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maximoff-pan · 4 months

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the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.”

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens.

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too.

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it.

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to.

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist.

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband.

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children.

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington.

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?”

“How will you get it to her?” He questions.

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it.

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered.

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her.

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation.

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way.

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in.

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you.

“I never do.” Is your instant reply.

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested.

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion.

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through.

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.”

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you.

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.”

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that.

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.”

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge.

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak.

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won.

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot.

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.”

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong.

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you.

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column.

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say.

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain.

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym.

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to.

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n).

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling.

“What am I going to do?”

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you.

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has.

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so.

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you.

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now.

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions.

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well.

We need to talk.

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that.

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her.

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you.

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too.

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.”

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm.

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor.

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing.

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all.

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

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lydiimae · 1 month

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Jealousy

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

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

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Minors DNI!! 18+

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are the luckiest woman in the world.

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

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targaryenluvs · 5 months

Note

Hi, how are you? Could you make a request for Anthony Bridgerton 🙈 please.

I was thinking something along the lines of Penelope and Colin. When Colin says he would never court Penelope. But in this case Anthony tells Benedict that he would never court reader. And Benedict tells him that he will be the one to woo her. Sad ending or happy ending. I leave it in your hands 🤗✨.

Have a good week ✨ thank you.

i love this, and benedict bridgerton <3

nothing better

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader, anthony bridgerton x fem!reader (platonic)

summary: benedict has loved you for so long, but he always assumed you’d want anthony and he wanted you. but when the opportunity presents itself to be with you he dives headfirst.

warnings: swearing, kisses??

a/n: hope you like itttt, it might be a little short but quality over quantity???: i love benedict ugh can’t wait for his season

the party was insufferable.

benedict wanted nothing more than to be at home, drawing, you specifically.

the day you learned of his talent you’d praised him every day for it. and you’d been pestering him for oh so long to draw your portrait but he always politely declined. believing a professional to be more accurate than himself but he honestly believed that he, nor any other, could incorporate all of your beauty in one sketch.

and he was scared of messing it up, and he also wondered what his brother would think.

anthony. smart, handsome, eligible, viscount anthony bridgerton.

the one you’d marry.

or so it seemed to everyone as the two of you danced hand in hand. everyone’s eyes were on the two of you as you practically glided across the floor. as the music slowed and the couples dispersed he found himself holding his breath as you came towards him.

“anthony is terrible to dance with, he keeps blaming me for stepping on his feet but he moves so slow at times, he’s always looking off into the distance.” you laughed as benedict smiled, “i promise you y/n, a dance with me will leave you more than well satisfied.” benedict teased as you gasped, “benedict bridgerton! the scandalous man you are.” as you laughed he couldn’t help but admire you. your hair was up with only two strands in the front, curled. a sweet tiara in the middle of your head, a gorgeous baby pink dress and and equally gorgeous owner.

“you look-”

“like a cake? a biscuit? a rose perhaps?” you joked.

“i was going to say breathtaking. you look, breathtaking, y/n. no one else here can compare.” he spoke in awe.

your eyes flickered to his, god he looked amazing. but he was probably only saying this to be nice right? his sisters friend, daphnes other half. nothing more, he grew up with you, saw you as a sister.

he wondered if you’d return the compliment, or thank him, or just smile and nod. god he said wanted more than a nod. you looked untouchable. and the way you looked at him, benedict was lost. not only in your eyes but in his head and heart. he sees you dance and talk to numerous respectable men every day. you smile and laugh, completely polite. but then you look at him, with those beautiful brown eyes and he looses all trains of thought. and as respectful as those other men are, he could never put himself in the same category as them.

because the thoughts that he didn’t loose, were truly inappropriate.

the heavy footsteps from behind you snapped the two of you out of the trance as anthony approached. “brother, lady y/n.” he smiled as you smiled back. “i’ll leave you two be.”

“are you alright brother?”

he didn’t mean to snap. the words just spilled out.

“are you going to court her or not?”

anthony’s brows furrowed as he was taken aback by his brothers direct manner, all sense of the usual playfulness was lost. “who? y/n? no of course not. i would never dream of courting y/n l/n. she’s like a sister to me.”

“then why do you dance with her so? take her out so often, promenade with her? for what? my god everyone thinks the two you are courting.” anthony released a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

he’d only been having fun with a friend. it was so refreshing to be able to talk to someone who didn’t wonder what the viscount was up to, who he was with, when he was going to marry. y/n eased his tensions and she the best friend he’d never had, she made him feel like a young boy again, which anthony had all but forgotten the feeling of.

“benedict, it was not my intention this i promise you brother. i know how much you love and if i led you or anyone else to believe our relationship was anything besides familial love and companionship than i truly apologise. you need to let her know before it’s too late.”

benedict felt his heart lurch at the idea of finally being with you. and with anthony’s blessing and urging him along he was off to find you.

the air was cold, but anything was better than that stuffy ballroom inside. gods you couldn’t wait for the season to be over. it was only your first, same as the diamond of the season, also known as your best friend daphne bridgerton but all the cakes, gossip, drama and fake smiles? you’d had enough to last forever. the only problem with the season being over was that you’d most likely be travelling to your country estate. which meant that you’d be spending time with your extended family rather than the family besides your own that you wanted to be with.

the person you wanted to be with.

“y/n! there you are.” benedict shouted as he bent over, catching his breath. even slightly sweaty and disheveled benedict was a god in your eyes, no one inside could even come close.

“ben, come sit!” you patted the swing next to you as he gladly sat down, the air was a refreshing after the long night he’d had, and your smiling face was enough for his heart to race again.

“y/n, as much as i’d like to sit and swing with you i have to tell you something, it’s urgent.” he spoke softly. the moon was bright, the air cold and benedict had a soft glow of light on his right side. his voice could so easily lull you to sleep out here as it had done so many times before but his eyes were alert, so you smiled again and nodded, “continue.”

“y/n, i’ve known you for so long. and i’ve- i’ve never been able to tell you how i truly feel about you. i always thought anthony had your eye and”

“anthony?!” you screeched as benedict hushed you with a hand over your mouth. “sweetheart you can’t be so loud out here, wouldn’t want someone to come across us now would we?” he joked as his eyes crinkled at the edges, now there’s the benedict you knew. “ben, i’ve never had romantic feelings for anthony, hes always been a brother to me. besides i’ve had my eye on another bridgerton for a long time.”

“oh? and who could that be?” benedict was praying to every god he could conjure in his head. me. me. me. let it be me please.

“you.”

he couldn’t help himself as he kissed you, he’d waited far too long for it.

and it was so worth it.

everything he couldn’t even begin to express with words, he put into the kiss, your first of many. “i love you. i love you y/n l/n and i can only pray you love me a quarter as much. you are everything i’ve ever wanted, and i have you now. you were family before but now? youre officially a bridgerton, we should throw a parade.” benedict laughed as you smacked his arm, “finally! my plan to marry daphne has been thrown into motion!”

“excuse me?” daphne shouted as yourself and benedict leaned into eachother, laughing up a storm.

there was nothing that could compare to the man infront of you.

nothing better.

#benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x y/n

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natti-ice · 2 months

Note

Hi lovely!

Could I ask for a Benedict fic where him and reader get pretty messy with the his paints? 💕🥹

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ mdni, nudity, sensual touching, kissing, implied sex (1k words)

Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated<3

You had met Benedict at a social event this past season and the two of you got on very well, any time you saw each other in passing you had to stop and make conversation. You felt at ease with him, he was so down to Earth unlike most of the uptight socialites of the city. You were very fond of him in general and it seemed he felt the same about you. Not to mention the fact you were also very attracted to him. He often spoke to you about his art and his passion for finding the beauty in life, he showed you his work book of sketches, all of random things he found beautiful even if most people don't.

Today on a casual stroll in the park, Benedict casually asked you if you would like to be the subject of one of his paintings, you had never thought of modeling before but it intrigued you. You were always curious on how people viewed you and this would show you his perspective of you, so you agreed. He brought you back to his studio and showed you some of paintings he had hanging around by artists that inspired him, then he lead you over to the center of the room where he had a large sheet of white paper spread across the floor. You assumed it was to protect his floors from any paint drippings but you were quite wrong.

"This is our canvas for today, my lady" Benedict smiles

You chuckle and furrow your brows a bit "I'm sorry what? Are you going to draw a life size version of me?"

"No, dear" he laughs softly "I'm going to paint with you. I want to use your body as a brush, if that's okay with you of course" he adds that last part in quickly to reassure you can pull out at any time. There's a sparkle in his eyes as he explains how he wants to cover your nude bodies in paint and roll around making an abstract design. "So, what do you say?" His voice is filled with hope, he desperately wants you to say yes.

You think about his offer for a moment, the thought of being naked with him excites you but also makes you very nervous. You have only known him a short amount of time but you trust him a lot, you nod with a soft smile "okay, I'm in."

"Excellent" he grins and claps his hands together once "you can get undressed while I prepare the paints." he gives you a comforting smile then turns around and walks to the back of his studio where he keeps his paint. You slowly start to undress, you feel the butterflies in your stomach intensifying as you shed each piece of clothing. Finally naked, you fold your clothes neatly and set them on a small sofa nearby. The window of the studio is cracked out letting in a soft breeze, you feel goosebumps grow on your bare skin and your nipples become erect.

A few moments later, Benedict came back carrying a tray with small cans full of paint "alright here we are-" he stops dead in his tracks when he sees you, his eyes wide in surprise as he takes all of you in "wow... you're absolutely breathtaking" his voice is so soft it's almost a whisper

You chuckle nervously, you feel your whole body start to heat up "um, thank you, sir" you wrap your arms around your body, very aware of how exposed you are. He steps closer to you and sets the tray on a small table, he picks up a can filled with red paint and holds it up to you.

"May I?" He asks for permission, you nod slightly giving him full access to your body. He dips two fingers into the paint and slowly runs them along your collar bone, it slowly starts to drip down your front as your body temperature melts the paint. He works his way down your body, streaking the red all over you, his fingertips ever so slightly graze your nipples sending a shiver down your spine. "Beautiful" he whispers softly before setting the paint canister down and began to strip his clothes off.

You watched him closely as each article of clothing flew from his body leaving him bare in front of you. He gripped your arm softly and turned you around, he slowly poured some of the paint down your back letting it cascade down your back. He presses himself against your back slightly, you can feel his breath tickling your neck as he began to place soft hot kisses along the side. He used one hand to rub the red all over your back, a gasp caught in your throat as his larges hands rubbed soft circles on your ass.

When he finished he turned you around to face him, he picked up a can of blue paint and handed it to you "now you do me" his voice soft but laced with something more sensual. You take the can and start to smear blue all over his body, trying desperately to avoid his intimate areas as best as possible even if it was staring right at you. Once he was blue from the neck down he gently took your hand and brought you down to the paper on the floor. "Lay back, darling," he instructed playfully "we're gonna roll around a bit" he chuckles before rolling on top of you, his arms wrapped around your body as he goes in for a kiss.

Things escalated quickly from there, paint began to adorn the paper as you two made love. Shades of blue and red mixed together leaving streaks of purple behind, hand prints of different colors could be seen throughout the paper. Moans filled the studio, there was also the occasional sound of paper ripping when things became too intense. When it was all said and done, Benedict framed the work and even put it up in a gallery. People always asked how he created such an abstract piece of art, he came up with a story of how he just started throwing paint at the canvas. Only you and him ever knew the truth.

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pinchofhoney · 2 months

Text

perfectly flawed

benedict bridgerton x princess!reader

word count: 2.7k

warning: hurt without comfort, it might be suggestive but there's nothing inappropriate about it (friends with benefits but without any details)

summary: Finding love as a princess comes with its challenges, but becoming a mistress was never part of the plan.

a/n: two things; one, over these few months i forgot what it's like to write something that isn't an academic paper. two, in the process of writing it i forgot that i was supposed to write it based on a song. i suppose i'm already a different person than i was just the week ago when i asked you for your opinion, but regardless, feel welcome to read this,, thing<33

pages that may interest you: masterlist ♡ taglist ♡ who i write for

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

London, 18th April 1814

Dearest Readers,

The Season has barely begun, yet the glittering ballrooms of London are already abuzz with whispers and speculation. The cause of this fervour? None other than the captivating niece of Her Majesty. The fairy-like young lady, whose arrival in London coincided with the Season’s beginning, has ignited a flurry of theories.

Is she a princess, a countess, or perhaps a secret agent on a mission? The whispers echo through the salons, each speculation more imaginative than the last. Her regal bearing and the way she holds her fan hint at noble lineage, but her eyes hold secrets that defy easy classification. Could she be a pawn in a political game, or does her purpose lie closer to matters of the heart? Suitors line up, eager to claim her hand, but our debutante remains an unknown figure, casting doubt upon the intentions behind her smile.

Gentlemen of distinction have flocked to her side, vying for her attention. Lord Pembroke, the dashing heir to a vast estate, has been seen trailing her like a devoted puppy. The Duke of Ashford, brooding and aloof, has deigned to engage her in conversation. And then there is Captain Sinclair, whose sea-green eyes promise both danger and adventure.

At Lady Featherington's soirée, our young lady engaged in spirited conversation with none other than Miss Eloise Bridgerton. Their conversation delved into matters of politics—a most unconventional choice. Is our French princess a revolutionary sympathizer, or does she simply relish the thrill of intellectual sparring?

Rest assured, dear readers, that Lady Whistledown shall be your faithful guide through the twists and turns of this unfolding narrative. Prepare your fans and polish your silver spoons, for the London Season has just begun, and in the shadow of the Queen's niece, our world is poised to be turned upside down. Society must brace itself for a whirlwind of speculation, as we stand on the brink of a most intriguing chapter.

Yours Truly,

Lady Whistledown

‎

At the very core of the French Empire, you were raised as the epitome of grace and subtlety. With royal blood coursing through your veins, you were groomed to be the perfect lady, the jewel of the imperial court. Every step you took, every word you said, was a careful composition, painting the portrait of an eminent lineage.

From a young age, you were taught the art of etiquette, your days filled with lessons on poise, embroidery, and the subtle language of the fan. Your attire, always impeccable, was the evidence of your status and breeding. The world perceived you as the embodiment of perfection, a delicate blossom requiring protection from the harsh realities beyond the palace walls.

Yet, behind the facade of the devoted princess, a secreted truth blossomed. Beneath the tangled layers of silk and lace, your spirit, unyielding and untamed, stood in defiance of the expectations of courtly life. The allure of royal grandeur held little sway over you, and the burden of societal obligations felt like a daily donning of a suffocating corset.

The shimmering balls and elaborate rituals became stifling, making your heart to ache for those fleeting moments of genuine connection, uncontrolled laughter, and a subtle taste of the forbidden. Although French suitors eagerly fought for your attention and the allure of your family's wealth, your soul yearned for a partner who would daringly challenge the scripted norms, infusing romance with a breath of spontaneous authenticity.

And thus, to address your reluctance to accept the prearranged path, your mother came up with a plan. Sending you to the splendour of London under the watchful eye of the Queen, your beloved aunt, she hoped this change of scenery would guide you towards a dutiful marriage, in line with the expectations befitting your royal lineage. What slipped out of her seemingly perfect idea, however, was the playful nature of fate, particularly when guided by those who avoid predictability. So, your journey to the bustling heart of British metropolis grew with an outcome greatly different from your mother's expectations.

Your aunt, holding the most esteemed position in the United Kingdom, was admired for her wisdom and understanding. But the hours of lessons imparted to you from an early age, combined with your ability to conceal your rebellious nature from the public eye, had transformed you into a pretty great actress. And your performance, crafted over the years, was so convincing that even someone as sharp as the Queen herself failed to see through the carefully constructed act.

But perhaps, this time, you've got too close to the edge, because in the blink of an eye, you found yourself entangled in a situation that, if exposed, would not only scandalize all of England but also cast a shadow over France, where your family hopefully awaited news of your impending marriage.

And how did it all start?

The beginning of your tale remains in the memories of that fateful debutante ball, where a single innocent look changed the course of your luck. It was a brief moment, a shared exchange of glimpse between you and Benedict Bridgerton, that seemed to stretch time itself. In the glimmer of that ballroom, his bright eyes locked onto yours from across the room, and the world around you seemed to slow, as if giving space for something beyond a mere glance.

You had no idea what captivated you about the man who didn't really stand out among the other attendees, but most likely it was this quiet strength of his gaze. The gaze without the typical fascination you'd grown used to as a princess of the French Empire or the usual envy that flickered in the eyes of those desperate to secure a partner who determined their life's worth. Benedict's gaze was just different. It held no trace of the thought that you were merely a silly princess with a title. It carried the feeling that you were a masterpiece, a creation worthy of admiration. And it stirred a yearning within you, an insatiable thirst for freedom and authenticity that your heart had craved for so long.

A brief exchange of words with Benedict at the ball opened your eyes, making you believe that not every man who sought your company was doing so only for your family's wealth. As you danced together, his touch ignited a spark, a fleeting moment of intimacy that lingered long after the music faded into the night, and each stolen glance exchanged across the crowded ballroom carried the weight of unspoken desires. It felt as though the connection that binds soulmates was about to disappear when your paths crossed, signalling that you had, finally, found one another.

And so, it began. A secret affair that grew under the cloak of darkness, far from the prying eyes of nosy socialites waiting to catch a glimpse of scandal. In the hidden corners of London, where shadows whispered secrets and the night sky painted a canvas of stars, you found comfort in the arms of Benedict, a man not necessarily burdened by the weight of societal expectations, yet bound by his own hesitation to commit to anything beyond the present moment.

As the inappropriate meetings became routine, you assumed the role of a mistress, a position you never imagined yourself in, and the only rule you committed to follow during your secret dates was the lack of romantic feelings. Yet, despite your best efforts to maintain a facade of emotional distance, your heart had a way of defying logic. With each stolen moment spent in Benedict's company, you found yourself drawn deeper into the labyrinth of emotions, a labyrinth fraught with longing and desire. What started as a simple agreement, devoid of romantic sentiments, soon evolved into something far more sincere.

And it genuinely scared you.

You walked nervously around the place of your every rendezvous with Benedict, your fingers nervously picking the cuticles near your nail—a gesture unsuitable for the lady you were expected to be. But in the fuss of events that have happened in London so far, such a thing seemed a minor violation. Not only did the task of slipping unnoticed from the royal palace grew increasingly difficult, but the relentless fluttering in your heart at the mere thought of Bridgerton haunted your sleepless nights.

Throughout your life, you had yearned for a love different from the one you had observed in French society. And now, when the opportunity to live your fairy tale presented itself, reality proved to be just an unrequited feeling. While you were happy to see Benedict and yearned for his presence, it seemed he may only crave your body, not the depths of your soul.

You wanted today's meeting to be the last one, a meeting where nothing would happen. Or so you convinced yourself. The purpose was clear: to say goodbye to Benedict and to draw the curtain on a relationship built on fleeting glances and secret meetings. And even though probably the best choice would have been to just stop showing up on these encounters and withdrawing from public spaces where you might cross paths, you didn't want to just pretend that nothing had ever happened between you two. The social season was still around you, and avoiding the consequences of your actions would only complicate everything. Maybe not for Benedict, but for you, for sure.

And then, the silence broken every second by your anxious heartbeat was completely shattered by the sound of footsteps. Turning, you were met with the sight of Benedict Bridgerton approaching with firm strides, and his presence seemed to overshadow your plans to say goodbye when, for a moment, the world seemed to pause as you lost yourself in the intensity of his gaze.

Without a word, he wrapped his arms around your waist, and his touch sent pleasant shivers down your spine. The warmth of his embrace, coupled with the subtle brush of his breath against your skin, stirred conflicting emotions within you. Your heart quickened its pace, betraying the reason you came for this final meeting.

“I've been thinking about you all day,” Benedict whispered, and his breath caressed your delicate skin. But as much as the desire for intimacy flickered within, you held steadfast to the resolution you had set for this meeting.

With a gentle pull, you extricated yourself from his embrace, creating a safe distance between the two of you. The tingling sensation stayed on your skin, as a remaining echo of his touch that resonated through every fibre of your being. “We need to talk,” you said, your voice steadier than your racing heart. Benedict's eyes, once filled with a yearning, now searched yours for an answer to an as yet unspoken question.

“Talk?” he asked, his voice laced with a hint of playful intrigue as he arched one of his eyebrows with his signature smile dancing upon his lips. “About what?” he pressed, and with an air of casual confidence, he crossed his arms over his chest as he ambled a few steps to the side. “You're not going to tell me you've fallen in love, are you, princess?”

A nervous laugh bubbled up from within, escaping between your lips before you could hold it back. In an attempt to mirror Benedict's movements, you crossed your arms over your chest, your head shaking with feigned amusement. “Fall in love?” you repeated his words, adopting a tone of playful dismissal. “Don't be ridiculous, of course not,” you declared, adding a scoff at the end, as if to fortify the illusion of light-hearted banter. Hoping to shield your true feelings, now concealed beneath a facade of amusement, you met Benedict's gaze with a look of mock disbelief.

“We should end this relationship,” the words spilled from your lips, hoping your voice wouldn't betray how fast your heart was beating at that moment. “I did not come to London to become just another woman in the arms of the Viscount's son. If my mother were to find out, she'd blame herself for raising me poorly, and that's not the truth,” you began to rationalize, your words flowing as an attempt to justify the decision you had set before both of you. “I have obligations to fulfil, a path to follow, and I won't achieve that by sleeping with you.”

Benedict watched you in silence, not knowing if you were serious. His gaze bore into you, seeking answers within the depths of your eyes.

“Now you're the one being ridiculous,” he retorted, his tone carrying a gentle scolding. Leaning against a nearby counter, he looked at you with a combination of disbelief. “Since when have you cared so deeply about living up to your mother's expectations?”

“I've come to understand that my mother wants what she believes is best for me. As a princess of the French Empire, there are certain expectations I must meet, whether I appreciate them or not,” you said, closing the physical distance between yourself and Benedict. Self-control was what kept your hands from reaching out as you stopped just in front of him. “Think about what would happen if our secret were to be exposed. It would be the end for both of us, and the scandal would echo across the entire continent. The Queen herself would likely seek our demise.” You emphasized your words by pointing a finger at yourself. “I cannot ruin the honour of the entire royal family for a fleeting moment of pleasure.”

Benedict met your gaze with a silent acknowledgment of the truth in your words, yet beneath the veneer of understanding, a flicker of defiance danced in his eyes. “So, what are you saying? You're suddenly prepared to sacrifice your entire life for the expectations of your family that would see you married and bearing children with some man who would likely make you miserable?” he asked, a trace of frustration evident in his voice.

A moment of silence ensued as you fixed your gaze on Benedict. Finally, a disbelieving scoff escaped your lips, and you shook your head. Taking a few steps away, you placed your hands on your hips, a gesture mirroring the internal conflict within you. “Perhaps you haven't noticed yet, Benedict, but I am a woman. And in a world dictated by the whims of men, the role assigned to women is often reduced to that of an obedient wife, tasked with bringing some affluent man's heir into the world. It's not about what I want; it's about what everyone else around me expects.”

As Benedict made a move to step closer, a surge of urgency propelled you to speak before he could interject. “I should be going now. The palace servants are growing increasingly suspicious.”

Despite the assertiveness in your tone, Benedict, keen to the nuances of unspoken emotions, closed the physical gap between you, and his touch went through the delicate fabric of your glove as he gently took your hand. “We can at least end this in a better way,” he suggested, his voice tinged with a suggestive undertone as he met your gaze.

A resolute “No” escaped your lips, infused with an overt firmness born out of the fear that another moment in his gaze might make you give in to your heart's desires. You couldn't afford the risk of surrendering to the tempting pull of his lips once again, the very lips you yearned for. “That's all I wanted to tell you today,” you continued, gently squeezing his hand as if to punctuate your resolve. Purposefully avoiding his gaze, you added, “It's over, but know that every meeting with you has been a pleasure, Mr. Bridgerton. Goodbye.” Articulated so, you withdrew your hand from Benedict's grasp, leaving only the delicate glove in his hold.

With a swift spin, you turned away and your hurried footsteps carrying you out into the rain-soaked streets of London. A quick glance confirmed the absence of prying eyes, making you hasten your pace, putting distance between yourself and the building that housed your shattered heart. As you took each step, the words exchanged at that moment of parting reverberated in your mind. The relation between you and Benedict had ignited sparks of passion and left a sweet ache of longing. Now, the path ahead led you towards the marriage your family desired, a hopeful step to fill the void left by thoughts of Bridgerton.

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onlybeeewrites · 1 year

Note

If you decide to write for Bridgerton, can you write something for Benedict? Maybe like friends to lovers or something x

The Muse

Requested: By anon

Warnings: nothing just pining

Painting: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Request: If you decide to write for Bridgerton, can you write something for Benedict? Maybe friends to lovers or something

Authors Note: I beg for forgiveness that it has taken me so long to get to this. I had insane writers block, then university hit like a truck and had to put writing on hold. But I have returned and I loved this request. I am currently rewatching Brigderton after watching Queen Charlotte so I hope this to your liking. So sorry again, love <3

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You had grow up beside the Bridgerton Household your entire life—to the estate beside theirs at least. Your father’s had been quite good friends, and as your parents began with their families the relationship between the two had grown. This has allowed you to have direct access to the household since you could even remember. Your were at the young age of four and twenty, just a few years older than the eldest Bridgerton daughter, but still a few years younger than the second eldest Bridgerton who also just so happened to be your closest companion.

You remembered the first time you had met the boy, or at least remembered meeting him. You were but about six years of age, and Benedict was ten. Your mother had dragged you over to the house as she more often did to have tea with the Viscountess Bridgerton as they did more often than not. It was in their tea room where you were interacting with Colin when Benedict had come in rather excitedly to show his mother a drawing he had made. You could remember her cooing her second eldest son, praising his rather interesting art piece. Curiously you had glanced over, interested with all the paint colors and such. Benedict had noticed your curiosity and offered for you to have a closer look. From then on whenever you had come over you had eagerly awaited to see what Benedict had created next.

This little routine continued as you all got older. Of course after the passing of their Father, there was more comfort and reassurance whenever you had visited. Though, even in a time of such great sorrow, Benedict had portrayed that emotion within his paintings and drawings. You had been the one to support him and aid him in any such way possible.

As time continued, the two of your had grown closer. Of course you had grown closer with all the Bridgerton siblings, Benedict was the one you were closest with. The one you could also scope out at balls if you needed to escape another dreadfully boring dance partner, or an attempted suitor that was twice your age. Of course your father was there to ensure nothing of the sort would occur, but there would be times where Benedict was simply closer and much better at conversation.

Often Lady Whistledown commented on the you both, sometimes a bit too often. There would be whispers about you both, how often you dance with each other at balls or are seen giggling a bit tipsy with each other in the corners. Most of the time it had not bother you—when you were younger at least. Though as you blossomed and grew into yourself, you also were able to recognize your feelings. You believed it was around ten and six when you had realized you were doomed. That you had fallen completely in love with Benedict. It was not something you liked to think about nor dwell on for too long. Why would he, a Bridgerton, a most handsome, talented, funny, charming man like himself even think about courting you?

It was not that you felt like you were unattractive in some sort of way, you were rather pretty. But it was the fact that you were best friends with Benedict that caused you to think this way. There was a chance of him not returning those feelings. There was a chance that he would laugh in your face assuming it was a joke. There was a chance of him scoffing in your face and cutting you and your friendship off completely.

There was no chance that you would even consider taking that risk—no matter how often Daphne or hell, even Elouise would reassure you that he had returned those feelings to you.

Though one afternoon, you sat with him in the Bridgerton’s drawing room. You had been having some tea that Rose had gotten for you while Benedict drew. He drew with his charcoaled that made his long fingers turning an odd shade of black within his drawing pad. You had always admired the way he looked to serious when he drew. His eyebrows furrowed, causing wrinkles to cover his forehead. He also had this habit of tilting his head; you assumed it was to get a different angle on whatever his latest creations was. But your most favorite thing was when he would be stuck on something. Maybe it was because he could not draw it correctly, or the art was not coming out the way he wanted it to. But once he figures it out, or it comes out the way that he had wanted and the ways his eyes lit up with pride and eureka was your absolute favorite.

“what is it you are drawing today?” You asked, lifting the fragile porcelain to your lips as you take a small sip of the warm tea. Your eyes flicker from your cup to the Bridgerton across from you. And just in time too because was already looking at you. His body tensed slightly before he attempted to play it off.

“Nothing you must worry your head about,” he said in a teasing tone, as he most often did. But he was just trying to play it off when in reality it was you. He was drawing you, in your beautiful soft green dress, your hair done up into a neat braid to keep from your beautiful face. You looked stunning and he wanted to capture it like he had done many time before.

It was always you that he drew, especially when you plagued his thoughts in the late. Hours. Oh if you only knew that you were his muse. The very figure and image of you filled pages and pages of his work. Two of the things he loves most wrapped into one. But what if you were to find out? You would never return and that would break his heart. He was so in love with you it ached to not be able to hold you, kiss you when he wanted. He felt this especially at balls and suitors would come up to your constantly, it made his blood boil. But he had hoped he kept it well hidden. Well, enough to keep it from you. His family on the other hand seemed to know or notice it for quite sometime. According to his mother, both of your mother’s knew of it. Everyone seem to know. Everyone but you.

Too busy in his thoughts, he did not feel the dip in the sofa until it was too late. You had seated yourself right next to him with a small huff as you tried to peak at this new creation before he was able to hide it. But he managed, which caused you to pout slightly. Of those lips…he wanted nothing more to cup your face and kiss you right then and there.

“Benedict. You always show me your drawings,” you had insisted, which just caused the other to shake his head.

“Nonsense. There are plenty of work that you have not seen. Besides it is no good anyways, there is no point in showing it off if it is no good.” He said, giving his best friend a look. This only made you want to see more. “you always saw your work is no good and it is always beautiful. Let me see, please?” You pleaded as you took hold of a part of his drawing pad. There was some back and forth, some ‘no’s’ and ‘oh please’ as you both struggled to take proper hold of the pad.

Eventually his hands slipped and lost its grip on the pad, landing it right into your smaller grasp. “ha! I have got it now. Now, let us see what you have been working so hard on,” you tease before looking at the drawing Benedict had been working so hard on. It was a lady, a rather beautiful one. But the longer you looked, the more you realized that this lady in the charcoal had the same features as you. the same face shape, body type, hair—even the little scar that was right on the bridge of your nose that you had gotten as a child. And you face began to redden as you slowly looked towards Benedict. “Are…is this of me?” You ask in wonder, amazement and without a single sound of disgust or hated—this reassures Benedict a bit more at least.

He nods and before he could utter another word, you flip through pages; more drawings of you. “You make me look beautiful..” you say in wonder and this causes Benedict to furrow his eyebrows once more but not in concentration but confusion.

“Because you are beautiful. I draw what I see and what I see from you is…” he stopped himself from speaking another word, too afraid to come across as too forward. He took a breath, figuring now is a better time than ever. The Bridgerton boy took the drawing pad from your hands and placed it next to him before giving you his full attention. Your face is covered with blush, flustered from this whole thing.

“I suppose now I must explain myself before it comes across strangely. But I do draw you. More times than not because you plague my every waking moment, you have since we were children. You have captured my heart from years and you have refused to return it to me. My dearest friend…..my feelings for you grow into one where I want you by my side forever, not just in my drawings. You are my muse for everything I do and I cannot bear it being another nor you being with anyone else..” he said, “So I suppose-“

You cut him off by leaning forward and giving him a kiss. Your soft ones pressed against his own. It was bold and improper. But his words were moving and your heart would not stop its fluttering. So you had kissed him, hoping no one would see. The kiss was everything you both had imagined it would be like and more.

So once you had pulled away to his surprised but smug reaction, you simply nodded, “Of course, it would be delighted to court you, my dearest. I have been waiting so long for this moment.” You say, still almost not believing that your love was also your best friend.

“I suppose we both were a bit too blind and afraid to admit it, hm?” He chuckled, taking your hands in his, getting a bit of the charcoal onto your hands. You giggle and nod,

“Yes I suppose so. But I also would love to see these other drawings of me that you have mentioned,” you teased him, now making it his turn to blush as he realized what he had admitted.

“Perhaps another time…?” He asked hopefully and you grin mischievously, almost impishly.

“Or perhaps we can give you something else to draw,” you said suggestively continuing to tease him about such thing.

“Oh I quite like the sound of that,” Benedict grinned as he pulled you in for another quick kiss. Perhaps it was a good thing you had seen the drawings after all.

#bridgerton imagines #onlybeeewrites #bridgerton #Benedict #benedict bridgerton #Ben Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton x reader #Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!reader #anon post #send anons #friends to lovers #cute imagine #onlybeeeanswers #onlybeewrites #open asks

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mystcldydrms · 11 months

Text

benedict is the type of husband that will fill his notebook with sketches of you. he will capture the beauty of your smile and how you look at other people, especially those you love. you hold so much adoration for them in your eyes. he draws small details of you, like the crinkles by your eyes when you smile or how your hair falls in front of your face whenever you laugh. he draws you in your dresses or when you wear nothing at all. he draws you when you're wide awake or when you're sleeping. in his drawing room, his canvas' are always full of drawings of you. you know about them, they are no secret to you or his family. they love how much he loves you, and you do too. there isn't a day that goes by that you visit him in his room, looking at all the sketches and drawings, trying to convince him to draw something or someone else. he doesn't hesitate when he says: "all I want to draw is you."

#benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton blurb #benedict bridgerton headcanon #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton blurbs #bridgerton headcanons #bridgerton fanfiction

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mothdruid · 2 years

Text

caught

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!reader x anthony bridgerton

summary: Benedict and you stay back as the family goes out for a promenade. Benedict starts to take care of you in the day room only to be caught by Anthony.

wc: 3.6k

warnings: 18+, smut, minors dni, vaginal sex, oral sex (m to f), oral sex (f to m), threesome

a/n: I'm super down bad for Benedict, but the other brothers make me go horny. this is to show off what's in store for my ABC fic.

"Benedict, we can't."

"Oh but we can." Benedict sneered as his hands gathered at your hips. They pulled you towards him, your hands finding their way to his chest. The sun was bright in the day room, filling it with warmth. The day had been lax, one without much interest. Benedict had been absent for most of the morning, holed up somewhere drawing and painting. The two of you were visiting his family for the week. It was something the two of you had been looking forward to, all of you being under the same roof again.

It was early this morning that the family decided to go out for a promenade, which Benedict and you weren’t that thrilled by. Benedict made the excuse that he had other things to attend to and that he would prefer if you stayed with him. The look Violet gave him was dangerous, but let the two of you stay back while the rest of the family went out.

“Nobody is here, why not have a little fun?” Benedict kissed at your cheek, quickly nipping down your jawline to your neck. The thought had already crossed your mind that morning, taking advantage of the empty house. Well, mostly empty except for the maids and servants. The idea of him bending you over in front of the windows, or laying you out on the couch in the drawing room. The maids and servants would talk but the two of you didn’t really care, the ones at your own home talked about the two of you constantly. It didn’t help that you two gave them enough to talk about.

“Benedict, they could be back at any moment. I do not want to face your mother’s response, let alone Anthony’s.” Benedict pulled back at the mention of his mother and brother. He scrunched his eyebrows together while hands stilled on your hips.

“Why would it matter what Anthony thinks? He isn’t a saint himself.” Benedict’s eyes were icy now, not the warm welcoming pool they normally were. You placed a hand on his face, running your thumb over his cheek. A smile tugged at his lips, the tension he felt easing up.

“No, your brother is no saint. But I would not want to surprise your mother like that.” Benedict stared at you, pleading silently. It surprised you how dedicated he was to ideas, even if they were not the most savory ideas. His hands gripped at your hips and pulled your hips close to his own.

“Then we shall be quick.” He attacked your neck, his tongue lapping over the small nips on your skin. Your hand found its way to his hair, threading your fingers through it softly. A moan escaped from your lips as he sucked on your collar bones. One hand moved up your back, drifting up to the buttons holding your dress together. His fingers ghosted over the skin between your shoulder blades, he thanked the lord that you decided to wear this dress today. It was slightly lower cut in the front and back, exposing more of your skin for his wandering eyes.

A soft pop was heard as he undid the top two buttons. He helped slip your arms out of the short sleeves, leaving a trail of kisses from your wrist to shoulder. The two of you knew not to take the dress fully off, wanting to quickly conceal the small romp when you two finished. He guided you over to the couch, watching as you sat down and looked up at him through your lashes. A hand followed the angle of your neck, coming up to the curve of your jaw then to your lips. His thumb drifted over your slightly parted lips, a smirk gracing his own lips. “Your mood changed quickly.”

“I’ve been thinking about this all morning. You taking me right here.” You whispered while rubbing your hands on the couch to emphasize your words. Benedict lowered himself to his knees, keeping his eyes locked with your own. The hand on your face never faltered, thumb staying on your lower lip.

“You’re so dirty. I can only imagine what my family would think if they actually knew how you were.” A big grin pulled on your lips as you shot forward, kissing him with a new found enthusiasm. The both of you smiled in the kiss while you started to push his vest off, making quick work of his suspenders. You let out a laugh mixed with a gasp when he pushed you back against the couch. Arms caged you in as he leaned over you, kissing at the slightly exposed tops of your breasts.

“You’d love that. Watching your family’s shock and my embarrassment.” A sigh left your lips when his hands drifted back, loosening the lacing of your corset a little. Once it was loose enough Benedict quickly shifted it down your torso slightly, only enough to expose your full breasts. The cold air hardening your nipples, Benedict quickly wraps his lips around a nipple. One of his hands moves to the other one, kneading it over then rolling the nipple between his index finger and thumb.

“How’d you know that?” He connected his lips to your breast again, hands moving down to grab and the bottom hem of your dress. You lifted your hips when he started pushing the material up your legs. His fingers pulled on the strings of your unmentionables, pulling them down your legs to expose your cunt to him. His hands ghosted over your thighs as he stared at your newly exposed parts. You brought your hand to his face as you leaned towards him. You guided him to your lips, kissing him with vigor.

“Because you are a tease.” The whisper ghosted over his own lips, making him smirk. His head tilted softly, hands tightening on your thighs. There was a glint in his warm blue eyes, one you could barely see. He spread your legs quickly, shifting you to lay back on the couch.

“A tease you say?”

“Did I stutter?” Benedict raised an eyebrow, surprised by your sudden cockiness. His grip tightened a touch more before he moved between your legs, plunging his tongue between your folds. A loud gasp left your mouth, hands immediately going to his hair. Your finger gripped the strands of hair as his tongue made quick work of your clit. You closed your eyes while rolling your head back on the couch, enjoying the feeling building in your abdomen.

Pleasure seared all of your nerve endings, lighting them on fire as your moans filled the air. You rolled your head from right to left, one of your hands traveling up to your own chest. It was a calming thing, centering yourself before the inevitable came. Your lashes fluttered as you decided to look at Benedict, only for your eyes to catch someone else. Anthony.

Anthony stood still in the doorway, hands behind his back and his jaw flexed. You tightened your grip on Benedict’s hair, aggressively pulling him up from in between your legs. A pained look flashed across Benedict’s as he came up to you. Anthony’s dark gaze didn’t leave yours, jaw flexing as he watched the two of you scramble. Benedict hadn’t taken notice of him yet, too upset and your violent tugging of his hair. “Y/N! What was that for?”

“Anthony.” It was barely a whisper, the familiar name.

Benedict gave you a questioning look before you gestured towards the doorway slightly. Benedict whipped his head around only to see the older of the two.Benedict’s hands gripped on your dress, trying to hide his slight irritation. “Oh. Well, hello brother.” Benedict brought his gaze back to yours, a soft plea in his eyes. His mischievous grin had been whipped clean, a soft look on his face now. You smiled softly as you stroked his cheek, reassuring him that this was all okay. Well, as okay as it could be.

“Is this why the two of you did not want to promenade? To soil the drawing room?” The sound of Anthony’s boots were loud in the now quiet drawing room. All you could do was stare at Benedict and take in his soaked facial features, not wanting to face Anthony’s wrath. The embarrassment inside of you was radiating in your cheeks. Benedict tilted his head slightly, making the light catch on his chin just right. Your own fluids still covered his face, all of it glistening in the sunlight. Your breath caught in your throat as you watched his tongue flick out over his bottom lip. Your core tightened and so did Benedict’s hand on your thigh.

"Are either of you-" Benedict gave you a wink before turning towards Anthony.

"Would you like to join us brother?"

Your hands tightened on the fabric covering Benedict’s chest. It was something you had always wanted to happen, but would have never happened. But now it was. Your eyes flicked from Benedict to Anthony, wondering what he had to say about it, but the expression he wore was surprising. A pink dusting had covered his cheeks as he averted his gaze from the two of you. It wasn’t uncommon for Benedict to tease his brother about you. The both of them tried very hard to court you with Benedict succeeding.

“I ah.. I don’t think that is necessary.” Anthony muttered quietly. He bought his hands behind his back. You had never seen Anthony like this before. The smooth and confident eldest brother was now timid and embarrassed. Benedict nodded at his brother’s words before turning back to you, leaning forward to kiss at your collarbones and neck. A sigh passed your lips only for your attention to be grabbed by the sound of Anthony’s boots. You looked back at him, locking eyes this time. He kept watching as Benedict pushed your dress back up your legs, exposing your soft skin. Benedict took notice of his brother's presence again.

“Why not participate,” Benedict removed himself from your body, “instead of watching?” The fabric of your dress was now pooled around your hips, exposing yourself completely to Anthony. Benedict sat up near you, kissing at the side of your neck. His hand drifted up to your chest, squeezing your breasts over the top of your dress. Anthony stood there watching as you became a puppet for Benedict’s amusement. Your eyes reminded lock with his as his breathing became more erratic. His chest rose and fell heavily, his eyes gaze on you becoming more and more hungry. A moan passed your lips as you started to cant your hips, trying to pull Anthony in. Benedict licked a stripe up your neck, suckling on your ear lobe.

Anthony opened his mouth slightly before forcefully taking his overcoat off, setting it on a nearby chair. “You broke him.” Was all Benedict said before Anthony kneeled in front of you. His hands glided up the sides of your thighs, a small groan emanating from him.

“Is this what you want?” Anthony whispered as he leaned down, lifting one leg closer to him. A quick nod from you gave him permission. His lips were soft against the inside of your knee and down the inside of your thighs. Your eyes closed shut, taking in all of the sensations. It was overwhelming to a degree. Anthony’s lips drifted closer and closer to your cunt, while one of Benedict’s hands roamed your clothed chest and the other found its way to your back. Benedict trailed the exposed skin of your back, fingers tracing the top of your corset.

“Is this not what you’ve dreamed of?” Benedict’s whisper sent chills down your spine, reminding you that it was not only him. Anthony let out a hot breath over your cunt, making you whine and push your hips forward. A soft lick graced your slick folds, Anthony testing the waters. His hands gripped on your thighs, keeping them spread open. Suddenly Benedict was helping you maneuver the top of your dress down, giving him better access to the strings of your corset. Your head rolled back as Anthony started to finally feast on you. His tongue was quick against your cunt, licking and flicking your clit all while diving inside of you. Your hand found Benedict’s thigh, tightening on it as your hips rolled into Anthony’s mouth.

Benedict’s fingers made quick work of your corset, pulling the strings loose. Once loose enough he gestured for you to lift your arms. He pulled it up over your head, watching as your breasts rested naturally against your torso. The corset was tossed to the side while Benedict quickly took both breasts into his hands, rolling your nipples with his thumbs. Anthony shook his face against your cunt slightly, flattening his tongue on your clit. Your back arched and Benedict took a nipple into his mouth, kneading your other breast with his hand. The tightness in your abdomen was painful, your orgasm too close. Benedict trailed wet kisses from your breast up your chest, collarbones, and neck. His lips paused underneath your ear, sucking softly.

“You like this don’t you, my brother eating you out while I play with your breasts?”

And with those words a wave of pleasure covered you. Your moans filled the air as Anthony did not let up. Keeping his assault on your cunt torturous. Benedict’s hand gathered on your jaw, pulling your look from Anthony to him. His smirk was teasing you to no end, knowing damn well how you were feeling. He smashed his lips to your, eating up every delicious sound you made. Your hand snaked down to Anthony’s hair, gripping hard enough to pull him off of you.

“Doesn’t she taste good brother?” Benedict spoke, keeping his hand on your jaw.

“Better than I would have imagined.” Anthony whispered into the skin of your thigh, pressing a kiss to the sensitive skin. The heat in your cheeks radiated as you stared at Benedict.

“Please.” A whimper left you as Benedict’s hand lowered from your jaw and rolled one of your nipples.

“Dear, I need you to tell me more than that.” Benedict said with a smirk. He kissed your cheek, kneading your breast now.

“Tell us what you need.” Anthony spoke. Anthony moved his hand to rest on your pubic bone. His thumb moved to your clit, rubbing it in circles. The sensitive bundle of nerves had your squirming. Anthony’s other hand tightened on your thigh, trying to get you to still.

“Please take care of me. Make me feel good.” Anthony removed his hand from you, sitting back as Benedict helped you change positions. Benedict helped remove your dress off you completely, then laid you back against the couch. Benedict slotted himself between your legs while Anthony got up to remove some extra layers of his clothing. Benedict leaned, pressing his lips on the underneath of your breasts, coasting down to your stomach.

“Anthony really got you riled up.” You blushed at the mention of Anthony, looking over at Anthony he smiled. He was now wearing just his white button up shirt, pants slightly undone. Anthony walked over to the couch, sitting down near your head. You back arched in pleasure once Benedict’s mouth found your cunt, slurping up your leftover juices. His tongue messily diving into you. Anthony brought a hand to your face, stroking your cheek while watching you. You turned slightly, now noticing the bulge in Anthony’s pants. Your hand traveled to Anthony’s clothed member, reminding yourself that both brothers were yours for now.

“May I?” You asked softly in between moans and whimpers. Anthony quickly undid his pants, shifting them down slightly. Pretty was the only word you could think of as his cock was freed. It looked perfect. Anthony shifted so your head was resting on his thigh, your hand wrapping around his cock. Anthony tightened his jaw and the touch, his nostrils flared as he breathed out them. The look in his eye was sinful, lusting for more. Benedict tightened his grip on your hips, a burst of pain pulling your attention away from Anthony.

“Am I not pleasing you enough?” Benedict shifted up your body, while he did you started to move your hand on Anthony. Soft moans fell from Anthony’s lips, basking in the feeling of your hand stroking his cock. Benedict made his way to your neck, leaving a trail of wet kisses from your breasts to your neck. You gasped when you felt his freed cock against your thigh. “Do not worry dear, I’ll please you well enough.” You felt Anthony’s hips roll up into your hand as you kept stroking him. Benedict sat back on his heels, watching you stroke Anthony as he lined himself up.

“Look at you, taking care of my brother while I’m about to fuck you.” A whimper was all you could let out as Benedict started to push into you. The girth of Benedict’s cock was something you would never fully get used to. The sting of the stretch was sinful, making you moan out loudly. Your head rolled back on Anthony’s thigh, your hand pausing on him while you adjusted to the size of Benedict. Benedict let out a groan as he settled completely inside of you.

“Oh my.. Benedict.” You moaned out as he started to thrust inside of you. You finally started to move your hand on Anthony again. Anthony brought a hand down to your chest, kneading at your breasts while he breathed heavily. Benedict kept his thrusts slow and deliberate, aiming for that special spot inside of you.

“Your hand feels so good.” Anthony whispered to you, drawing your attention back to him. His free hand went to your hair, petting it as he stared at you. One of Benedict’s hands moved up from your hips, grabbing at your other breast. Anthony and Benedict both kneaded your breasts as they both watched you lose yourself.

The two brothers watched on as you arched your back in pleasure. You tilted your head towards Anthony, opening your mouth. Anthony watched as you adjusted slightly then guided his cock into your mouth. His mouth fell open as the warm wet walls of your mouth covered his cock. Benedict groaned as he watched you take Anthony into your mouth, a surge of jealousy rushing through him. Benedict’s hips thrusted into you deep and hard, making you clench. “Do not forget who you belong to dear.”

“I don’t think she is brother.” Anthony bit back as his hand tugged on your hair. “Right? You won’t forget who you belong to.” All you could do was moan around Anthony’s cock, hoping that was a sufficient response. A familiar tightness appeared in your abdomen. Benedict kept his thrusts deep and heavy, but deliberate as he kept hitting that sensitive spot inside of you. Benedict’s hand moved from your breast to your clit, his thumb now rubbing a circle on your clit. Anthony’s grip on your hair became tighter as he started to thrust shallowly into your mouth. More breathy moans fell from Anthony’s mouth as he fucked into your mouth. You let one of your hands drift to Benedict, grabbing at him. The hand on your hip disappeared, meeting the hand you had stretched out. Your eyes flicked over, meeting Benedicts for a moment. His expression was a soft one full of pleasure. His thumb on your clit pushed you closer and closer to your orgasm.

Anthony’s thrusts started to get sloppy in your mouth, his own orgasm getting closer. Your walls clenched around Benedict, making him groan as he kept thrusting in you. Anthony’s hand tightened on your hair, holding your head close to his lap. A loud groan ripped through him as you felt his hot seed fill your mouth. Anthony pulled you off and watched you swallow him down. You moved your head back, looking into Benedict’s eyes completely. Anthony’s hands still stroked your hair and kneaded at your breasts.

With one more circle on your clit you were moaning sinfully, pleasure searing every inch of your body. Your hot walls tightened around Benedict’s cock had him reeling. His thrusts started to falter, trying to hold on through your orgasm. Benedict couldn’t though, his orgasm appearing too quickly. He leaned into your chest as he unloaded himself into you, thrusting messy and rough. Benedict stayed there for a moment, catching his own breath.

The three of you sat on the couch for a while, your head resting in Anthony’s lap while Benedict rested his on your chest. Anthony’s hand petted your hair, smiling down at you while your own fingers carded through Benedict’s hair. Benedict finally pulled his now softened cock out of you, the both of you moaning at the sensation.

“The family will be back at any moment.” Anthony was the first to speak, trying to subtly remind you and Benedict. Benedict snickered against your chest, placing a kiss to one of your breasts before lifting up off you.

“Not enough time for another go.” You squinted at Benedict, to which he extended his hand to help you up. You felt his cum slowly start to leak out of you, making you squirm. The two of them helped you get dressed, Benedict tightening your corset just enough as Anthony helped get your dress back on. The three of you stood there awkwardly for a moment, Benedict wrapping his hand around your waist.

“Maybe next time we won’t get caught.” Benedict kissed your cheek, making your embarrassment return. Anthony smiled softly at the two of you while keeping his jaw tight.

“That seems like a good idea.”

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pagesfromthevoid · 1 year

Text

Whatever the Poets Say | b.b. | Epilogue

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Word Count: 1.4K

Warnings: Tooth aching fluff

Author’s Note: This is it. The end. I’m so proud of this story 🥹

Series Masterlist | Talk to Me!

6 Months Later

Queen Charlotte’s eyes darted back and forth, reading the book in front of her intently. Her expression gave nothing away; there was no way to tell if she liked what she was reading or if she hated it. And truly, that was the most anxiety inducing part of it all. However, she refused to show her stress.

In the Queen’s hands was a copy of Whatever the Poets Say, written by an Anonymous Young Woman. Though, it was no longer all that anonymous given that the Queen –and her cohorts –all sat with the author in the room. However, the author now was not the timid, shaking girl she was when the Queen first met her months ago. Now, Mrs. Bridgerton sat confidently in front of her Queen, sipping her tea with a sly grin on her face as the Queen finally slammed the book shut.

If the Queen of England liked her writing before, there was plenty of hope that she would like it now as well.

Mrs. Bridgerton set her tea down on the table beside her, leaning back in her seat. Her grin had turned into a soft smile, waiting for the criticism that she knew would be coming. But Queen Charlotte just smirked.

“I am in need of a biographer,” she said simply.

Mrs. Bridgerton furrowed her brows. “Excuse me?”

“I need a biographer, Mrs. Bridgerton. Must I repeat myself again?”

She quickly shook her head, sitting up straight. Any confidence she once had had disappeared, and was replaced by confusion. “No, your Majesty. I just…You want me to write your biography?”

“I want someone with a keen eye and a way with words. You happen to have both.” The Queen waved dismissively. “You will be compensated for your work, of course.”

Mrs. Bridgerton broke out into a smile and she stood, bowing to the Queen now. “Yes, of course. I-I would be honored to tell your story, your Majesty. More than honored, truly.”

Queen Charlotte’s smirk turned soft, and she shooed her cohorts out of the room. When the door shut, leaving the two women alone, the Queen stood before Mrs. Bridgerton. “You are far more useful to me here than you are as the lady of the house. I do hope your husband does not mind me keeping you during the day.”

“Benedict will surely understand, my Queen,” she reassured, hands behind her back now. “He knows well what I want to do with my life –he will not stand in the way of it.”

“How refreshing,” the Queen hummed, turning now to walk to the window. “A gentleman who wants his wife to work.”

“A gentleman who wants his wife to be happy,” she corrected softly, watching her for a moment. “And this…this is an opportunity one cannot ignore.”

“It’s not, is it?”

*****

“Where have you been all day!” Eloise yelled as she slipped into the Bridgerton family home.

The two had been invited over to dinner with the Lord and Lady Bridgerton, though Benedict had rolled his eyes when the invitation arrived so prettily written. She couldn’t help but laugh at the idea that Kate had made Anthony write a formal invite to dinner.

“I was in town,” she explained simply. It wasn’t a lie, technically.

“What did I say about becoming a better liar?” Benedict asked, stepping out of Anthony’s study with a grin. His hand found her’s without a moment's hesitation.

“I’m not lying,” she insisted, rolling her eyes. “I am simply omitting details. I was in town, though.”

Benedict pressed a kiss to her cheek, and Eloise gagged playfully. “Just you wait until you find your match –then you won’t be gagging at the sight of love,” he teased.

“I need to speak to your wife,” Eloise insisted, pushing him aside and taking her sister-in-law’s hand. “Privately.”

Before Benedict could argue, Eloise pulled his wife into the sitting room –where Edwina and Kate both sat.

Holding her book.

“Oh dear.”

“‘Oh dear,’ indeed,” Edwina teased, crossing her arms with a smirk. “I thought I was going crazy, reading the book.”

“As did I,” Kate agreed, brow raised as she flipped through her book. “I kept reading it, and thinking, ‘This sounds rather familiar.’”

“Oh yes, and then of course, Elric tells the King of France that the main character is a gossiper…that is when I knew,” Eloise pointed at her now, eyes narrowed. She seemed less entertained by the whole thing. “A little warning would have been nice!”

“I did not think you would read it,” Mrs. Bridgerton defended, putting her hands up while she felt a blush creep up her cheeks. “Truly, I did not even know it was on the shelf yet –the Queen had a copy, but I assumed the Queen just had everything first –,”

“What do you mean, the Queen had a copy?” Edwina asked, eyes going wide.

“Is that why you were in town?” Eloise continued, not letting her a word in.

“The Queen loves gossip more than any of us,” Kate hummed, rolling her eyes.

Mrs. Bridgerton took a moment to let the ladies chat, then shook her head. “The Queen…she wanted me to finish the story, remember? When Eloise told her I was Whistledown…She read the book when it was published.”

“Well, did she like it?” Eloise demanded, eyes wide with excitement, having forgotten her annoyance.

Mrs. Bridgerton nodded. “She asked me to be her biographer. She…gave me a job.”

The three ladies stared in surprise, clearly failing at producing a coherent sentence outside of, “Really? “Oh my goodness,” and “Bloody hell.” It was a far better reaction than she anticipated, though she didn’t think anyone would react negatively to the news.

“I haven’t told Benedict yet, which I’d very much like to do now –,”

“Yes, yes of course. Go tell him –that is so exciting!” Edwina exclaimed, standing up and hugging her now. “I am very jealous, honestly.”

“As am I,” Eloise hummed, though she still seemed a bit frustrated. “I am still mad at you however.”

“Why on earth are you mad?”

“Because you let me read…read smut about my brother!”

Mrs. Bridgerton considered, for a moment, Eloise’s plights. Then she just laughed. “Was it at least good smut?”

“I hate you,” Eloise seethed, throwing her hands in the air. She repeated the phrase over and over as her sister-in-law slipped out the door with a laugh.

Benedict was leaning against the wall, as if he had been there waiting the entire time she was with the ladies.

“Do you not have something else to do while I am busy?” She teased, taking his arm when he offered it.

“I have plenty to do,” he replied, guiding them towards the back doors and into the gardens. “I just have not seen you all day –I missed you.”

“You will need to get used to that, then, I suppose.”

“Used to what?”

“Missing me during the day.”

They stopped at the steps of the house, and he looked down at her with his brow raised. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…I have been given a job. With the Queen.”

Benedict’s face lit up with excitement as he turned to face her fully. “The Queen gave you a job? Doing what? How can I help? Can I help? I know this is yours but I want to –,”

“Benedict,” she interrupted, laughing at his excitement. Her hand reached up to rest over his heart. “She wants me to be her biographer –to write the story of her life.”

He couldn’t help himself as he wrapped his arms around her, lifting her up to spin her around. She squealed some in response, unable to keep herself from laughing as she held onto his shoulders. “I am so proud of you!” He exclaimed, keeping her off the ground as he held her close. “My wife –the Queen’s biographer. What an honor it is to be married to you.”

She turned sheepish, feeling that blush creeping back up again. “You flatter me, Benedict. I –,”

“I must flatter you! You are a writer! For the Queen!”

When he finally set her down, Benedict rested his hands on her waist, looking down at her with adoration and awe. Her heart ached with joy –something inside her blossomed with Benedict’s support. His overjoyed reaction gave her exactly what she needed.

“I love you, Benedict. So very much. Thank you for believing in me.”

“I love you too,” he promised, leaning down to rest his forehead against hers. “And there’s no need to thank me for doing something that is easier than breathing.”

———

Taglist: @queensgirl718 @drowninginaseaofbooks @severewobblerlightdragon @wildflowerel @just-an-ace-elf @kamala-khann @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @imheretobeinvisible

#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict Bridgerton imagine #benedict Bridgerton #Bridgerton

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byebyelullabye · 2 years

Text

seven ~ b.b

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

benedict bridgerton had been the age of seven the day he met y/n l/n. seven hours later, he declared her his bride.

(inspired by forgive me, a fic by @benedictscanvas !! highly recommend you go read it!!)

a/n: first bridgerton fic!! i was inspired by the fic above but i changed some of the ages to make a bit more sense.

warning: really. really. really bAD wRITINGggg. im really unsure abt this bc im still figuring out my writing style and honestly idk how to write in a regency-like manner so pls feel free to spew feedback :) also im really sorry if this didn't really live up to the hype im still learning how to develop my own voice etc etc so feedback is all the more appreciated <3

masterlist

~ fifteen (part 2)

Benedict Bridgerton had been the age of seven the first time laid his eyes upon seven-year-old Y/n L/n.

It had not been expected. It began as an ordinary day, like any other. At least, as normal as it could be for a member of the great Bridgerton clan. So far there were only four Bridgerton children (though there was no doubt among the Ton there would be more to come): Antony (10), Benedict (7), Colin (3), and little baby Daphne who was turning a year old in just a few weeks.

Breakfast was served, in abundance of course, considering the hefty appetite of the growing Bridgerton boys. Colin would attempt to snatch a piece of pastry from one of his brother’s plates. Daphne would start crying in the middle of the meal, needing the comfort of her mother’s arms. Breakfast would end with full stomachs. Daphne was put to sleep. The boys ran off in different paths, in different pursuits. Then, Lady Bridgerton prepared the drawing room for her incoming guests.

Everyone remembered that day differently, apart from Daphne who barely knew anything at that age. Although Anthony would admit later on that he did not care enough to note any details because he thought it as just an ordinary day. But Benedict, second-born he was, always thought of that day he first saw an angel before his eyes.

When reminiscing upon that day, Benedict was ashamed to think he did not even notice her when he walked into the drawing room. She was there with her mother, Lady L/n. They had been invited by Lady Bridgerton for tea that day, because after all what else are you supposed to do with your charming new neighbors?

The L/n family, composed of Lord and Lady L/n along with their shy young daughter Y/n, spent much of their time traveling before deciding to settle their residence in Mayfair after careful consideration and a longing ache for stability and society. Lady Bridgerton heard about her family's new neighbors from the grapevine of the Ton but never saw them with her own eyes until a week later when they were all settled in the house. Knowing no one among their circle, Lady L/n reached out to the other mothers but was met with that certain brand of indifference that accompanies new change. Lady Bridgerton never tolerated such crass behaviour so she invited her new neighbor and her daughter to her home the next day.

Which leads to where they are now, in the drawing-room of the great Bridgerton House, peacefully sipping tea in between flowing waves of animated conversation between the two ladies. Y/n opted to hide behind her tea cup, now that she could no longer hide behind her mother’s skirt.

Benedict was not even supposed to be in the drawing room but nevertheless, he needed his pencils for his newfound hobby of sketching. Once he entered, however, his pencils were the last things on his mind.

Once his eyes landed on her, his heart raced. His cheeks reddened. His eyes widened. The world silenced. Without a word, thoughts of sketching flew out of his head as he immediately ran to her.

Because she spilled tea on her dress.

In all fairness, it was not her fault. Benedict's younger brother Colin had taken a habit of exploring every new place and every new person that he came upon. Thus, he wanted to startle the new presence in his home by pulling one of the stray locks of her hair. Immediately after, Colin sprinted out of the room to escape the wrath of his mother and brother.

Benedict ran to Y/n's side and kneeled on the ground to pick up the chipped teacup she dropped from the floor. He offered it to her in his outstretched hand.

Before he could scold his brother, Benedict looked into her eyes, and all the world outside them faded. Time slowed. He gasped. His mouth went dry as his jaw dropped. For a second, his heart stopped. Then, all he could hear in his ears was every breath he expelled from his lungs. Butterflies grew forth in his stomach, each wing beating in time with his pounding heart. As if hie eyes were a telescope focusing on a singular point, he gazed upon her and got lost inside the galaxies of her soft doe eyes staring back at him.

Then, she smiled.

Benedict Bridgerton was seven years old the day he fell in love with seven-year-old Y/n L/n.

She looked ethereal. As far as Benedict was concerned, she was ethereal. She wore her aura of warmth like a halo above her head. It glimmered like her eyes, illuminating her god-sculpted features. Her enchanting albeit shy smile shone and melted through his heart. He was in such a daze he could have sworn there were sparks when their fingertips grazed each other once she took the teacup.

He couldn't stop staring at her even if he tried. He didn't really try, anyways. As she stood, he continued to stare at her like a work of art from the first time he stepped foot inside a museum: full of awe, marveling and questioning how he, a mere mortal, was allowed to be in the presence of such beauty.

"Thank you", she whispered in a heavenly melodious voice that took his speech away.

Benedict remained kneeling on the ground before her. Nothing in the world could have stopped him from gaping at her. Not even his own mother, who took hold of his chin to close his mouth. Lady Bridgerton hid her smirk and the twinkle in her eyes behind a well-placed cup of tea as he ran off to compose himself. Lady L/n shared the same look as she took a sip of tea, mirroring Lady Bridgerton's expression.

Y/n was quiet for the rest of the conversation between her mother and Benedict’s. She hadn't touched her cup of tea or any of the pastries laid out. Her eyes wandered all over the drawing room as she tried to amuse herself. She wanted to be interested in her mother's conversation but she did not have the patience for it. Her expression of exponential boredom was painted all over her face and both mothers took notice of this.

“Miss L/n, would you like to play with some of my children? I just had a daughter and I'm afraid she’s still too young to be playing but I’m sure my sons would enjoy your company. Perhaps in the garden?”, Lady Bridgerton asked Y/n, eyeing Benedict who was poorly hiding behind an antique vase, while Y/n's mother brushed away the stray curl Colin pulled on.

Benedict saw her eyes light up, even from afar.

“Please, Mother, may I? Please?”, Y/n pleaded with her mother as she clasped her hands together.

“I do not see any reason why not.” Lady L/n answered cooly, catching Lady Bridgerton's eye.

Without another word, Y/n ran out of the room. She stopped to look at the wide hall and marveled at the art of the house. The arching roof. The cream-painted walls. The elegant curve of the staircase. Her gaze roamed all over as she buzzed excitedly. Eventually, her eyes landed on Benedict who had done nothing to stop hiding nor moved an inch away. His cheeks reddened when she found him, adamantly refusing to look her in the eye.

"Why are you hiding?", she asked him as she stepped closer to examine him, curiosity sparkling in her eyes.

He cleared his throat and did his best to meet her gaze, "'m sorry, a gentleman is not supposed to stare."

"You were staring at me? Why? Is there something on my face?" She worried, panic rising in her voice.

"Oh no! Your face is fine", he assured her, "You have a very nice face", he looked back down at the ground after the reality of his afterthought caught up to him.

Y/n stayed quiet for a while, unable to look at him. It is unfortunate that Benedict wasn't able to catch her giddy smile.

"... Thank you", she smiled. For the second time that day, Benedict's heart stopped.

Once he recovered his voice, he apologized. "'m sorry 'bout my brother. He does that to everyone. I hope he didn't tug on your hair too tight."

"I am fine. I'm just glad the lock didn't fall off my head", she said before trailing off. Once she turned her back to him, Benedict came out of his corner. She turned back, however, Benedict was speechless again.

"Can you show the house? At least the playroom? Your mother told me you have gardens" she shyly asked with a small smile.

Benedict held out his hand and she took it as he led her up the stairs. He turned his head so she would not see the tomato red blush blanketing his cheeks. They walked up the stairs quietly, Y/n trailing behind and neither pair of eyes meeting to preserve their coloring.

They were halfway through the steps when mischief struck. Benedict's two brothers, Anthony and Colin (from earlier) saw the entire interaction from the top of the stairs. They were devilish little buggers, as their father would say. So what else do you expect them to do but push Y/n down the stairs as they ran past her?

Benedict was furious. The pair of them reveled in the annoyance of the middle brother and with Y/n’s appearance that day, it attracted their mischief like flies to honey. Benedict helped Y/n to her feet and grabbed her hand to run up the stairs, lest they should run into his brothers again.

Unfortunately, he missed Y/n’s giddy smile again with his insistent running. Not to worry, she smiled all the while they played throughout the day and throughout the garden.

It wasn't until a few hours after (seven hours to be precisely exact) Y/n and her mother had left that Benedict realized he never got her name. That evening, he turned and asked his mother.

"Mother, who was she?"

She looks up from her embroidery. "Who, darling?"

"The angel" He didn't hesitate to answer.

His words caught the attention of everyone in the drawing-room at the present moment. Upon hearing him, they all froze and turned their heads in his direction. (Everyone except Little Colin who was preoccupied with a plate full of cookies). His father, on the other hand, looked up from his newspapers and turned to his wife who smiled knowingly.

"What angel?" His father asked with a curious tone and narrowed eyes.

"The one who visited today", Benedict insisted.

"The one who spilled tea on her dress?", Anthony cheekily inquired before taking a biscuit.

Benedict was about to lunge at his older brother's smug face when Anthony quickly replied, "Because if she's clumsy enough to spill tea on her dress, I don't think she's an angel at all."

"She is an angel! She's too pretty to be like us!" Stomped Benedict exasperatedly.

His father adds pensively, “Perhaps she fell from the heavens.”

“Like she fell down the stairs?” Anthony continued to annoy his younger brother. Like ten-year-olds tend to do.

“You and Colin made her fall down the stairs! That wasn’t her fault!” Benedict continued to stomp his tiny foot.

"Calm down, dear." His mother soothed him as he sat across from her.

"Benedict, why do you want to know her name anyway?" His father inquired as he folded his newspaper.

Benedict stayed quiet before shyly answering. "Well, I simply want to know what to call her the next time I see her."

"What makes you think you are going to be seeing her again?”, Anthony pipes up.

"Darling, how long were our new neighbors here? Weren't they here for hours?" Lord Bridgerton turns to his wife after she shakes her head no, "Benedict, the girl was here for hours and you never asked for her name? Does she know yours?"

"Father, I was too distracted!" Benedict admitted embarrassedly. "She smiled at me!"

His mother, his only ally, answered to her eldest son and husband, “Well, Anthony, my love, I found her mother delightful and I have no doubt that we shall be great friends. Also, we are neighbors, after all. Why Benedict never asked for her name, I have no idea”

“Mother, not you too!" The world spun around too fast for his liking. With an angel appearing before him and his family relentlessly teasing him for his reaction to seeing an angel before him, he was lightheaded.

Out of all the excitement rushing through his veins (or the sour of the moment), Benedict loudly proclaimed, "I am going to visit her tomorrow!”

Once again, the room fell silent. Knowing glances were exchanged between his parents. Anthony kept his smug smirk on his face and Coin continued to eat, oblivious to the conversation of his family around him.

“Dearest, why are you going to her house?", his mother slyly asked.

"Because I want to see her!"

Anthony remarks, "Why?"

"Because I want to see her again!"

"Why?", Anthony repeats.

"So I can talk to her!"

Colin mimicked his brother, asking, "Why?"

Then, Benedict hesitated. A few beats of silence preceded his carefully chosen next words, "...So I can court her…"

At this point, his father had already resigned from the conversation but upon the faithful words, his attention was pulled toward his second son once again.

"Now, why on Earth would you do that?"

Benedict was now beyond exasperated. His head looked like a boiling tea kettle, with the fumes smoking out of his ears and the blood boiling in his face for an entirely different reason from before.

"BECAUSE I AM GOING TO MARRY HER!"

Clack!

Lady Bridgerton dropped her cup of tea.

957 notes · View notes

crazyk-imagine · 2 years

Text

Do You Want to Know a Secret?

Pairings: Benedict Bridgerton/ Plus size!fem!reader, Anthony Bridgerton/ Kate Sharma

Characters: Plus size!fem!reader (Massington), Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Margaret Massington (reader’s mama), Albert Massington (reader’s papa), Ida (maid), Henry (reader’s driver), Penelope Featherington, Kate Sharma, Burrow (Benedict’s horse), White Lily (reader’s horse), Lillian Bridgerton (reader and Benedict’s baby)

Warnings: Secret courting (scandalous), fluff, Benedict and reader are a simp for one another, drama, Eloise is dramatic

Word Count: 12,123

Answers to DYWTKAS

A/N: Did I make another song imagine? Yes. Did I have a lot of fun with it? Also, yes.

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You'll never know how much I really love you

Fall (1816)

Benedict glances over in your direction, for what seems to be the umpteenth time this evening.

It never ceases to annoy his sister’s (more so Eloise than the Daphne, Francesca, and Hyacinth).

“You could at least pretend you’re looking elsewhere,” Eloise comments, reaching for a glass of champagne on the nearest table.

He slightly jumps, technically more of a flinch but he was still startled none the less. He begins smoothing down the fabric of his jacket to calm himself before he makes a fool of himself (even more so than he already is, according to Eloise). “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do.”

“Well then, please enlighten me.”

“You’re staring at someone I happen to like very much and consider a close friend.”

“It seems to me that you should look again because I was merely studying the art.”

“Is that what you call her now?”

“It seems I am being called elsewhere. Do try to enjoy the rest of your evening, sister.” He walks through the crowd of people closest to the edge of the dance floor, clearly heading towards you.

She shakes her head, watching as he asks you to dance. She sighs, setting her glass down. ‘When will he admit his true feelings?’ Eloise searches for Penelope, needing to talk to a friend and distract herself from potentially interfering.

If only she knew…

You'll never know how much I really care

With no one (other than Benedict) attempting to dance you and, no potential courters trying to woo you this evening, your parents decide to leave the ball earlier than normal.

As soon as you enter the door, you bid your parents good night and briskly walk to your room.

You’re quick to finish with your nightly routine, asking your maid, Ida, to go to bed so you can be alone (and for her to make sure Benedict finds his way into the library safely quietly).

With no one else around, you remove your ball gown and place it elsewhere to be washed and put away tomorrow.

You sit in front of the vanity mirror and brush your soft, long locks before you reach for the empty candle holder. You open the closest drawer and pull out a new candle along with a small box of matches hidden in the back of the vanity drawer.

After placing the candle in the candle holder, you pull out a match and lit the candle before blowing it out, placing it in a random bowl you keep for such occasions.

You carry the candle with a gentle touch as you make your way towards your bedroom door. You hurry to close the door and walk along the length of the hallway wall, down one staircase, careful not to step on the creakiest wooden plank that most step on as they turn the corner, instead you choose to lightly hop over it.

You glance around the hallway, searching to see if anyone else is around; they’re not. You enter the library with as much stealth as you did leave your room.

The only light in the room, besides the candle in your grasp, being the moonlight, which hits the chair facing the window.

“Eloise is going to catch on soon,” you say, knowing he’s settled himself in the aforementioned chair.

Listen

A light, boyish smile tugs at the corner of his lips as he turns. His eyes soften at the sight of you in such a… scandalous state.

Benedict stands up and reaches for the shawl you had forgotten at his family home, the night before. He stands before you; reaching for the candle, setting it on the table beside the chair, letting the light illuminate the two of you in your quiet corner.

His arms settle on either side of you as he wraps the item around your shoulders. He pulls away; you reach for him, placing your hands on his upper forearm. His heart suddenly feels warm and heavy, as it always does when he’s with you.

Benedict tilts his head down, looking you in your beautiful eyes (something that never fails to send him in an art spiral. When he finally returns home, he ALWAYS sketches your eyes... and may also have two sketch books full of your eyes… among other things).

With his head angled closer to you, you take a step and invade his personal space which he welcomes seeing as he does the same whenever he sees you.

He can see the worry in those precious eyes of yours. “She hasn’t caught onto to us. Maybe she never will? That’d be nice, wouldn’t it?” He jokes, hoping to ease you.

“Ben-”

He shushes you as he raises his hand to cup your cheek. “Let’s enjoy this moment before you have to run back to bed.”

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not tell?

The next day you decided to visit knowing it would be best if you left the house before your parents could try and talk to you about future courtships for this season.

If only they knew there is only one man, you would happily agree to marry.

You sigh at the thought while walking out the door.

The carriage already waiting, the only thing missing is you.

Your driver, Henry, says his usual phrase, “good morning, miss.”

“Good morning to you as well, Henry.”

“To the Bridgerton’s?”

“Yes, please.”

“Of course, miss.” He shuts the door before heading towards the front, grabbing the horse’s reins so, that the two of you may go on your short adventure.

The moment you arrived, it was chaotic, to say the least.

The youngest three siblings from the family had been running around and at one point, almost into you. They continue playing, doing things children normally do during the day after giving a short apology for the almost incident.

The older siblings were around just “hiding” (or so you assume).

The youngest trio can be harsh when it comes to playing games so, it doesn’t surprise you all that much to not find the older siblings.

And still, as you walk down one of their many hallways, glancing around hoping to find Eloise or one of the older siblings but you’re unsuccessful, you don’t find or hear Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, or Eloise.

It makes sense for two of the five, Daphne is most likely at home taking care of little Augie and preparing to come over for another visit.

Anthony could be out trying to find a lady he can call “wife” and may not find one (which you and Eloise will gossip talk about later).

Colin is- you don’t know where, nor do you care, the two of you don’t have a friendship like you do with the second eldest boy and girl of his family.

Now that you think about it, Eloise is most likely reading in the main family room since it has the “best lighting”.

And Benedict, well- he could be in a number of places, but you can’t think about him right now- you need to find his sister.

As you expected, she’s in the main room, reading her latest book.

You smile, prepared to walk towards her so that the two of you can enjoy your day doing whatever seems fit.

That was until the doors behind you close; a familiar heat lingers behind you. The scent of Benedict cologne invades your mind, deleting any thought in your mind prior to his arrival.

He adjusts his grasp on his (new) sketch book before walking past you. His shoulder and elbow brush against yours.

You can feel his pinky briefly touch yours as your breath escapes you. All you feel like you can do is stare at his back- his handsomely dressed back… broad shoulders… and... He did it on purpose and you know it.

He is so close to- to exposing your (secret) courtship. Benedict continues to become slightly more and more reckless when the two of you are out in public surrounded by his siblings.

“Shouldn’t she, I don’t know- confess or something?” Eloise finishes rambling.

You glance away from the window, giving your dearest friend all of your attention. “Who?” You glance down at the work in your hand.

Eloise may not enjoy or want to participate in the same activities as yourself but it’s fun to have a friend to talk to while you continue with your embroidery.

The corner of his mouth, that isn’t visible to you, tugs upwards, his lips form into a smirk. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s one step closer than he was before (his plan is coming together).

“You know, if you paid more attention to your surroundings, I wouldn’t have to repeat myself nearly as often as I do.”

“Maybe if you had a slightly more interesting topics to discuss then I’d be more likely to listen.”

She leans forward, lowering her voice, “are we sure it isn’t because of a certain figure being in the room?”

You stiffen at the implied acquisition, pausing as the tip of the needle pokes through the fabric tucked inside the embroidery hoop. You gulp, pushing the needle further through until it falls, landing on the fabric before you reach for it, pulling the needle, forcing the thread through the puncture hole.

Your arm hangs in the air, preparing to repeat the process again, “I don’t know what you mean.” You poke the needle through the fabric once more. Eloise smirks, “I think you do.”

“Perhaps you’ll need to explain what you’re implying.”

“I wouldn’t want to embarrass you.”

“You could never do such a thing.”

“Oh, trust me. I could but,” she says, extending the “U”. “I wouldn’t want to do that here. I mean unless you want me to say a few things that my dear brother would be more than happy to listen to.” She smiles, closing her book before pushing herself off the couch, exiting the room.

Whoa, oh, oh

Closer

Benedict changes his position in the chair, his feet now planted on the floor. He places his sketch book on the table next to him. He pushes himself out of the chair and makes his towards the couch his sister sat on, across from you. His expression tells you everything you need to know.

You sigh, setting the needle down on the fabric before setting your craft project down on the pristine table placed between the two couches. “Benedict-”

He chuckles, “what?”

“We can’t.”

“Can’t what?” He tilts his head.

“You know what.”

“No, I don’t think I do. Please, tell me.”

“We can’t tell, not yet.”

“Why not?”

You say nothing.

“I think it would solve all of our problems. We could finally walk around without a worry. We wouldn’t have to constantly be careful about the way we act when we’re in public. No gossip.” He pushes himself off the couch, taking two steps before he sits beside you. “We can be ourselves. We can be free.” Benedict reaches for you; he holds your hands with such a gentle touch, it almost makes you shudder. “I want to tell the world how I feel about you.”

You close your eyes, “I would love nothing more than for that to happen-”

“Why can’t it?”

“I don’t think my parents would allow it.”

“Why not?”

“You know how my parents feel about you, Benny.”

“I can change their minds.”

“It wouldn’t work.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I do.”

“I’m not going to give up on you.”

You turn your head, looking him his charming eyes, “even if my parents prefer for another to court me?”

“Is that why you wouldn’t look my way at the ball until I made my way to you?”

“I am telling you of the potential obstacles that may enter our path.”

“And I am telling you that I will stay by your side no matter what challenge we may have to face. I am not going to lose you.” He uses his free hand to reach up and cup your cheek, leaning in so he can feel your warmth.

Your forehead touches his, your noses brush against each other, breathing in one another.

The two of you stay like this for a few minutes longer until the creak of the door hinges alerts the two of you.

Gregory and Hyacinth run in, searching for a place to hide (at least that’s what you assume). The two were a bit rude when you asked.

Then Francesca, Eloise, and Daphne walk in; the eldest and third eldest sisters make their way towards the piano and begin playing a familiar tune.

The seat and space beside you suddenly feel cold. You glance over to the side to find Benedict in the chair; legs hanging over the arm of the chair, his sketchbook in his lap.

His mood no longer happy as his brows pull together in a frown.

You avert your gaze with sad eyes as you reach for your embroidery project.

Eloise’s brows furrow, wondering what could have happened for you to look so sad and still put a smile on your face when she sits across from you once more.

Violet soon enters the room with little Augie in her arms when she sees you, the smile on her face widens.

You and Eloise are caught up in your own conversation that you don’t hear her mother ask you a question.

You turn, tilting your head, “yes?”

Violet lets out a quiet chuckle and smiles, “would you like to stay for dinner?”

“I would-”

The doors burst open; all of you turn your heads to find Henry, panting and out of breath. It takes him a few moments but after getting enough air in his lungs, he pushes his hands off his knees and answers for you. “I’m afraid we can’t this evening. The lady is being called home.”

You smile politely and set your embroidery on the table before pushing yourself off the couch, smoothing the skirt of your dress. “Thank you all for having me but, I’m afraid it seems that I cannot stay.”

“That’s alright. We can have dinner together another night,” Violet assures you.

You nod, making your way towards Henry who looks frightened.

Let me whisper in your ear

Once the two of you are out of the room, he whispers to you, “they know.”

“They know?”

He raises a brow, using his eyes to gesture towards the room you’ve just left.

Your face loses its natural color, you feel sick. “How did they find out?”

“I don’t know. I only received a letter informing me to bring you home immediately.”

“What do you think is going to happen?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Can you say anything to help make me feel better?” You ask but your voice comes out as a whisper.

“I don’t think there is anything I can say that can help you.”

You take a deep breath and exhale. “Thank you for being honest with me, at least.”

“Always happy to do so, miss.”

The two of you exit the Bridgerton home.

Henry holds his hand out for you to use as you use the single step to enter the carriage.

You believe whole heartedly that this “talk” you’re going to have with your parents is not going to end the way you want it to.

On a daily basis, they ask if there has been someone interested in courting you and you always give them the same short simple answer, “no”.

You don’t want to think about it, about how this could be the end of your relationship with the second born Bridgerton, who’s come to know more about you than most do. ‘I’m going to lose him.’

The carriage stops.

The number of bad possibilities continue to rattle your mind; a wave of nausea makes you close your eyes and take a deep breath.

You have to put on a brave face, you can’t let them know you’ve been meeting Benedict in private; your parents would not be happy with either of you.

And it may sound selfish but, you’re not ready to give him up. No, situation be damned- you aren’t ready to give him up lose him.

Say the words you long to hear

I'm in love with you

“We know what you’ve been doing after we go to bed. Do you want to explain yourself?” Your papa, Albert asks.

You don’t move, you don’t say anything; you focus on the ground not ready to see the judging looks.

“I expect you to answer me- answer us. We are your parents. If you tell us the truth, then we can figure out how the two of you can marry without it coming out of nowhere. We don’t our reputation to be tarnished. You know how those gossips are,” your mama, Margaret glances over at your papa. “They’ll eat the two alive.”

He shakes his head, “no, no. I don’t want that Bridgerton boy anywhere near her-”

“But, darling-”

“I don’t like him before, and I certainly don’t trust him after everything he’s done.”

“He hasn’t done anything,” you whisper.

“What?” You glance up, staring your papa in his eyes, “he didn’t do anything wrong. He hasn’t done anything neither of us didn’t want.”

His nostrils flare, “did you two-”

You furrow your brows, “no! We haven’t done anything besides,” you lower your voice. “Hold hands and talk. He wants us to have a proper courtship but, I didn’t know how-”

Your mother dreamily sighs, clapping her hands together. “Isn’t this exciting?”

Albert sighs, “why is this exciting?”

“Our family is going to grow and- oh, darling,” your mama sits beside you, pulling your hands into her lap. “Your children will be absolutely beautiful. Oh, I can see it now.”

You owlishly blink once. Twice. “What?”

“Oh, please marry him.”

“You two are okay with me and Benny?”

Your father grimaces, “Benny.”

Margaret pouts, glancing over her shoulder, “don’t be mean, Albert.”

“I don’t want my only child- only daughter to marry some boy she’s met recently.”

“She didn’t meet him recently. They’ve known each other since they were children.”

“And that adds onto my unease.”

Your mama lets go of your hands and stands in front of your father, fixing the collar of his jacket. “You have to admit, if she were to marry one of the Bridgerton boys, you would be happy to know it’s the artist. He’s a nice, respectable gentleman-”

“Who has snuck into my home to do- God knows what with my little girl.”

“She’s not a little girl anymore. She is a woman, a woman ready to start a life of her own.”

You can’t believe what your hearing, honestly you can’t believe it. “You two are okay with Benedict and I-”

“Of course, we are,” Margaret interrupts.

“We expect the two of you to make your relationship public,” Albert advises you with a stern expression. “We do not need our business to be in a Lady Whistledown gossip column for all to read.”

You nod, “yes, papa.”

Your mama glares at your father. “What your father means to say is, we don’t want there to be false rumors being said about the two of you. We want you two to be able to enjoy your lives without the gossip or judgment.”

You nod.

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh ooh

Benedict sighs, pacing the floor of his art room.

After you were whisked away, he had decided to go to his art room… and over think things. His mind soon became consumed with numerous crazy thoughts, but he couldn’t stop them from coming. He worries you were called away because your parents found out about your (secret) courtship.

No, no, that couldn’t be it- unless… He refuses to believe it until he gets all the information (luckily for him, that’ll be soon). To occupy his mind and distract himself, he tries to sit down and sketch; he hadn’t finished before realizing it was you.

He’s slowly losing his mind, more so now.

The sun is barely begging to set, providing him with enough light to make his way to your home.

He realizes he’s been up here for too long; he has to leave and see you now. His mind will keep him up all night if he doesn’t talk to you before the sun rises again.

He easily manages to make his way out the door and to his room, finding the jacket he had ripped off earlier; he grabs it, throwing it over his shoulders before making his way out of the room.

He walks down the hallway and stairs until he reaches the back door of the house. Benedict walks at a fast pace, his arms in a straight position before bending his arms as he breaks off into a sprint, aiming for the stables.

He has hardly enough time to notice that there’s one person still working.

The stable boy is quick to prepare his horse, Burrow.

He hops on the horse and grabs the reins, rolling his wrist, the same way a person would do when they’re mimicking a wave.

Burrow always holds a special place in his heart, not just because you had a helping hand in choosing the horse and naming him, but he’s fast and that’s exactly what Benedict needs right now.

He can’t let your parents find a suitor for you; he refuses to think about it. He can’t let this happen; he won’t let this happen. He cracks the reins once more.

Listen

It was awkward, sitting at the dinner table with no one talking, only the sounds of forks hitting the dinner plate echoes throughout the room.

You almost take another bit of your meal when the sound of rapid knocking on the front door stops you all. You furrow your brows, confused as to who this may be because no sane person would even begin to think about interrupting you and your family at this hour of the day.

But there’s something in you that tells you to go see who it is. You push yourself out of the chair and turn the corner. You’re a few feet away from the now open, front door when you call out his name, “Benedict!” You rush towards him with a panicked look on your face. “Are you alright? What are you doing here?”

He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it to catch his breath. He pants, his chest puffing in and out with every breath he takes.

You turn to your family’s butler, Harold. “Would you be so kind as to get our guest a glass of water?”

He nods, gesturing for Benedict to step inside; he closes the door before hurrying to the kitchen.

You check over him, focusing on how his hair sticks to his forehead. You stand close enough for it be considered scandalous as you brush the sweaty hair off his forehead. You then reach into his jacket pocket; you pull out a handkerchief and pat his face dry. “Benny, why are you here right now?” You ask with a hushed tone.

He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, smiling when he sees your eyes filled with concern. It helps remind him of what it is he is willing to fight for. “I came over here to ask what had occurred between you and your parents.”

You blink once and furrow your brows, “you wanted to know what happened? You couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

“I would have preferred later tonight but, I didn’t know if it was going to be safe for me to do so.”

You smirk, “and yet, you’re here now.”

He huffs, “I know, I know. I- I couldn’t stand to think that you wouldn’t visit us- visit me anymore. Or, if you’re parents had decided it was time to find you a suitor- a proper suitor and not someone who has often snuck into their home just to get a glimpse at their daughter.” He removes the handkerchief from your hand and places it in his pocket, never letting go of your hand. He holds it as if you could disappear before he could tell you what he needs to admit.

Your expression softens, you can feel your brows become more relaxed. “Ben-”

Do you want to know a secret?

Do you promise not to tell?

Your parents stand there watching you for a moment before your mother lets out a joyous squeal.

You jump and pull away from him. Your hand falls at your side and you can only assume the same happens to him.

Your heart beats faster, not only because the two of you (an unmarried man and woman) got caught standing so close to one another but, because your hand feels cold. You lower your head, focusing on the ground.

“Oh, darling, look. This is perfect,” your mama claps her hands with an excited smile stretching her lips.

Your papa’s expression doesn’t change. “Yes. Benedict?”

The man in questions turns, a nervous smile tugs at his lips, “good- uh- good evening, Lord Massington. How,” he gulps. “How are you? You look lovely this evening, Lady Massington.”

Margaret smiles, “not as nice as my daughter.”

He turns to you and his gaze doesn’t move from your blushing rosy, red cheeks; his lips twitch before the soft, boyish smile (that’s only reserved for you) dances across his lips. “Yes,” Benedict agrees with your mother, neither of you seem to notice.

You don’t remove your gaze from the ground, finding it to be nicer than being a part of this conversation. If you look up- you don’t want Benedict to have ammunition (even though you’re sure he does) to make fun of your red face in the near future.

“Young man, follow me,” says Albert as he starts walking down the hallway, heading towards his private study.

Benedict’s face pales, he doesn’t exactly know what your father wants to talk to him about; he’s half tempted to run away and take you with him while the other half wants to follow the older man and hear what he has to say.

You dare to look up and the sight of him like this, brings a small smile across your lips because you have an idea about what your papa is going to talk to him about. You continue to hope and pray it will end the way you and Benedict want it to.

Let’s just say it’s going to be a chaotic season for more than one male Bridgerton.

Whoa, oh, oh

Closer

Margaret walks closer to you, standing beside you, observing the way you watch the now empty hallway. “I’m happy your father has finally come to his sense’s.”

You turn, “what?”

Your mother wraps her arm around your shoulders, guiding you away from the closed front door.

The two of you sit down on the small couch closest to the hallway leading to your father’s study. “Your father has- how do I say this without coming off as mean. Your father,” she pauses, squinting her eyes as she thinks of the right word to use. “Knew he was going to have to see you grow up, get married and have a family of your own, he just- he didn’t want his little girl to get married. He also didn’t want you to marry that Bridgerton boy you’ve always adored. Even though I’ve told him, more than once might I add,” she glances over at you, taking note of your raised brow and impatient expression. “Anyway, I always told him that this was going to happen. The two of you were always close as children and I knew the two of you would find your way towards one another.”

You’re surprised, “Oh.”

“I do wish you would have told us before we found out ourselves but it’s in the past because you, my dear,” she cups your cheeks. “Are going to get married. Don’t try to deny it, I know you are, and I hope you know, the two of you have our blessing.”

You see the tears welling up in her eyes. “Are you alright?”

She chuckles, removing her hands from your face to wipe away the fear stray tears that trickle down her cheek, “of course I am. I’ve only begun to realize how grown up you are and how little I will be seeing you now.”

“It’s not as if I’m moving elsewhere.”

“You might as well be.”

“Even if we do, we’ll make sure to visit.”

“I would certainly hope so. Your father will be hurt if you don’t.”

You two chuckle.

Let me whisper in your ear

Albert doesn’t speak for a few moments, allowing Benedict to squirm in his seat. He clears his throat, “I assume you know why you’re here?”

“I have an idea,” answers Benedict.

“Did you plan on asking my wife and I before asking for my daughter’s hand?”

The words get caught in the back of the Bridgerton man’s throat. He stutters to give a response. “Of- of course, I did. I planned on doing so tonight.”

“Really? Didn’t look that way to me.”

“I swear to you, I was going to-”

Your papa waves his hand, “I understand. Take a seat, calm yourself. You needn’t be so frightened, son.”

In Benedict’s fogged up mind, he lightly perks up in his seat, at the last word. “Why is it that you want to marry my daughter? Is it because of her dowry? Perhaps, the fact that she is a well-educated girl, and you plan to use that to your advantage? Or maybe-”

Benedict pushes himself out of the chair, standing directly in front of your papa. “If I may interrupt. I can promise you that I do not plan to “use” your daughter for anything. I admire her and her ability to talk with my siblings and mother, more specifically when she is able to calm down and comfort the younger ones,” a gentle smile tugs at his lips. He remembers the first time he saw you watch out and comfort Gregory and Hyacinth when they were younger.

Say the words you long to hear

He watches as you rush over towards the thorny bush that Gregory’s maid has explicitly told him not to play nearby.

You bend down and pick him little Gregory, setting him down in front of you.

Benedict can see you kneel before him and place your hand on his cheek, most likely asking him if he’s okay before you pick up both, him and Hyacinth. He glances back, seeing his mother rush down the stairs, making her way towards you.

Violet takes Hyacinth from you, rocking the toddler in her arms. He sees you shake your head and lift his arm, waving to his sister.

Gregory didn’t seem to be having it but was no longer crying.

Violet smiles and you return the gesture.

You nod your head towards their home and his mother nods. You and his brother disappear into the house.

Violet places a hand on his arm, “she’s taken your brother inside to wait for the doctor. You watch over your siblings out here.”

“Yes, mother.” He turns to face his mama.

She has a smile stretching across her lips, “she’ll be out here, before you realize she is gone.”

‘Too late.’ He turns back around, watching as Eloise and Daphne whisper to one another, clearly plotting on who to take out when it’s their turn in pall mall.

I'm in love with you

“- Bridgerton! Benedict!” Benedict blinks a few times, trying to refocus on the situation. “If you’re going to keep spacing out, I don’t think it would be wise of you to ask for my daughter’s hand in marriage.” Your papa prepares to leave the room when Benedict stops him.

“No- no. Please.”

The older man sits down, gesturing for him to continue.

Benedict sits down, frantically reaching in his pocket and pulls out a piece of paper, unfolding it before flattening it on the empty space in front of Albert. He sits back down on the edge of the chair. “I know this isn’t a proper ring but- but don’t let this fool you. I want to make the young Lady Massington my wife and I will do anything to do so.”

Your papa picks up drawing of proposal, glancing up between the piece of paper and the young man sitting before him. “And if I say no?”

“No?”

“Yes. What would you do if I said no? If I said the words, “no, you cannot marry my daughter”. What would you do then?”

He says nothing for a moment, trying to figure out how he wants to say what’s in his heart without overstepping any boundaries. “I would continue to fight for her. I am not going to give up on her. I know, I cannot stand the idea of another asking for her hand when I believe it should be me. There is no other man out there who knows who she truly is. They won’t know what lies behind her wonderful and caring heart. I’m sure you would want to know that your one and only child is marrying someone who would cherish them and every moment they spend together. If you say I cannot marry your daughter just know, you made the biggest mistake you could have.”

The married man breaks out into a hearty chuckle, a wide smile stretching across his lips. “I hope you understand why I did this.”

“What?”

“She chose an idiot,” he mutters under his breath, shaking his head.

Albert opens the drawer closest to his hand and pulls out a small box, placing it in front of the frozen Bridgerton man. “I am giving you my blessing, Benedict. This was my mother’s ring, I planned on giving it to my first-born daughter but when the doctor informed us that there could be complications if Margaret had any more children, I knew this would be hers ring from the day she was born.” He sighs, “I wish you luck, son. You certainly have your hands full with that one.” Benedict’s posture isn’t as stiff as it was before, he breaks into a wide elated smile.

“Thank you, Lord Massington. Thank you.”

“I assume you will stay for the rest of the evening so that the two of you may return to your family home and inform the others tomorrow?” Benedict nods, glancing back at the ring. “Take the ring, keep it with you until you return home and put it in a safe place.”

“Of course.”

Ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh

“Get up,” Margaret whispers.

“Why?”

“Your father and your future husband are exiting the study and we have to make it seem like weren’t trying to listen in on them.”

You allow your mother to drag you off the couch and into the dining room. “We weren’t trying to listen in on their conversation.”

“We weren’t?”

“I certainly wasn’t.”

“Well, now you know more about your mother. Sit. Sit.” She pushes you towards your usual seat as she rushes to her own. Margaret asks one of the butlers standing beside the door over to her, asking if he can bring in another chair and set it across from you.

He does as he’s asked. The two men enter, nodding to the servants before making their way towards the unoccupied seats. Benedict catches your gaze, offering you a small smile which never fails to make you smile. Another course is brought out, each of plates in front of you all containing the foods you enjoy (and giving a certain soon to be wed couple, a little extra of your favorites). Margaret takes a sip of her drink, sets the cups down and asks, “when will I be expecting grandchildren?”

Benedict nearly spills the wine in his glass and almost chokes on what’s in his mouth.

Your eyes widen, “mama!”

“What?”

“We aren’t even married. You cannot ask that kind of thing and pretend it’s normal.”

“I didn’t realize it was wrong of me to ask such an innocent question.”

“It is anything but innocent,” you mumble under your breath, raising your hand to have another bite of your food.

Once Benedict sees that no one will continue speaking, he takes a final sip of his drink and sets the glass down. His eyes wander over to you, hoping to capture your attention, and see your rosy cheeks (something he deeply adores).

You know he’s looking at you but you’re not going to give him the satisfaction of looking up.

Once you all finish your dinner, your mama asks a maid (and of course, it’s Ida) to make up a room for your soon-to-be husband.

The maid returns letting you and Benedict know the room is ready for him.

The two of you say your good nights to your parents before they exit the dining room.

Ida walks ahead of the two, turns the corner and whispers to capture your attention, “Psst! Psst!”

You glance over at Benedict, who shrugs. “Ida?”

“Of course, it’s me. Who else would be calling for you?”

You struggle to give her a response.

“No time for that now. I will let you two talk for a moment before you retire to your bedrooms for the evening.” Ida turns around, “follow me.”

You glance over at Benedict.

He shrugs with a smile on his face as he holds his hand out for you to take.

You take a step forward and latch onto him, one hand slides under his arm, resting on the crease of his elbow and the other reaches for his hand.

The two of you follow after her after giving a comforting hand squeeze.

I've known a secret for a week or two

Nobody knows, just we two

“Like I said, you won’t have long but, I will let the two of you talk before you go to bed this one time.”

You nod, letting go of Benedict’s arm. “Thank you, Ida.”

“Yes, yes. I know you two are grateful. Now, I will be right outside this door, do you two understand?”

“Yes ma’am,” the two of you respond.

“No funny business, you hear.” She walks away, the door is almost closed before she pops her head in the narrow doorway, “don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You can feel the heat rise in your cheeks… again. “Ida!” You whine.

“I’m closing the door. I’m closing the door.” You purse your lips, cross your arms, and stare at the floor. ‘Why must they feel the need to embarrass me?’

He struggles to pretend that he’s not smirking. He takes a step closer, “can you look up at me?” Benedict asks.

You pout, shaking your head, “no.”

“Please?”

You know he’s pouting his lips in an exaggerate way (and he knows it can will make you crumble in an instant).

“No, you’re going to reach for my cheeks and see how much redder you can make them.”

“I think you’re mistaken. I would never do that to someone so precious to me.”

You glance up at him through your lashes.

“There we are,” he cups one of your cheeks.

“You always poke fun at me.”

“I would never do that,” he disagrees with a shake of his head.

“You’ve done it before,” you point out.

“You know I wasn’t being serious.”

“Do I though?” He chuckles, “where is this attitude coming from? You’ve never been this bold before.” He uses his free hand, bringing your hand closer to him as he kisses the back of your hand. “I like it. And while we’re on the topic of things I like, I must admit, I’m happy we’re doing this.”

You tilt your head, “doing what?"

Listen

“Having a proper courtship, getting married,” he leans in, “letting the world know I’m with the woman I love.”

Your eyes trail up from the collar of his tailcoat, until you reach his eyes. Your eyes widen for a moment, the corners of your lips twitch, you suppress the urge to smile. “You love me?”

He rolls his eyes as a playful smile stretches across his lips, “I would certainly hope I’ve been making it clear. It’s not as if I hide what I feel for you.”

You smile, biting your bottom lip. “Say it to me again,” you whisper.

“Lady Massington- soon to be Lady Bridgerton,” he slips his hand out of yours to wrap his arm around your waist; the other still rests your cheek, “I love…” he pauses, torturing you.

You’re about ready to burst. “Oh, say it already!” You giggle.

“You. I love you. Of course, I love you.”

You cup his cheek, stand on your tippy toes as you pull him closer to whisper in his ear, “and, I love you, Lord Bridgerton.”

He hums, leaning into your touch, “I like the sound of that.”

You lean back, no longer your tippy toes, “I’ll bet you do.”

Ida pokes her head in the doorway to say, “it’s time for bed.”

He sighs, closing his eyes.

“Come on. We should go before she interrupts us again,” you reach for Benedict’s hand, removing it from your cheek.

He takes a deep breath and sighs, “if we must.”

“Don’t be like that,” you glance over your shoulder, staring at him while you start walking down the hallway. You prepare to take your leave and walk down a different path than Benedict.

He stops you, his fingers wrap around your forearm, pulling you back towards him. He studies you for a moment, never one to admire art less than the appropriate time it should take for a person study and see its true beauty.

You open your mouth as if to say something, he beats you to it. “Let me walk you to your room.”

You raise a brow, “and what will you say if my parents find us?” you take a step closer to him, not quite ready to part from him (even if you two are to wed soon).

His lips tug into that mischievous boyish grin he only has when he’s going to say something potentially scandalous (if the wrong ears heard it) mixed with his flirty wit. He leans in, moving closer and closer to you. Benedict stares into your eyes, the warmth emanating from his hand makes your heart feel fuzzy. He watches your expression for any discomfort and finds none. He continues to tease you, “persuade them into letting me marry their daughter sooner.”

You shake your head, turning around to hide the smile dancing across your lips. You can’t let him see just how excited you are to marry him, yet. You slip your hand into his and march towards the door.

He lets you lead him to your room, unable to contain the joy and fluttering inside his heart and stomach. How can he not be happy? His plan worked! He’s going to marry the woman he loves, honestly, the only one who’s managed to steal his heart.

You stop in front of your door, reluctant to let him go but, you do. It’s better if the two of you get some sleep, even the tiniest amount than none at all.

You both know you need as much energy as you can get because tomorrow is going to be a hectic day; his family will know of the truth regarding your relationship.

Do you want to know a secret

Do you promise not to tell

He stops before your door, gulping with his hand hovering over your door. Now, he wouldn’t outright admit it but, truthfully, he’s scared to tell his family of your pending engagement. Benedict knows without a doubt that his family will be nothing more than supportive and few will bombard him with questions about things the two of you have yet to discuss. It’s just- the gnawing sensation in his belly racks his brain with worry.

Then, you open the door and all that flies out the window. “Good morning, Ben.”

He doesn’t respond, staring at you with his innocent, loving expression.

You place a hand on his arm and push him back, closing the door to your room. You look up at him and say, “good morning, Benedict.”

His brain seems to have recognized the phrase as he automatically replies, “Good morning.”

“Should we have breakfast before we meet with your family?” He owlishly blinks, his mouth agape.

You chuckle, shaking your head. “Benedict,” you call out again.

He shakes his head, pulling himself out of his gawking, “we should wait to have breakfast. Everyone is home today. I know they’ll be happy to hear of our news plus Anthony and Eloise can choke on their tea.”

You furrow your brows, “wait- what?”

He brings a hand up to hide his snickers. “If the two find out that I finally confessed to you, they’ll be surprised and ask if it’s true then they’ll give their congratulations.”

You nod, “okay, yes that all sounds perfectly normal.” You take a deep breath, “are you ready?”

He pauses, thinking carefully about his answer. “Truthfully? No.”

You reach for his hand, “that’s okay because I will be by your side, no matter what, you know this.”

A smile tugs at the corner of his lips, he leans in, bringing your hand up to his lips, “good because my sisters are going to ask us far too many questions that we won’t have the answers to, and I don’t want them to scare you off.”

You guffaw, “you doubt my abilities.” You release his hand and start walking down the hallway.

He rushes after you, interlocking your arm with his, “I don’t doubt you, my darling. I fear they will ask too many questions and scare you, that’s all.”

“You know that would never happen… Eloise cares about me far too much.”

He scoffs through his nose, “yes, Eloise is the only one who wouldn’t let you leave when your parents called for you.”

“She is also the one who continuously pushed you into my direction.”

Benedict glances over at you, “only because you wouldn’t stop looking over at me at every ball we were invited to.”

You turn your head to look at him and scoff, “I believe there is another guilty member you are forgetting.”

“Yes, I admit, my mama and Daphne would make us dance partners.”

You shake your head with a gentle smile gracing your lips, “is this how it’ll be when we marry?”

“Oh, believe me, I’ll become more unbearable as time goes on.”

“That I can believe.”

He shakes his head, a genuine smile tugs at his lips.

He can’t wait to marry you.

Whoa, oh, oh

Your mama stops in front of the two of you when you reach the end of the hallway. “Will you two be joining us for breakfast this morning?”

You shake your head, “I’m afraid not. We wish to inform Benedict’s family of the-”

“Joyous news!” She claps her hands, “of course. Of course. Your father and I understand.”

“I don’t like this,” your papa adds, standing beside his happy bride (of twenty and seven years).

“Stop it, Albert.” Margaret smacks Albert’s arm.

“I don’t want to see my daughter married so soon-”

“You are just excited as I am that they are matched and fit to be married. Do not use that tone with our future son-in-law. Oh, it sounds so dreamy. You, my dear,” Margaret cups your cheeks, “are a lucky girl- no, no woman. Yes, you are a lucky woman.”

You say, placing your hands on top of hers for her to stop holding your face in her hands. “Thank you, mama.”

“Now, if you’d excuse us. We should try to arrive to my family home before my siblings disappear into their adventures,” Benedict chimes in, seeing how uncomfortable you are.

“Yes, yes, of course,” Margaret smiles, taking a step back, observing the soon-to-be married couple.

You two offer one last smile to your parents and bid them a farewell.

“Are we riding?” You ask him.

“Unless you’d prefer a carriage?” Benedict offers, although he knows the answer.

“Never,” you grin at him.

“I know, I felt I should ask anyway.” He takes a step back, walking behind you; he nuzzles his nose into your cheek.

You giggle and nudge him back, turning around to hold his chin between your thumb and index finger, “just because we are to marry, doesn’t mean you get to act like a deranged man.”

He shakes his head, “I’m not, I only act the way you make me feel, giddy and alive.”

You release his chin and look away.

“Is my soon-to-be wife blushing again?”

“No,” you deny, walking two steps ahead of him.

He shakes his head as if you’re a child getting caught in the library after dark. “It’s not good to start a marriage with a lie.” He stands beside you with furrowed brows, watching your side profile.

You stare at the land with no emotion visible on your face as you think about- “And what would you call hiding our courtship?”

Now he understands. “It isn’t a lie if no one asked and,” he takes a step closer, standing behind you, his breath fans across your cheek. “I didn’t want to share you. You are the one I want to have a life with. I want to share my accomplishments with you. You may not know of this but, you are the one who continues to inspire me every day, with my art, my family, and myself. I can’t imagine a life without you because you make me feel complete. You own me, my body, my mind, and my spirit. I was scared if others knew about us, other suitors would come to try and steal you from me. I couldn’t let that happen. I’m sorry if you felt anything other than the love and kindness I have for you, but if you must know, I was scared to lose you. I still am. That is why I wanted to tell others about us. I had to let others know you weren’t available. I couldn’t- I still can’t think of you with another because you are mine just as I am yours.”

You let out a shuddered breath.

The stable boys show up with yours and Benedict’s horses.

“Come on,” he slips his hand into yours.

You stand before your horse, his hands grip your hips as he helps you onto your horse, White Lily.

Benedict mounts his own horse and the two of you are off.

You say nothing, his words continuously run around your head. You have known for some time that he cares for you, loves you (seeing as he declared so just hours ago) but, for him to put it into words so easily.

It’s- you don’t know how you can respond or put what you feel for him into words- “Bastard,” you mutter under your breath.

“What was that?” He asks, amusement evident in his tone. He knows his confession as gotten under your skin and embedded itself within you and he loves it because finally, he could say something so beautiful and leave you speechless.

You briefly glance over your shoulder, “nothing.”

The corner of hips lips tugs upwards.

You brush him off and squeeze your thighs, White Lily begins to gallop faster.

Benedict takes note of this and tries to match your speed, it doesn’t take long for him to do so.

You turn to look at him and laugh.

The two of you enjoy yourselves (with a minor competition) as you ride to his family’s home. Neither of you can wait till you get to share this joyous news.

Closer

Daphne, Eloise, and Francesca are the only ones in the family room.

The former and latter sit at the piano, practicing their shared favorite song while Eloise reads another book to distract herself from thinking about how she could get her brother to confess what truly lies in his heart (all while trying to figure out to stop him from looking at you with love in his eyes).

She removes her book from her face and sets it in her lap. She glances around the room, seeing if her sisters are affected by it.

They weren’t.

“Are those horses?” Eloise questions, getting up from the couch. Her book rests closed on one of the cushions as she moves closer to the window, aiming to find the source of the noise.

Horse hooves galloping across the ground and neighing travels up to the room, making all three more curious as ever.

“What else could it be?” Daphne asks, glancing back to her sister who backs away from the window.

The second eldest daughter ignores her oldest sister and ventures down the hallway and staircases.

The butler opens the door, she raises a brow at her brothers and your cheery attitude.

Benedict places his hands on your waist and helps you off your horse.

You offer him a small, nervous smile and he does the same to you. Your hands still rest on his shoulders, it feels as though you two are the only one’s present.

“Are you two alright?” Eloise asks with a raised brow. She’s never known either you or her brother to be so bold and part of her wonders if she needs to actually give you two (another) gentle nudge in each other’s direction.

You turn, glancing over your shoulder, smiling at her, “of course we are. Why wouldn’t we?”

She shrugs, “oh, I don’t know besides the fact that my brother is pale and looks as if he’s seen a ghost, everything is perfectly fine.”

You tilt your head with a frown and find that his once happy and nervous expression has left and been replaced with the same look he had when you met him outside your room earlier today. You take a step closer, slipping one hand off his shoulder and into one of his sweaty and clammy hands, “Benedict? Ben?”

His, now, wide, frantic eyes meet yours.

The sight of him being nervous puts you at ease. You know the two of you have got this. You offer him a true smile and a gentle hand squeeze, “everything will be fine. We’re here together.”

The young Bridgerton girl raises a brow before both brows are raised in surprise, she knows.

“Let’s go inside and see if everyone is here. We can figure it out as we go,” you assure him.

“How do you know?” He asks, but it comes out quieter than a whisper.

“Because I believe in you- I believe in us.”

He looks into your eyes and finds that you truly mean it. “Okay,” he nods, squeezing your hand three times.

You return the gesture while trying to ignore the incessant staring you feel directed at the two of you.

Let me whisper in your ear

“Where are the others?” Benedict asks his sister, staring at her after one of the servants closes the door.

Eloise can’t focus, the two of you are together, something she’s been trying to work on for so long finally happened but, with the way you two are so close, it almost seems like this- your relationship with her brother, has been going on longer than she realized. “Why didn’t either one of you tell me?” She blurts out.

You stare at her, mouth agape, unsure of how to respond.

“We weren’t ready for you and the others to ask questions,” Benedict answers her.

She scoffs, “we wouldn’t have-” Eloise sees the look her brother is giving her and begins thinking about it, he’s right. She sighs out, “fine. You are… potentially right, but it is what family is supposed to do, is it not?”

“Not when it means you could scare off my future bride.”

“Oh, please,” she stands in front of you, interlocking her arm with yours. “You have nothing to fear, brother. We would never scare her off besides, she likes it here.”

And that is how the second eldest male Bridgerton lost his (future) wife to one of his family members once today. He watches how easily you fall into conversation with her and how well you’ll fit in (he’s known this for years but, it always nice to see especially now that he can call you his).

“Anthony is in office, trying to drown himself in whatever it is he has in there. Kate- you remember her, right?”

You nod.

“There was an incident and she fell off her horse.”

Your brows raise in surprise, you would have never expected someone with so much education and fire to have an “incident” as Eloise calls it.

She leans closer to you, whispering, “he planned to court and propose to her before the fall.”

You gasp, covering your mouth. “You mean to tell me, your brother the RAKE plans to actually marry? Am I dreaming?”

“We all thought the same but, you know how he looks at her is the same as you and my brother.”

The corner of your lips tugs upward, “we don’t-”

“You do. Do not fight me on this, trust me when I say I’m right.”

“Alright.” You glance over your shoulder and find him staring at you with, said, lovestruck expression.

“I’m always right.”

You shush her.

You two stand in one of the large ballrooms.

“I shall call for my siblings, wait one- EVERYBODY MAKE HASTE! BENEDICT HAS NEWS OF HIS AND LADY MASSINGTON’S FUTURE!”

You sigh, “thank you, little El for that oh so nice announcement. Tell me, are my ears bleeding? I feel as if I’ve lost my hearing.”

She waves you off, “dramatic.”

There’s newfound warmth behind you, you know Benedict managed to sneak behind you.

You turn, offering him a smile. You look as radiant as ever and he wants nothing more than to make you his bride, here and now, but sadly, he must wait.

Hyacinth and Gregory look over the railing.

“Are you two going to marry?” Hyacinth asks.

The two of you nod.

The children glance at one another and take off running.

You have a feeling they are going to be run down the stairs and straight into you, so you begin to brace yourself. You squeal and let out an oof, wrapping your arms around the two.

“Finally!” Hyacinth pulls back with a wide smile showing off her pearly whites.

“We didn’t think you two were ever going to get married,” says Gregory.

“Don’t say that,” Hyacinth smacks his shoulder.

The youngest boy whines, rubbing the soon to be sore spot.

You place a hand on their shoulders, “no fighting.”

They lower their heads and say, “sorry.”

“It’s alright because now, we must find the others and let them know.”

They immediately perk up.

“What is this I hear of weddings?” You turn to see Daphne standing a few feet away, Francesca by her side.

You can’t contain it. “We are to marry.”

“Why would you want to torture yourself with him?” Francesca asks.

“That’s why I’ve been wondering myself,” Eloise adds.

“Hush up, you two,” says you.

Daphne runs to you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders, leaving enough room for you to hug her back.

Three other body’s join in on the hug.

“That’s enough. Let go- I still need her if we are to marry.”

“I see a congratulations are in order,” says Colin.

Anthony and their mother stand beside him.

The four siblings’ part from you, looking up to catch their families’ backs.

“Now that everyone is here, we can officially announce our courtship and future wedding,” announces Benedict.

His siblings and mother nods.

“Is that all?” Colin asks.

“Is that- yes, that’s all. I would have preferred if you were all here on time-”

You take a step forward, placing a hand on his arm. “It’s okay, isn’t it?”

He reluctantly nods.

“We are just happy to be able to tell everyone while you were all here,” you say.

Music begins to play, all of you glance over to find Ida standing there, pretending to look innocent.

You tilt your head, confused as to why she’s here and then your parents walk in.

“Let us dance,” announces your mama.

Anthony turns to Hyacinth, “may I have this dance?”

She agrees and the two begin to waltz around you all.

You turn back to find Benedict’s hand in front of your face. “May I be the one you dance all your dances with?”

You pull off your gloves and toss them to the side, gently placing your hand in his. “As if you have to ask.”

He pulls you closer and you lean up, the two of you are lost in one another’s gaze that is- until the petals of white littles fall down.

You turn to see your mother and Ida tossing them at you.

The sounds of the Bridgerton’s having fun and chattering amongst one another is all you need to end this perfect night.

Benedict pulls away and spins you.

Spring (1817)

You’re spun around again and find yourself back in the arms of your husband. Neither one of you feel as if you’ve stopped smiling all day, your cheeks are beginning to ache, or maybe your cheeks have felt like this for hours and you’ve only just begun to realize it.

Either way, there’s plenty of reason for you to be smiling like a lovesick fool.

Benedict pulls you away from the dance floor and down a familiar hallway, leading you into your favorite library in your parents’ house, also used as a secret meeting place for the two of you used during your courtship.

“This seems familiar,” you comment, staring out the window.

He closes the door and walks closer to you, standing behind you, his arms find themselves wrapped around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder, leaning his head against yours.

You two look into the window, catching each other’s gazes. You find a precious moment, something you hope to never forget, a newly married man and woman so deeply in love as they bask in each other’s company; the comfort of their quiet corner providing them with protection as they hide away from all the chaos.

“What are you two doing?” asks Eloise.

“Hiding.”

“If I can’t hide in a library, neither can the two of you.”

Let me whisper in your ear

Summer (1818)

“How is she?” Eloise asks Benedict.

He looks up from his sketch book, sitting crookedly in his chair, “why?”

“I’m concerned about her well-being.”

He nods, “again, why?”

She sighs, “she’s married to you. It’s my duty as her sister to make sure she is still levelheaded.” She observes the way you enter the room, smirking. She’s feeling witty. “Who knows what you’ve persuaded her into doing?”

You chuckle, throwing a wink in her direction, you know she saw you entering and felt the need to be dramatic. You rest your hands on your husband’s shoulders, “always so kind, Eloise.” You bend down, pecking Benedict’s cheek, “good morning, husband,” you whisper in his ear. You pull away but, find yourself staring into his eyes when he turns his head to look at you.

“Good morning, wife,” he smiles, reaching for you, pecking the palm of your hand.

You wrap your other arm around his shoulders, leaning into him. He keeps his gaze on you as he angles your head in his direction.

The two of you smile into the kiss before the sound of your dear sister-in-law clearing her throat, interrupts the two of you.

You hesitantly pull back.

“I hoped you two wouldn’t be so- that, in front of me. You wouldn’t want to deal with me sick, would you?”

“Dramatic as ever, Eloise,” you say, walking towards the couch opposite of her.

Benedict almost falls as he pushes himself out of the chair, following you. He sprawls out on the couch, laying his head on your lap.

“You’ve made him into a fool.”

You blink once, giving her a deadpan expression. “I did nothing. This was all him,” your thumb brushes against his cheek.

He closes his eyes, enjoying everything he’s feeling. Your light and gentle touches send him and his heart soaring.

She shakes her head, “how are you feeling?” She asks, only because she wants to know if you’ve told her brother of the life changing news.

“Better,” you answer with your jaw clenched.

She uses her eyes to gesture at her brother.

You shake your head.

She sighs.

“Are you sick?” asks your husband.

You glare at your sister-in-law, who merely shrugs. “I have news that I was hoping to tell you in private, possibly later tonight- maybe after dinner?”

He pushes himself off the couch, sitting so close beside you that your knees are touching. He reaches for you, pulling you closer by your hands, “what is it? Should I be concerned?”

You stare into his eyes, his fearful and curious. It begins to make you wonder- “Do you think our child will have your eyes?”

Much like Eloise, he chokes on air and his own spit. ‘That wasn’t how I thought she was going to tell him,’ Eloise thinks to herself.

“W-” He clears his throat, “what? Our children- we don’t- child, you said our child-”

You shake your head, “no, I didn’t.”

“Yes. Yes, you did.”

“I think you’re mistaken,” you avoid his gaze.

“Not when it comes to you.”

You sigh, your shoulders sag, “fine, you heard correctly. I am with child- oh!” You feel like you can’t breathe but, then again, you always feel that way when Benedict kisses you.

“And I’m leaving.”

You want to say you’ll see her later; you do but it’s your husband, he’s intoxicating.

He pulls away. “I hope she has your smile.”

“She?”

You subconsciously begin rubbing your stomach.

“I want our daughter to be just like her mother.”

“Who’s to say we will have a girl first?”

“We don’t follow society’s rules.”

You hum with a small smile stretching across your lips.

He glances down before his eyes drift back up to you.

You reach for him and place his hand on top of yours.

Say the words you long to hear

Seven months later

Anthony and Colin stole your husband from you earlier (more like you begged them to get him out of the house for the afternoon).

The two sip their drinks as they lounge in Anthony’s private chambers (at his and Kate’s shared home, only a few feet away from Aubrey Hall).

“How did you feel?” Benedict blurts out, staring into his liquor filled cup.

“How did I feel about what?” asks Anthony.

“Perhaps he means your first year of marriage,” Colin adds with a shrug.

“Or maybe celebrating one’s name day?” Anthony questions.

“Your first child,” Benedict mumbles into his cup.

The eldest nods, “Ah. I was fine- happy- I was happy.”

Colin snorts, “that’s not what Kate told me.”

Anthony turns, staring at the third born son with furrowed brows, “since when do you talk to my wife?”

“Oh, you don’t know. We meet up every week for tea.”

“You’re lying.”

“I am,” Colin admits. “We meet up for lunch. Ow!” He rubs the sore spot on his arm. “I’m not wrong though, am I?”

Anthony shakes his head, “no.”

Benedict sobers up ever so slightly, sitting up in his chair, “you were scared?”

“I couldn’t admit when I realized I loved her. What made you think I was prepared for a child?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know what to do.” Benedict moans, covering his face with his hands, “I can’t take care of a child.”

“You’ll do fine,” the two assure him.

“I can hardly take care of myself.”

“Then it’s a good thing there are two of you,” says Colin.

“You’re going to be a wonderful father,” Anthony adds.

“Wonderful father?” asks Benedict.

“Maybe not wonderful but, better than most,” says Colin.

“Neither one of you are helping,” Benedict mutters.

“Well-”

Henry slams the door open, panting with his face flushed red. “It’s- lot of stairs around here… it’s time.”

“It’s time?” The three ask.

“We must make haste. You two grab him,” orders Henry.

Anthony and Colin wrap Benedict’s arms around the back of their necks and walk as fast as they can out of the room.

Henry and Benedict were lucky they were able to make it back in time.

The two try to help their brother into their family home but he pushes them away from him.

“I can walk on my own,” he missteps and almost falls but is able to make a quick recovery.

He marches towards the room and finds Daphne standing in front of door.

She places a hand on his arm, “she needs you. She’s been calling for you.”

Your screams tear him away from her and are more than enough to sober him up.

He doesn’t respond as he barges into the room.

His mother and yours sit beside you, patting your forehead and holding your hand.

Both part from you when he steps closer to the bed.

You pant, your eyes are half closed, half opened.

He slips into the spot his mother sat in and automatically reaches for your hand. His hand touches the top of your head, brushing away the hair that sticks your forehead. “Hey,” the corner of his mouth tugs upwards.

“Have I told you how much I love it when you look at me like that.”

He shakes his head.

You groan, closing your eyes; you clench the sheets underneath your other hand and squeeze Benedict’s hand.

The doctor tells you to push and you do.

Benedict takes the rag from your mother and pats your forehead. “You’re doing so good.”

“I don’t- ugh- I don’t think I- ugh- am.”

He shakes his head, rest his forehead on yours. “You’re doing so so good. Our daughter is being born. Her strong mother is helping her come into the world so that we can hold her in our arms.”

You tear up and are more than determined to bring your child into the world.

The cries, other than your own, are the most wonderful sounds anyone has heard today.

Benedict cries as he stares down at her. It seems another has stolen the love in his heart. He smiles, staring down at the tiny, chubby hand grasping his finger tightly. “She has your cheeks,” he mutters, sitting beside you.

“Really?” You ask, leaning closer to the two, curious if he’s telling the truth or still drunk.

“They’re extremely red and there’s only one of us who’s cheeks become red quickly,” he points out.

You purse your lips. That certainly wasn’t what you were expecting him to say. “I have just given birth to our child, and you want to make fun of me?”

“I never tease you.” “I didn’t say tease.”

He glances up at you, “it’s the same thing.”

You close your eyes for a second before flinching awake.

“Why don’t you try to sleep?” He asks.

“I can’t sleep knowing she may cry, and you have had more than a drink or two.”

He scoffs, resting your daughter, Lillian on your chest to prove his point. “See, I can-”

You cringe, staring into your daughter curious eyes. “I know. I’m sorry he’s your father as well.”

His hand pops up with his index finger pointed up, “I heard that.”

“Good.”

A knock interrupts him.

“Are you up for any visitors?” Eloise asks.

You smile, “of course. I just need someone to clean the drunk man off my floor.”

Everyone enters, Anthony and Colin help him off the ground (since they’re the ones who “made” him this way), they groaned when you told them.

“She’s adorable,” Daphne and your mama coo.

“What’s her name?” asks Eloise.

“Lillian Bridgerton. Lily for short.”

She scoffs, “of course. Did he think of it?” Eloise points to your husband.

You confirm, “he did.”

“I guess I can see it.”

“She’s going to grow into a beautiful young lady,” Margaret says, everyone else agrees.

Benedict sits beside you once more, wrapping his arm around the back of your shoulders, “I love you.”

You smile and peck his lips, “I love you, Ben.”

You two look over at the crib and whisper, “and we love you, Lillian.”

I'm in love with you

#Bridgerton #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton x female reader #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x plus size!fem reader #benedict bridgerton x plus size! reader #benedict bridgerton x plus size reader #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x fem reader #crazyk-imagine

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targaryenluvs · 9 days

Note

This gives me dark!Anthony vibes, and I thought I’d send it to you bc you’re the only dark!Bridgerton blog I know

https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZTLaJTb74/

OOH!! i see the vision babe.

no cause homeboy was always staring and snarling like some rabid ass dog and i loved it. and it also just makes sense to me for them to be a bit dark when it comes to their girls since back then it was sort of expected no? like to ‘protect her honour’ i mean these idiots would duel with guns over it??

#kira and anon chat <3 #bridgerton x fem!reader #anthony bridgerton x fem!reader #benedict bridgerton x fem!reader #colin bridgerton x reader #dark bridgerton #yandere bridgerton

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marie-swriting · 1 year

Text

I Still Miss You - Benedict Bridgerton

Masterlist

Summary : You are best friend with Benedict Bridgerton till the day you have to leave to go to France. When you meet again, seven years later, Benedict realises you still have an important place in his heart.

Warnings : angst, sad ending, maybe some grammatical mistakes as English is not my first language, tell me if you see any and if I missed any warnings !

Word Count : 2,9k

French version on Wattpad

French version on Tumblr

Song Inspiration : A Little Bit Yours by JP Saxe

It's 1804 and you stare at your house, you’re lost in your childhood memories. After living for sixteen years in London, you have to move to France as your father has to work in Paris.

Your father makes sure he hasn’t forgotten anything, allowing you to memorise every single stone of your old house, the one you called home. A voice calling your name brings you back to reality. You turn around and see your best friend, Benedict Bridgerton running to you. You meet him halfway, trying to hide your sadness.

“Benedict, what are you doing here ? We bid each other goodbye yesterday.”

“I know, but your whole family was there. I wanted to see you one last time, alone.” The eighteen years old confesses.

“I’ll come back to London.” You assure him.

“But when ?”

“Soon. I hope so. Promise me to always write to me. I do not wish to lose our friendship.”

“I promise you, Y/N.”

You both look into each other’s eyes. They express more words than their voice ever could. You’re about to be separated for the first time. You have always known Benedict and you can’t imagine a life without him, unfortunately you don’t have a choice. Benedict doesn’t want to go back to a life where you’re not by his side. You've been his best friend since the day you were born. You know everything about the other. Suddenly, you fall into Benedict’s arms, needing to keep Benedict in your memory by more than just sight and ear.

“I’m going to miss you.” You murmur.

“I already miss you.”

“Y/N, we have to go.” Your father calls, forcing you to break your embrace.

“I am coming.” You answer before looking at Benedict one last time. “See you soon.”

Benedict doesn’t have the courage to answer you, trying to bite back his sobs. He looks at you leaving him and getting in the carriage. When you pass next to him, he waves at you and you do the same. When your family is not in his sight anymore, he lets a tear roll down his cheek. It’s official. You’re not close to him anymore. He made you a promise. He’ll write to you till the day you come back.

Lady Danbury’s ball opens the social season of 1811. Benedict goes to the event against his will, just like his two brothers Anthony and Colin. They don’t want to spend their night dancing or meeting the mamas who absolutely want to marry their daughter to a Bridgerton's. Benedict has to act as if he wants it. He stays in a corner of the ballroom, trying to make himself look smaller than he really is. Looking across the room, his eyes set on a familiar face. He needs a second to be sure he’s not being mistaken. You lost your baby face, but your beauty is still the same. With a huge smile on his face, he walks to you as you’re standing at the opposite of the room.

“Y/N ?” He asks, catching your attention.

“Mister Bridgerton, it is nice to see you again !” You answer, taking Benedict aback as he’s not used to you being so formal but he tries to hide his shock before talking again.

“I did not know you were back.”

“I arrived in London only two days ago. I haven’t had the time to greet everyone yet.”

“Dear, here is your drink.” A man states with a noticeable french accent, giving you a glass of champagne. Benedict frowns his brows, not knowing who that man is.

“Oh yes, I think some presentations would be greatly appreciated.” You begin, noticing the rising tension. “Viscount BirdWhistle, this is Lord Benedict Bridgerton, my childhood best friend. Lord Bridgerton this is Viscount James Birdwhistle, my… husband.” You say the last word awkwardly.

“Nice to meet you.” Benedict smiles politely.

“Nice to meet you, too. I am delighted to finally discover Y/N’s birth town.”

“Lord Bridgerton, I hope I will have the pleasure of seeing your family again, after so many years.”

“I hope so, too, Viscountess Birdwhistle. I apologise, I see my mom is looking for me.”

“There's no need to apologise, I was going to ask my wife to dance.” The Viscount reassures him, taking your hand. “Have a good time.”

“So do you.”

Benedict walks away, his throat seeming to be tied as he tries to comprehend what’s just happened.

“Of course, she’s married ! She’s three and twenty. They must've been married for three years at least !” Benedict curses himself mentally.

He takes a glass of champagne and drinks it quickly. He takes another glass and sets his eyes on the dancefloor. You and your husband are waltzing, eyes full of love. James murmurs something in your ear and you try to hold back your laugh. Benedict feels his heart being crushed in his chest while he’s watching the scene. You two look like you are very close, indicating that your marriage must be a love one.

Over the years, Benedict understood that his feelings for you have changed. They were becoming stronger and stronger when you were still in Paris. He was in pain at every letter he was sending. He only wanted one thing : to be close to you again except he never got the chance to. As he wasn’t seeing you coming back, Benedict convinced himself that he’d never see your malicious eyes ever again. He thought he had learnt to live with the pain of his non-exploited love for you. But seeing you again was like a punch in his face. Despite the years, he wasn’t able to forget his feelings for you. The young man can’t bear the sight of you in the arms of another man so he lies to his mother to leave the ball earlier.

The next few days, Benedict retires to his quarter, preferring to draw than risking meeting you again. His family hasn’t noticed his change in behaviour yet they think he’s probably having one of those periods where he isolates himself for his art. His last paintings and sketches are full of melancholia, a sadness never drawn before. What could have been a way to free himself from his pain hurts him more.

But painting his heartbreak constantly is nothing compared to the news his mother has announced two days ago. Coming back home from a promenade, she informed with a big smile that she met you with your husband, a real gentleman, she precised before telling the family that she had invited you and your husband for dinner. The Bridgertons children were all happy to finally see you again. Benedict only focused more on his sketch when he heard the news, making his mother frown. She didn't know how big his feelings for you were, but she knew that you were close friends when you were younger. She was sure he’d be happy.

The meal is full of joy. You and the Bridgertons talk about childhood memories, allowing your husband to see another face of you, one that is more childish. You’re relieved to see you haven’t lost your connection with the family. You’re still at ease with them. The atmosphere is warm and everyone participates in the conversation. Except Benedict. He only talks when spoken to. His younger sister Eloise notices his silence so she grows worried about him. She thought he’d be the one always talking with you, but it’s actually Daphne as she questions you on your debuts in the society.

“I promise you Daphne, you will be okay.” You reassure her. “I am sure you will find a husband quickly.”

“Was it the case for you ?”

“I met the Viscount in my third year. He spilled lemonade on my dress !” You tell her, making the family laugh.

“She’s still angry at me for that one.”

“I waited weeks for this dress ! Fortunately his dancing skills made up for his clumsiness. Quickly we did some promenades and visited some museums.”

“So you’ve only been married for a year ?” Lady Bridgerton asks.

“That's correct.”

“Talking about museums, do you still draw ?” Eloise questions. “I remember some sketches you did with Benedict.”

“You draw ?” James asks you, surprised.

“I… I stopped a few years ago.” You admit, embarrassed.

“Why ? I thought you loved it.” Benedict wants to know, being suddenly invested in the conversation.

“I still do, I just don’t have time anymore.”

Noticing you’re more tensed than when the conversation about art started, the Bridgerton's matriarch catches your attention by asking you a question.

“Do you live in your childhood home ?”

“I couldn’t picture myself anywhere else. I have some ideas for the decoration as it is a little bit old. I want the place to feel more alive.”

“Ah, but I am certain that would be the case once you will have your first child.”

“We hope it will be soon.” You smile.

Benedict can’t bear it anymore. He sets his napkin on the table before looking at his mother.

“Will you please excuse me, mother, I have a headache.”

“Of course, my dear. Do you need anything ?”

“No, do not worry, mama.”

Without another word, Benedict stands up and leaves the room. You watch him, concern in your eyes. Even though it’s been years, you're still able to tell when he’s lying. You had already noticed his silence, but his sudden urge to leave the room intrigues you more. If you could, you’d join him right now to know the reason behind his strange behaviour but the presence of your husband stops you from doing so. Despite your worries, you don’t do anything until the end of the meal.

Anthony, Colin and James are in the office of the oldest Bridgerton, they wanted to talk between men, leaving you and the other women in the drawing room. You talk about the next balls as Eloise makes sarcastics comments about them. You don’t show it but a part of you is happy to see Eloise is becoming an educated woman. Quickly, you had the opportunity to listen to the most scandalous thoughts of the youngest Bridgerton but you love the new perspective that Eloise offers you.

“Eloise, you’re always reading. Do you have a book in your room to recommend me ? It has been such a long time since I’ve read a good English book and the French translations are awful.” You inform her, making the other women softly laugh.

“You’re asking the right person. Come with me.”

You both leave the room before walking upstairs. When you arrive in the corridor leading to the bedrooms, Eloise stops herself and turns to you.

“You want to talk to him, am I right ?”

“How did you… ?” You start asking her but she interrupts you.

“I was maybe young but I still remember how close you were ! Go and talk to him. I will wait in my room for you to return to go back to the drawing room.”

“Thank you, Eloise. It is very nice of you !”

You don’t wait for your friend to be in her room to go to Benedict’s. You hesitate for a second before knocking. Benedict opens the door rapidly, a surprised expression on his face.

“Hello Benedict.”

“Oh, it is not ‘Lord Bridgerton’ anymore ?” He asks sarcastically.

“We are not surrounded by the ton.”

“Precisely. How scandalous. Does your husband know you are here ?” Benedict continues, making your eyes roll.

“I just want to talk, please.”

Benedict opens his door a little more, letting you enter. You walk in the middle of the room as he closes the door. You don’t know where to start but you know you’re the one who has to make the first step as Benedict stays silent, looking at you.

“What is the matter ?”

“I had a headache.”

“I know it is not true.”

“Why did you stop drawing ?” Benedict retorts and you stop yourself from showing your annoyance.

“I already told you, I don’t have time anymore.”

“I know it is not true.” He repeats, proud to use your own words against you.

You turn your back to Benedict, walking to his desk where you find his sketchbook.

“May I ?” You ask him and he nods.

You look at some pages, more amazed every time you find a new sketch.

“It is really beautiful, Benedict. You have improved so much in seven years. Your lines are more delicate and you know how to catch emotions.”

“Your drawings would have been the same if you hadn’t stopped.”

“No. You've always had talent. I didn’t.”

“I do not think so.” He contradicts you. He waits for a second before asking the question he had on his mind for a while. “Y/N, do you really love Viscount Birdwhistle ?”

“Yes.” You admit sincerely, looking at him. “I had the chance to make a marriage of love. He’s nice, respectful, he’s always listening to me and he’s funny. He always puts my happiness before everything else. It was his decision to come back here. I told him once how much I missed London and he decided that we should move back to my old house.”

“How come he didn’t know about your drawings then ?” Benedict wonders, hurt by your confession.

“I had never told him. You can not blame him. He is a good man, Benedict.” You assure him.

You look with more attention at a sketch from a landscape when Benedict brings you back to reality.

“I apologise.”

“What for ?”

“For stopping writing to you.”

“I’ve never written to ask you why you stopped. I am as guilty as you are.”

“I made you a promise to always write to you. It’s just…” Benedict starts, looking for his words. “At some point it became too hard. I really thought I would never see you again and the letters were not making up for your absence. On the contrary, the more I was writing, the more I was conscious you were not here.”

“It is the reason why I stopped drawing.” You confess looking in his eyes. “Art was the last link I had with you. When I was drawing, I was thinking of you and it was becoming harder every time I held my charcoal. So I stopped. It is also the reason why I’ve never told James. Telling him was like sharing our link and I wanted to keep it just for me. Every single moment we spent together, I keep them for me, in my secret garden. It is one of the rare things I had never told him. I care a lot about you, Benedict.” You add, getting closer to him. “I missed you.”

“I still miss you.”

You look into each other's eyes, staying at a good distance from each other. You wish you could hold each other like the day you left, but Benedict knows he can’t. If he did, he knows he wouldn’t be able to stop him from making a mistake. He doesn’t want to ruin this moment and even less your relationship with your husband. You seemed honest when you answered earlier. A part of him broke when he heard you talking about your feelings for James but another was relieved to know you found love. If you had to be with someone else, it’s better for you to be with someone you love. Benedict suffers a little more, thinking of you loving him, James Birdwhistle. You are with him. And you’ll always be till death do you apart. There's nothing he can’t do about it. Benedict can’t bear being this close to you without doing anything so he clears his throat before talking again.

“You should go back downstairs. Your husband is probably waiting for you.”

You don’t answer him and walk to the door. Your hand on the knob, Benedict holds you back one last time.

“Y/N, I am happy you found someone you love. You deserve happiness.”

“I hope you will find someone you'll love. You deserve happiness, too, Benedict.”

“See you soon.”

You smile at him one last time. Leaving Benedict behind, he's now a part of your past. Like seven years ago, Benedict lets a tear roll down his cheeks. Even though this time you’re not a thousand miles away, you’re still so far. Despite what he wants, he’d never be able to have the link you used to have. You are with the Viscount Birdwhistle now. It’s official, he needs to learn to live without you. He can’t let himself fall back into your eyes like he just did. He can’t let himself want you close to him like a few seconds ago. He can’t let himself hope like he was still doing. He would have loved if your relationship never ended, but life decided for you two. You don’t see him the same way he does. Even if the Viscount wasn’t here, years had deleted the affection you had for him. He was sure of it. Benedict knows, deep down, that even if he moves on from his feelings for you, you will always be a part of his heart. His love for you will never disappear. He’ll always be a little bit yours.

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auroracalisto · 11 months

Text

i was made for lovin' you

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

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

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

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

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

You were different.

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

The way that you loved him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you knew it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes shot open and you looked over your shoulder.

Benedict Bridgerton.

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

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

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

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

His smile only grew.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Wait."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Ask me what?"

"To marry me, Y/n."

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

"Benedict—"

"—will you marry me, Y/n?"

"I—"

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

"—Benedict..."

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

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

"And I, you, Y/n."

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

"I will," you said.

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

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

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

Your eyes widened a bit.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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