things he could do to you once you were back in his arms.

Until he heard a scream from the kitchen.

Before Benedict had realized what he was doing he was racing down the stairs at the sound of his wife’s shout. Only to stop at the bottom of the stairs when he saw you clutching a package of papers to your chest whilst you stared up at him with wide eyes and a massive grin.

“Ben,” You called him over to you breathlessly. “They want to publish my novel!”

“Oh my God!” Benedict shouted as he swooped you into his arms, hugging you tightly as he peppered your face with kisses.

“This is wonderful! I thought the publisher you talked to in London didn’t seem interested? What changed?” He asked as he carefully placed you back on the ground whilst Mr. and Mrs. Crabtree watched on with quiet amusement, fully aware that they were a forgotten audience.

“This is a different man,” You explain to him. “Penelope gave me his name. Since she’s Lady Whistledown I guess she knew who would be willing to publish a woman.”

“Wait, what?” Benedict asked as he managed a double-take.

“I was going to just keep sending it to different publishers, hoping someone would finally take it up, I’m not exactly one to just give up,” You reply.

Benedict huffs with annoyance as you try not to smile. “Not that part-”

“Oh, Penelope Featherington is Lady Whistledown. I thought it was obvious.”

“It is most certainly not obvious,” Benedict argues.

“She doesn’t work particularly hard to hide it,” You point out. “She’s at all the events, standing along the wall where she can overhear all the best gossip, and haven’t you ever noticed that Lady Whistledown is incredibly complimentary of your brother Colin?”

“Well,” Benedict says as he ponders it. “Huh.”

You nod as he realizes you’re right. “I didn’t know at first, but after she gave me the publishing contact I put it all together.”

“Of course you did, my brilliant wife,” Benedict replies with a grin as he presses another kiss to your cheek as he squeezes you tightly.

“My wife is going to be a published author,” He says out loud, the pride evident in his voice, a fact that causes tears to begin to well in your eyes. “I am so proud of you,” He whispers softly in your ear.

“I love you,” You reply as you tuck your head under his chin, burying your face in his chest.

Becoming a published author is a great accomplishment, but your shining glory in life is always going to be being the woman that Benedict Bridgerton loves. And being the woman that gets to love him in return.

You can feel Ben laugh quietly as his chest rumbles against your cheek.

“I love you, too.”

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writtenfangirl · 25 days

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Kismet

In which Anthony Bridgerton contemplates the meaning of life, death and love

I’ve had this scene in my notes app for so long and I always found it so beautiful but couldn’t find a character to write it for UNTIL Anthony Bridgerton came along.

Pure fluff but mentions of death.

Anthony had always been afraid of death, as much as he’d been afraid of love.

It was difficult not to be when you witness both of your parents’ deaths.

He’d seen the way his father collapsed, face purple, breaths coming out in gasps before they suddenly stopped. He saw his father’s mortal body die, saw the light in his eyes dim before they completely sputtered out. And afterwards, when the doctors could do nothing to help him, he saw his mother’s soul die with him. Her cry of anguish as Edmund Bridgerton collapsed onto the soft grass, the days after the funeral when she would not speak and she only had that vacant look in her eyes, without any sign of that light Anthony grew up seeing.

Death was not a foreign concept to Anthony Bridgerton. The fragility of his mortality and the concept of his demise, as well his failings as the Bridgerton patriarch were his most intimate friends. These were the thoughts that plagued him at night. They were the covetous brothers Benedict and Colin were not. While his brothers of flesh and blood may have been content to let him keep the title, those thoughts had looked over his shoulder, had watched his every move and decision, had waited for a single misstep for the right moment to strike.

They absolutely terrified him.

So much so that he had stopped living.

What good was it, truly, to live and to love, when life could end in a flash. When nothing you do in this world matters, when you realize that everything you held dear could be taken from you in a blink, you begin to believe that such things weren’t worth the risk.

He loves his family, that much he was sure. It was difficult not to love them when they seemed to reside in his very heart, woven into the fabric of his soul. He had no choice but to love them.

But he had a choice when it came to romantic love. He did not have to go through the pain of losing someone else, nor would he ever damn another person into loving him and losing him too. On that, he could decide.

Or, at least he thought he could.

Because love certainly came for him, as surely as he knew death would one day come for him. It came to him in the form of the most beautiful woman in the world.

Y/N Y/L/N. She was the niece of the Viscountess Heathwood. By the ton’s standards, she was nobody. Beautiful yet still, unimportant and without any significant title or dowry aside from her relation with the Viscountess. Had it not been for her staggering beauty or her education and graceful countenance, she would have been dismissed.

If you had asked the Anthony of five years ago what he thought of when he imagined his wife, a woman like Y/N would have been last on his list.

But the Anthony of five years ago was an idiot.

Because Y/N, with all her grace and beauty, had a fierce determination that not only made her befitting of the title of viscountess but also made her a great addition to the Bridgerton family.

And to Anthony, she was everything.

Love in the shape of Y/N knocked on his door, and when he had refused to answer, love barreled its way into his heart like a disease. It burrowed itself into his skin until he flushed at the mere thought of her, wormed its way into his heart until his heart beat only for her. Then, love pounded its way deep into his soul and staked a tether that tied his soul to hers.

Anthony knew that one day, death would come knocking. It would take its bony hand and place it on his shoulder, beckoning Anthony to his side.

He was still undoubtedly terrified of it.

But for Y/N, for the love his life, he would live.

“What’s got you in so morose a mood so early in the morning?” Her voice, sweet and calming, pulled him out of his stupor.

Bathed in the golden light of the dawning sun, she looked breathtaking. It should have been impossible, to be so beautiful when she’d just woken up, but Anthony knew that if anyone could make the impossible possible, it would have been her.

She was pressed against his side, her body warm and flushed against his own. His arm, wrapped around her as her head rested on his chest. The only thing that separated them was the thin fabric of their sleeping clothes but even with them on, he could feel the contours of her body. The rolling curve of her hips, the softness of her skin as his hands trailed down her arm and up again.

He’d awoken to his wife in his arms for three years now but he could never take this feeling for granted. Everyday he woke up like this was a day he was truly thankful for.

Anthony placed a tender kiss on his wife’s forehead, the little hairs on the tip of her forehead tickling his nose. “I was just deep in thought, my love.”

“About what?”

He contemplated lying to her. Admittedly, his thoughts were far too dark to share so early in the morning. But Y/N had always been adept at sussing out any falsehoods, most especially his own.

“Death.”

Her brow shot straight up, pulling away from him and propping herself up on an elbow. The thin strap of her nightgown slipped past her shoulder revealing her glorious skin, her long hair trailing down her back. The golden light that bathed her had turned into a halo against the backdrop of the window, turning her into one of God’s sacred angels. “Why the bloody hell would you think about your death so early in the morning?”

“I wasn’t thinking my death. Just death in its most general sense.”

She gave him a pointed look. “That’s not very reassuring.”

He grinned at her. He couldn’t help it, not when she was looking at him in that certain way that always had him believing he was in trouble but would receive a reward rather than a punishment. “I assure you, it is not so morbid. I was simply thinking of life’s ephemerality, and how one ought to live it for the right people.”

She didn’t look reassured but nevertheless, she laid back down, Anthony’s arm instantly enveloping her, hand absentmindedly resuming its task of drawing lazy circles on her arm. “You would think, that with my husband celebrating his birthday today, he would think of happier things. His beautiful wife, perhaps, or his kind mother, or the veritable gaggle of siblings who adored him. You would think that, perhaps, his mind would wander towards the child his wife is currently carrying. But alas, he thinks of death. I never thought death to be a celebratory topic, but to each his own.”

He flicked her nose playfully at her sarcastic tone, her mouth pulling into a grin. “If you must know, death was on my mind because today marks the day that I am officially older than my father was when he passed.”

Suddenly, whatever joy filled the air died. “Oh.”

It was the truth. In the weeks since his birthday, his every waking thought had been consumed by his father. His father, Edmund Bridgerton, who was 8th viscount of the Bridgerton family. His father, who’s death marked the biggest change of Anthony’s life. His father, who lived through the first 18 years of Anthony’s life but lived no longer.

It was a sobering thought to realize that he would have to live longer than he knew the man he looked up to his whole life.

And it was these thoughts that plagued him.

“He has been on my mind,”he murmured but he knew she would understand, “I wonder if he is proud of me.”

“Of course he is.” She had said the words with such surety, it was difficult to argue with her. But Anthony would certainly try.

“How can you be so sure?”

She gave him a leveling stare, as if he was an idiot for even asking such a question. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I know he is proud of you, as proud of you as I am.” Y/N placed a hand on his cheek, the pads of her finger soft against his stubble. “How can he not be, when you have done right by your siblings? By your mother? How can he possibly feel anything but pride at his eldest son for taking care of his whole family?”

“I make such a mess of things.” He frowned. His thoughts weren’t always so desolate, not since he married Y/N. It was difficult to keep his countenance bleak when he was married to the kind of person who smiled at a family of squirrels, or grinned at the sight of a little girl giggling through the window of a shop. But today of all days, his mind strained to his faults.

But his wife, bless her, would hear none of it. “You are human, Anthony. It is in our nature to make mistakes. I am certain your father once thought his mistakes egregious but yet still, he remains great. As sure as I am of your own excellence.”

“I go days, sometimes, never thinking of him. And when I remember him again, I feel such tremendous shame and grief at having forgotten him that sometimes, I can scarcely breathe.”

Another truth, one that Anthony had been too ashamed to admit. To forget one’s father when they were alive is one thing. To do so when he was dead was another thing entirely.

Y/N’s eyes could only be described as kind. “Did you know that a person dies twice. Once, when they are well and truly buried. The second is the last time their names are ever mentioned.“

This time, it was Anthony’s turn to look at his wife in sarcasm. “This is not the reassurance you think it to be.”

But she simply gave an indulgent grin before her eyes turned serious. “I mean to say that I will never let you forget him. I will say your father’s name everyday, if I must. And one day, I will teach our children to do the same. And they will teach their children, and their children will teach their children. Edmund Bridgerton will not be forgotten under my watch.”

His heart swelled with love. It was a lofty declaration but Y/N was never one to make vows lightly. She would do it too. Y/N was relentless in the pursuit of her goals and once she set her mind on something, she did it no matter what. It’s one of Anthony’s favorite things about her and the reason why he fell in love with her in the first place.

He pressed his lips on hers. Kisses with Y/N always felt like coming alive, like an empty house suddenly having new tenants. She felt like the cool spring air turning into the summer breeze. She felt like hope and joy all at once.

When he pulled away from her, her lips were swollen, eyes twinkling. He would never take a life with her for granted, and so when he spoke, his words came from that little space in his heart reserved for Y/N that no longer trembled at the sight of death. “When I die, I shall have your name carved into my bones”

She looked at him with skepticism. “Your bones?”

“One day, in the very distant future, when my grave is found and my tombstone is missing, they will see my bones but they will say your name. I will allow the world to kill me twice but I will not let it do the same to you.”

Her eyes gleamed silver, a joyful grin pulling at her lips.

There was no declaration of love more serious, more profound, than that. For the woman who taught him to live in spite of his fear, who taught him to love because of it, he would embrace death with open arms. If only so he could meet his wife’s soul once more. Because he was certain of his need for it, as certain as his need to draw breath every morning.

They were kismet, in this life and the next.

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