#bridgerton oneshot | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lydiimae · 1 month

Text

Infatuation

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

MDI!! 18+

Part 2 <3

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He could get used to this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No, Mister Bridgerton, it is not.

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writtenfangirl · 18 days

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Madness

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

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

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

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

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

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

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

Maddening.

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

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

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

A queen holding court, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“We are familiar with one another.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She caught you?”

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

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

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

He bristled at her words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“To apologize.”

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

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

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

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

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Always so distracting.

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

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

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

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

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

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

But Benedict did no such thing.

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

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

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

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

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes.”

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d4yl1ghts · 8 days

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Hi could I request an Anthony bridgerton story where he had an argument with his wife (perhaps because he was stressed and found her clingy )so she gives him the silent treatment and acts cold to him until he basically begs for her forgiveness

attached

anthony bridgerton x wife, fem!reader

summary: you and your husband have an argument after he complains about you being too attached to him for his liking

warnings: p in v, orgasm, cunnilingus, fingering, praise kink, begging, breeding kink (maybe), unprotected sex, nudity

You were attending yet another ball with your husband, the brooding Anthony Bridgerton, and you were talking with Penelope in the corner. Glancing around, you took in the beautifully chosen decor against the lighting. Amidst the line of people, your eyes only focused on Anthony as his chocolate eyes sparkled with the glisten from the chandelier.

You couldn’t help yourself. He looked so gorgeous and so you headed over to him after bidding your goodbyes to Penelope. “Hello, Lady Y/N.”, he smirked at you teasingly. Your cheeks heated up. “Good evening, my Lord.”, you replied. “Gentlemen, this is my lovely wife.”, he introduced you to the group of men he was chatting to.

“Nice to meet you.”, they all said. You grabbed his hand gently and snuggled into his side slightly. “Okay, my love, have you talked to Eloise about her new book that you recommended to her yet?”, he asked in an awkward fashion. You shook your head. “Why don’t you go and find her, hmm?”, he questioned as he pried you off him.

You walked off sulking. Why did he wave you off like that? Fortunately, you were still in earshot and so when he stated: “Sorry, gentleman, she tends to get a bit attached in social situations. She doesn’t like being on her own.”

You quickened your pace as you reached a door that lead outside, you needed some fresh air. You weren’t that clingy, were you? Surely not. Yes, you did cuddle into his shoulder every so often but that was only showing your husband affection. You sighed to yourself as you elegantly glided back into the ballroom.

As you avoided his gaze all night, he had finally had enough and decided that it was time for the both of you to go to your manor. He looked furious in the carriage as did you. Once you had arrived home, you walked hastily in through the entrance. “Darling.”, Anthony called out quietly. You turned around. “Hmm?”, you said bitterly. “What’s wrong?”, he asked cluelessly. You rolled your eyes as you went upstairs to your joint bedroom and took off your corset before pulling the covers over yourself.

Anthony followed shortly after and you turned your back to him. He moved his calloused hands to hold you but you shook his steady grip off of you. He huffed in defeat.

It was finally time for breakfast. You made sure to eat fast to avoid your husband. As you got up from your chair to leave, Anthony needily grabbed your wrist. “Please.”, he said quietly. “Tell me what is wrong.”, he stated as he gazed at you with soft eyes. You glared at him before snatching your wrist back.

You were writing in your diary when you noticed that Anthony was at the doorway. “Please. Dont avoid me. How am I meant to be a better husband if you don’t tell me what I have done wrong?”, he questioned in one breath. You sighed as you finally made eye contact with him. “For a start, don’t call me attached and clingy.”, you said with venom in your tone.

“Dear.”, he gently touched your fingers. “I didn’t mean it like that. I love your attention, I promise. It just makes it hard to focus when I’m trying to make some business trades.”, he stated as he looked at you pleadingly. “And it doesn’t make a man look like a powerful business man when I’m drooling over you.”, he finished. He stared deeply into your eyes before passionately attaching his lips to yours and slipping his tongue in between yours.

You pulled away. “Beg for me.”, you whispered. He slowly got down onto his knees and looked up at you with those sweet brown eyes. “Can I touch you, my Lady?”, he asked as he maintained eye contact. “Yes.”, you simply stated. He worked on undoing your corset. Once you see naked, Anthony robe his tongue across your hard nipples before gently sucking them. He then kissed down from your breasts to your pussy.

He glanced up at you with hungry eyes, asking you for permission. You nodded and he pushed two fingers into your wet core. You sighed quietly. He moved them in and out at a fast pace. You stifled your moans with a pillow. “Darling, let me hear your moans, please.”, he practically begged. He felt himself get hard as he heard your whimpering.

He then added his tongue and expertly moved his to gun across your slick folds. “So good, Tony.”, you moaned. As you reached your climax, Anthony took off his trousers and you greedily took in the length of his cock. Obviously you had seen it before but you were shocked every time you were shocked at the sheer size of it.

He lined himself up with you and you felt the pre-cum drop off his cock. You grinded your hips into the air at the feel of it. “Can I?”, he asked. You nodded and he rocked his cock in and out of you. He moaned at your tightness. “Good girl.”, he sighed contentedly. He moaned as euphoria came over him and you followed him shortly after. “Anthony, you were so good. I need to see you on your knees again soon.”, you said as you rolled on top of him and kissed him.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x female reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton oneshot #fem!reader

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captainsophiestark · 6 months

Text

Bad Timing

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Day 25 Prompt: "Do I look like I knew that?"

Summary: When Eloise needs help with a problem, she knows she can count on her brother and his new wife for help.

Word Count: 1,047

Category: Fluff, Humor

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"You know, lazy days like this are by far my favorite," I mused, curling into my husband's side as we laid in bed together. "No galas, no gossip from the Ton. Just the two of us."

"I certainly have to agree," said Benedict, my husband, as he traced patterns on the bare skin of my back. "Although, I do enjoy watching Colin wade through the swarm of Mamas every time we go out, now that he is the only unwed Bridgerton son. At least until Gregory gets a bit older."

"I'd say you were being mean, but he did ditch you and Anthony for quite a while in his travels."

"Yes, he did. So he deserves this."

I laughed, shaking my head a bit at my husband's antics. A moment later, he pulled me tighter to his side, rolling us so I laid completely on top of his chest. I rose up on my elbows to meet his eyes and found him looking at me with a mischevious smile.

"You know, it's just occurred to me," he started. "There are quite a few ways I can think of that our time would be better spent than talking about my brother."

"Oh really?" I asked, grinning and leaning down closer to Benedict. "And what might those ideas be?"

"Well for starters..."

With that, he brought his hand up to the back of my neck and pulled me into a searing kiss. I rested all my weight on him, kissing right back, until a knock at the door jarred us both out of the moment.

Reluctantly, I pulled away, and Benedict let me. We shared a look.

"Maybe whoever it is will go away if we ignore them," he whispered in suggestion. As if he'd willed it into happening, a voice from the other side of the door called out.

"Y/N! If you're in there, please, I need to talk to you."

Eloise. Benedict's little sister, who I'd become close with throughout the course of Benedict courting me. I gave Benedict an apologetic look.

"No," he whined as I rolled off of him, quickly wrapping a robe around myself and heading for the door.

"I have to," I replied. "I can't ignore her. Make yourself decent."

With that, I turned from my husband and went to open the door just wide enough to see Eloise on the other side, and for her to see me.

"Oh, thank goodness!" she cried, moving to push past me and into the room. I let her, just hoping that Benedict had done as I'd said. Eloise and I had done this a few times as we'd gotten closer, and whenever it happened, I knew she really, truly needed me.

I turned around to follow Eloise back into the room after shutting the door behind me, only to find her frozen just a few steps from where she'd come in. Benedict stood next to the bed, looking tired but resigned to our new morning activity as he laced up his shirt.

"Good morning, Eloise," he said, a little edge of teasing in his tone. "You know, I was trying to enjoy the morning with my wife-"

"Do I look like I knew that?" she cried. I fought back a laugh as I walked forward to wrap my arm around her shoulder.

"It's alright, Eloise," I said. "Benedict and I were about to get up for the morning, anyway."

Benedict shot me a look with his eyebrows almost into his hairline, and I glared right back, imploring him to go along with me. He cleared his throat.

"Right. That we were. What did you need help with, sister?"

She hesitated, so I walked around to face her, putting both of my hands on her shoulders and blocking her eyeline to Benedict. I gave her a small smile, so she'd know everything was alright, then spoke in a low voice that I knew Benedict wouldn't be able to hear.

"If this is a ladies' problem, or one you don't want your brother to know about, El, I'll throw him out of here right now and we can talk, alright? But if you're embarrassed about knocking when you did, then you truly don't need to be. We love you, and we'd both drop far more important things to help you whenever you need it."

Eloise sighed, nodding a little as she did. The bright red blush that had risen to her cheeks started to fade, and she at last met my eyes again.

"Thank you. I... suppose it wouldn't hurt to have Benedict's input as well," she said. I nodded, giving her a bright smile before turning around to face my husband.

"Put your problem-solving hat on, Benedict," I said. I started drifting for the couches by Benedict's turret window, one of my favorite features of his room. "We've got a family matter to deal with."

They both beamed at me as they started following me over to the couch. I'd considered a few of Benedict's siblings as good as family for a long time now, but it felt amazing to be able to say that and have it be completely true.

Benedict and Eloise settled into the couch on either side of me, Benedict resting his arm across my shoulders. Those kinds of casual touches would've been scandalous before we were married, but now we could do them whenever we wanted to, which also made my heart sing.

Eloise gave us both one last look with a raised eyebrow, then launched into her explanation of the problem that had brought her to our doorstep, which had something to do with a boy of virtually no social status who'd caught her attention. Benedict and I spent the rest of the morning, helping her as best we could, in the way only we could.

Although I hated that Eloise had to deal with the problems she dealt with, a small part of me sang the entire morning as Benedict and I worked together, the perfect team, to help his little sister. This was going to be the rest of our lives, with Eloise and maybe someday with children of our own, and I couldn't be happier thinking about that future with Benedict. We made the perfect team.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 10 months

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Seduced By Your Scent (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary: Swayed by rave reviews, you purchase a perfume that endeavours to make any man fall for you. But you don’t want just any man; you want your beloved husband.

AN: Based on a perfume review I saw on twitter/from discord, and my friend got me back into Bridgerton so here we are. Potential part two to Subtle-tea but can be read as its own fic.

Content Warnings: Reader wears a dress, is referred to as “my lady”. Suggestive language and actions, 18+ readers only, minors DNI

Masterlist // AO3

“You must try this elixir! It’s like they’ve bottled Venus and sent her to solve all marital issues!”

Not that you and Benedict needed any kind of aphrodisiac or marital advice. After your glorious wedding and the honeymoon of your dreams, you grew more enamoured with one another with each passing day. But you couldn’t help but become intrigued by your companion’s impassioned declarations.

Here was where that curiosity led you: sitting at your vanity, staring at the bejewelled and beautiful bottle – fitting of its praise and hinting at the power of the perfume it held. It cast rainbow refractions across your room as you rotated it with a scrupulous gaze. The glass stopper released with a delicate pop and you gave the opening a tentative sniff. Sparks of something musky with a hint of whimsy reached your brain. It seemed to caress your sense of smell, lull you into a foggy serenity whilst curving the corners of your mouth into a smile.

A light knock at your bedroom door did very little to pull your from this haze, and your maid stood awkwardly in the doorway as you dragged your eyes away from the bottle and over to her.

“Breakfast is ready, my lady,” The maid bobbed a curtsey.

“Thank you.” And, as she closed the door behind her exit, you gave the bottle one more look.

Well, it couldn’t hurt.

With care, you tipped the bottle then dragged the soaked stopper across one wrist. It pressed together with its partner then paired against your neck to seal the scent in.

The moment you stepped into the dining room – empty besides your beloeved husband - Benedict rose from the head of the table and drew out the chair beside him for you to sit. It was part of your routine, in your home and wherever you went, as was the smile with which he greeted you. Often it was broad and beaming, like today. Sometimes it was more subtle but with his eyes just as bright. On one or two occasions, it arrived with eyelids sunk and a hand to his forehead that pounded with consequences from the previous night’s actions, but still he smiled even though (and these were his own words) it felt like his skin was being melted from his skeleton like candle wax.

“Good morning!” He called to you while you crossed the room, his arm outstretched to clasp you close then guide you into your chair.

Continuing the routine, you kissed his cheek before sitting down, “Good morning.”

Now, this was when Benedict would push your chair in then sit beside you, ready to dine and run over your plans for the day ahead. And he started as normal. However the rate with which he pushed your chair into place was as if he was encased in jelly.

You clocked his new blank expression, “My love, are you alright?”

Instead of speaking, Benedict bent over the back of the chair and kissed your cheek. A short and slight sniff dragged up where his lips had pressed. He withdrew gradually, just a few inches, his brow was creased in thought.

“Hmm.” His jaw twisted and he clicked his tongue. Then he leant back in, this time his nose drew a tickling line down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“Benedict,” You felt your face grow hot as you resisted the urge to tense when he planted a quick kiss on the curve of your shoulder.

But your mild embarrassment only warmed the scent on your skin and spread it further around you until Benedict was encased in it beside you. Just one of your thoughts was spared in thanks to the fact that you and Benedict had stipulated that you dine alone – no butlers, no maids, no interruptions unless someone was dying.

“Have you been bathing in an aphrodisiac?” Benedict mused. Without turning away from you, he dragged his chair loudly across the floor so that he could perch himself beside you. Taking your hand, he kissed your loosely closed fist and breathed deeply in before finishing his question:

“Or are you just naturally this irresistible, and you’ve been hiding from me?”

“I can’t think what’s gotten into you,” You said, your voice wobbling when Benedict raised his eyebrows at you.

“I think you know exactly what’s gotten into me.”

Melting under his sparkling stare, you weakly nodded at his plate and setting, “Your breakfast is getting cold.”

Benedict didn’t look away from you, “I know what I’d rather eat.”

A laugh bubbled up your throat and you found yourself bordering on hysterics as Benedict’s eyes creased and he leant in close to you to titter and teem with joy.

After taking a few deep breaths, your face aching from the grin, you managed to say, “You must be drunk from the alcohol in that perfume.”

With a hand clutching at his cravat, Benedict gasped, appalled, “How dare you? Must I be drunk to show my wife some affection?”

“Nevertheless, you approve?”

“Oh yes, but only when we’re at home. Can’t let anyone else catch a whiff of this. You’ll seduce them, make them all fall in love with you, make them fall to their knees.”

“We absolutely cannot have that. Only you’re allowed to do so.”

Very suddenly, Benedict rose and kicked the seat from beneath him, pulling and pivoting you around so that you faced him. Knelt before you, you let him kiss you whilst you pet through his dark hair. His affections did not distract you from his hands tracing up your legs. The skirts of your dress caught on his wrists and exposed your sensitive skin to him.

He mumbled dreamily, “I could not agree more.” Then, with another deep inhale pressed into the side of your neck and his hands drawing down your undergarments, he drew from you the first of many delighted sighs that mingled with the lingering scent of your new perfume.

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton oneshot #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton oneshot #my writing #wc: 1k<#r: fem

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celestialnxva · 2 years

Text

Audacity

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Everyone in the Ton knew that Benedict was someone that did not show his irritation or anger often. However, when it came to his spouse, the Ton realized that an angry Benedict is quite a terrifying one.

Warnings: fluff, general warning for Cressida Cowper because she irritates me, just Benedict being a loving husband, it does get kinda suggestive in the end.

benedict masterlist. | main masterlist.

To say that Benedict Bridgerton loved you was quite an understatement.

From the moment he laid eyes on you and the way you moved across the room, his eyes had opened to the enchanting world that love had to offer. With each click of your heels against the ballroom floor while you made your way towards him, your ethereal beauty and aura overwhelmed his senses and spirit. His heart throbbed painfully in chest as you danced the night away with him. He would never forget that night and how your body felt against his. If someone told him then that you would eventually become his spouse, he would’t have believed them.

Yet you were his, and he considered himself to be the luckiest man in the entire universe.

The Bridgertons were the only family in the Ton who focused on love matches, rather than marrying for status. Granted, they didn’t have to exactly worry about their status in society or their financial security, but in every season, each Bridgerton child had found themselves their own, true love match.

They should all feel jealous towards the family and their luck, but many members of the Ton didn’t seem to care enough to do so or simply admired the family’s fortunes. Either way, they never expressed these feelings, as it would be unwise to make enemies with a powerful family such as theirs. They may not have the highest rank in the Ton, but between their intimate connections with the Queen and Lady Whistledown’s obsession with them, it would be unwise for the Ton to cross the Bridgertons in any way.

For those lucky souls marrying into the Bridgerton family such as yourself, it was common knowledge that the Bridgertons’ influence extended to each new family members’ reputations as well. After all, they were a lovely family and only wished for the new additions in the family to feel like they were part of their family too. Therefore, it was also an unspoken rule in the Ton not to cross their spouses too. These rules seemed to create a sense of peace between each of the families for the first few seasons with the Bridgertons, until the day you and Benedict announced your courtship and engagement to the Ton.

All were surprised and many were shocked, as a Bridgerton had taken interest of a foreigner from another country who had only been out to this society due to Lady Danbury’s mysterious decision to sponsor them that season. Many mama’s were angry that yet another Bridgerton child had been plucked out of the marriage mart, and especially angry that it had been done by someone that had never even lived there at all.

Despite the angry disapprovals from jealous debutantes and mama’s alike, the Queen forced them all to silence their complaints. When you were involved with a Bridgerton, it was common fact that the Queen will be watching closely of the match that blossomed beautifully in front of her eyes. In this season, the Queen had not only taken interest in you, but she sympathized with you and your journey to introducing yourself to this society. It was always difficult to be thrust into a new country without any experience in its local traditions. She of all people knew the pain and anxiety you must have felt this season.

To make matters worse for jealous members of the Ton, you married into the family with a wedding that was personally overseen by the Queen herself. It seemed that the rest of the families’ luck dwindled down as more seasons passed by with the Bridgertons on the marriage mart, so it was only a matter of time before someone in the Ton finally snapped.

And to no one’s surprise, it was the Cowper family.

Everyone knew that when they expressed their hatred towards someone, they made sure everyone knew about it. And with the upcoming ball hosted by Lady Danbury and the Queen, Lady Cowper and Cressida Cowper made sure that the whole Ton would know about your dirty little secret.

———

You were almost tempted by Benedict’s offer to skip the upcoming ball hosted by Lady Danbury, as it would only occur shortly after your honeymoon. Even though you considered what he suggested, you knew that it was only right to attend. After all, you owed it to Lady Danbury for taking you under her wing and securing for you this season’s famous love match. It was only right to go.

“My darling,” you said with a sympathetic look in your eyes. Benedict had stopped kissing your neck and leaned back to stare into your eyes out of concern. Did he say something to offend you? He hoped not. He started overthinking before you leaned in to kiss his forehead tenderly.

“We must go to the ball, love. I consider Lady Danbury to be a mother figure in my life, and I would also like for you to remember that if it were not for her sponsorship, I would have not met you,” you said lovingly. He supposed you were right. You always were. He grumbled in reluctant agreement. “Then we shall go to the ball.”

“Although,” he said before slyly wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you closer to his chest. He leaned in until his lips were inches away from yours. “Do not think for a second that I will let you wander even an inch away from my side,” he whispered teasingly. You giggled at his antics and wrapped your own arms around his waist as well. “But my love... I was planning to wear your favorite gown that you bought for me the other day,” you whined childishly before your lips pursed into a seductive smirk.

“If you must insist on me staying close to you tomorrow night, I will do so. However,” you paused and leaned in to kiss him slowly before pulling away to shyly look up at him through your lashes. “I will make sure that when I do walk away from you, you will enjoy the sight of me doing so,” you purred before the two of you lost yourselves in each other’s loving embrace for the rest of the night.

———

Everyone at the ball felt the emotional high of being at Lady Danbury’s ball once again, as it was rare for her to host more than one ball each season. They chalked it up to her wishing for her favorite tea time confidant to come back and spend time with her after their honeymoon. That, and it was a rare ball in which the Queen had proposed to host alongside Lady Danbury. Clearly, you were a favorite of the Queen’s and nobody could ever dispute that.

As each family slowly wandered into the ballroom, Lady Danbury’s sharp eyes searched for the Bridgerton family. After a few minutes of searching and feeling a sense of defeat, she finally caught sight of the family walking in with the rowdy bickering between the siblings. She smiled excitedly and made her way to where they had stationed themselves and tapped her cane to announce her presence. The entire family whipped their heads around to look at her and when they did so, they all greeted her warmly. It was then did she finally notice yours and Benedict’s absence. She frowned.

“Where exactly are the newlyweds, Lady Bridgerton?” she asked suspiciously. She saw the other woman flash her a sheepish smile before she spoke. “They wrote to us and expressed their wishes to attend the ball. Rest assured, Lady Danbury, they are most likely making their way to where we are at this present moment.”

Lady Danbury supposed that it was a good enough reason for her to excuse.

With an approving hum, she bid her farewell and made her rounds around the room to make sure that everyone was finding everything to their satisfaction.

It had been what she felt to be an hour that had passed since that conversation when she heard from across the room the gentle lilt of your voice. She turned around towards where the voice came from and sure enough, you were standing with your in-laws, Benedict’s arm wrapped possessively around your waist. It took everything within herself to not roll her eyes at the sight as she made her way towards you.

When you saw your mother figure and sponsor, you practically launched yourself into her arms, catching the lady by surprise. Your endearing actions made your in-laws fall more in love with you. You were just as sweet as Benedict, and it was clear to them that you and Benedict were made for each other. They couldn’t wait to see what new mischief the two of you will cause when you visit them again.

After a short conversation with your family, Benedict decided to dismiss the both of you to fetch a glass of punch together. Just as he promised last night, he refused to let you wander away from his side. The family groaned, knowingly familiar with Benedict’s desire to show you off to the whole world. Not wanting to see such sickening displays of affection, the family (well, mostly Eloise and Colin) dismissed him immediately. With a chuckle, the two of you made your way across the room to talk near the refreshment table, greeting the Queen fondly with a polite bow on the way there.

It had only been but a few minutes alone with your husband before a crowd of (rather fake) debutantes cornered you both with an onslaught of shallow compliments and congratulations for your love match and marriage. You felt particularly uncomfortable, as you were still not used to the passive aggressive behavior and damaging gossip that existed in this society. From where you came from, these antics certainly existed, but they were never as consuming as it was here. When Benedict expressed to you that he wanted to settle with you in the countryside, you couldn’t have been more grateful, as you certainly did not want to associate with this society and their stifling judgements about your foreign status.

As they all spoke to you and Benedict at the same time, you noticed a particular head of blonde hair in an updo and froze in fear: Cressida Cowper was here and that could mean trouble.

In a state of panic, you gripped onto your husband’s arm tighter. When he also saw Cressida, he let out an irritated sigh and reached over to rub your arm comfortingly. It was his way of silently communicating with you that what you were about to face, you would do it with him; together as a unit. Your braced yourself for the moment Cressida finally pushed her way towards the front of the crowd with her drink in hand. Of course, she did it quite dramatically, ‘accidentally’ spilling her drink on other debutantes outfits and kicking their shins painfully to make her way through. When she finally reached to the front, she let out a sigh of relief and flashed the most sinister smile you have ever seen anyone make.

“Well, if it isn’t the Bridgertons,” she cooed before leaning back arrogantly. “The famous love match!”

You winced at her words, afraid of what she was about to say. True to your intuition, she loudly drew the attention of a crowd as she spoke.

“It was quite the love story; a story that was similar to Cinderella’s, was it not?” she sneered victoriously. You went rigid in Benedict’s arms while he was losing his usual calm demeanor. Cressida continued to explain to everyone what she was talking about to the room.

“Of course, it would be such a shame for your new husband to know about your lack of rank or blood relation to any noble family in the Ton,” she announced with a haughty laugh. She was so ugly, inside and out, and she was a terrible person to expose your background in front of everybody. You’ve had enough. You didn’t care anymore that she was part of the Ton. Nobody spoke to you that way. Nobody.

“Miss Cowper, I suggest you choose your next words wisely, or—“

“Or what?” She cut you off. “What will you do? You have no rank.” She leaned in threateningly. “I don’t have to listen to poor foreigners like you, Mx. Bridgerton,” she said and practically spat in your face.

A series of gasps echoed throughout the room. Whether it be because of Cressida’s audacity to behave so poorly in a public setting or a reaction to your status, that you would never know. But what you did know was that Cressida was an evil woman who deserved nothing but bad karma.

At the point, your husband was fuming, and it was actually visible to everyone in the room. It was a foreign sight, since everyone usually saw him to possess a light-hearted attitude and an earnest expression. With that knowledge, there was a sudden shift of energy when Benedict wrapped his arm around your waist protectively. Not only was he pissed off by Cressida’s comments about his spouse, but he was furious that she did it in front of everyone in the Ton, including the Queen herself.

Because of that, he allowed himself to break out of his gentle demeanor and throw his manners that were taught to him completely out the window. Nobody messed with his spouse. Ever.

“At least my spouse has married someone, and that certain someone comes with high status and a lack of care for their background.” Your head perked up to stare at him in shock. You have never heard him sound so angry before. Seeing him so angry compelled you to hang onto every word he spoke to Cressida with the belief that he has the ability to counter Cressida’s rude behavior and ruin her reputation in front of everyone in the room.

He tilted his head to the side and smirked, though this one was not his usual playful smirk. No, this time, it was one that sent shivers down the spine of anyone who was witnessing this confrontation. He continued to speak to her.

“How about you, Miss Cowper? I have yet to see you with any suitors, let alone be married to one!” he said in mock curiosity. He laughed dryly. “You have been in the marriage mart without any suitors for the last three seasons now, yes?”

Her eyes widened in shock. He grinned at her reaction. “What does that say about you and your reputation? I would like for you to enlighten me on that, Miss Cowper.”

He leaned in and mimicked her mocking stance moments earlier towards you before he proceeded to insult her.

“Let me make this clear. I am a gentleman, and I was raised to respect every person I meet. But when it comes to you, I am willing to set aside my upbringing to tell you how I feel.” He practically growled his next sentence. “My family has been aware of my spouse’s background before my marriage to them, and we still accepted them with open arms. The Queen had done so as well. Do you wish to know why?”

Cressida was scared at this point and completely humiliated by the Bridgerton she least expected to lash out at her. It was always the quiet ones that held the most anger, especially if it involved the bullying of a loved one. She watched as he leaned back to stare down at her with eyes filled with the fury and wrath likened to that of gods.

“You will never compare to my spouse. With your outburst tonight, you have managed to make a fool out of yourself in front of the entire Ton and-- most importantly-- Lady Whistledown herself. If you so much as to breathe in my spouse’s direction—or in any of my family’s, I can assure you that you will regret that decision for the rest of your life.”

She gasped and angrily stared him down. “Are you threatening an innocent lady, Mr. Bridgerton? You should feel ashamed. Where are you manners—“

“You aren’t and will never be an innocent or respectable lady in my eyes, nor in anyone’s eyes, from what I can see right now. I want you out of my sight for the rest of the night and the other balls after that. Your family should tread carefully and be grateful that they will not experience the wrath of the Bridgerton family tonight. But you should know,” he paused before pulling you close to his chest.

“That we do not have to do anything to ruin your life. You have done so yourself. You have dug your own grave. Now…lie in it,” he venomously spat out at her.

When he finished his outburst, the chatter of the entire room had been replaced with a tense and heavy silence. Never have they seen Benedict so furious. If Cressida had spoken ill of you for another second after, they were sure to believe that Benedict could’ve actually done something to actually be scared for her and her family’s lives. But with his words tonight, they already knew that it was enough to humble the family that they despised the most, and that was victory enough for them, after all the toxicity they have spread throughout the Ton for many years.

As for his family, they were a bit embarrassed by his confrontation, but they were more proud of him and his public display of love and protection. The Queen must have felt the same way, as she was the first to stand up from her seat. All eyes shifted to her and waited on baited breath to hear what the Queen had to say. She looked down at Cressida from her place on the pedestal and glared at her.

“Get out of my sight,” she declared in an icy tone. The rest of the Ton gasped and started to whisper sensationally with each other. Cressida felt tears form in her eyes at the Queen’s words and tried desperately to defend herself. “Your Majesty, I—“

The Queen’s eyes flared with fury. “Are you going against my orders, child? I am your Queen and you have finally lost all of my respect. Get out of my sight.”

At this point, her mother had run to her side so she could support her daughter. Of course, she was just as irritatingly rude as her daughter. Cressida did have to get it from somewhere.

“I do not understand. Why does everyone support this pathetic, low-life peasant? They don’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, Your Majesty!” Lady Cowper exclaimed, turning her head to glare accusingly at your timid form.

Hell hath no fury like a mother figure witnessing her child be humiliated in front of her. “Lady Cowper, you are quite fortunate that I do not have you executed for your direct disobedience against your Queen and your questions about my decisions!” She pointed an accusing finger at the Cowpers. “Mr. Bridgerton is right. You are not to step foot into his Ton ever again. So, I will repeat for the third time of what I asked you to do.” Her finger pointed towards the large open doors.

“Get. Out. Of. My. Sight.”

The whispers of gossip became louder at the Queen’s words. At this point, nobody felt bad for the fate of the Cowpers. They finally got what they deserved. As they finally watch the accused party disappear from the ball, everyone assumed back to the lighthearted atmosphere they previously had before. The Queen made eye contact with you and flashed you an affectionate smile. She made a mental note to invite you for tea so she could comfort you. The Bridgerton family across the room had the same sentiments.

Despite everyone defending you, Cressida’s words stung and hurt more than you thought. You didn’t know why you let her words get to you, but perhaps it was because she exposed your secret unfairly to the Ton without any mercy. Finding yourself close to tears, you slipped away from Benedict’s embrace and ran off to call a carriage for yourself so you could go home.

Benedict ran after you immediately, flashing a sad expression to his family and the Queen before he went off to come find you. When he did, he saw that you were waiting outside in the cold with a shawl that covered most of your exposed skin. When he squinted his eyes more, he saw that there were tears that were falling from your eyes and that your eyes were red from crying so much. His heart broke at the sight of your insecurity about his love for you and your place in society, so he decided that he would do everything in his power to make sure you knew how much he loved you with his entire body, mind and soul.

Once you two entered the carriage, you had barely sat down before he immediately pulled you to him as much as could so you were slightly on top of him. He kissed you passionately, his hands delicately rubbing your sides up and down. You let a surprised squeak, but welcomed his passionate actions nonetheless. You always adored Benedict’s very passionate and romantic gestures because it made you feel like a deity incarnate. It was like he worshipped you with his entire being.

You became flustered at his boldness and pulled away to catch your breath. When you did so, he decided to speak while he kissed down your neck. “You are not a Cinderella, (y/n). You are my spouse and the most beautiful creature that God has ever created.”

When he heard your blissful sighs and noises from his kisses, he felt compelled to pull you closer and press your body flush against his chest. He was lucky that there was a barrier of thick clothing, or else he would’ve had his way with you at this very moment. He was that passionate to show you how much he adored you.

“You are my muse, the air I breathe, and the sun to my moon,” he murmured hotly against your flushed skin. You tried your best to quiet down your excitement as he continued to touch your body in a way that flustered you to no end. For a moment, though, he paused his kisses and guided your chin down to stare into your eyes.

“You complete me, my darling. No matter what anyone says, you are perfect for me. You transcend human concepts of perfection and class, as you are the most divine being that rivals the most beautiful of angels,” he said with so much love and adoration for you.

When he saw you tear up from his words, he didn’t hesitate to pull you into a loving embrace, happy to see you feel so comfortable and safe in his presence. You stayed silent, but your actions spoke loudly of your feelings. Each kiss you placed on his face was proud of him for standing up for you and that you were grateful for his endless devotion to you. Most importantly, the lopsided smile you gave to him was your way of letting him know that you were happy that Cressida and the rest of the Ton had tasted the fear that struck into their hearts the moment Benedict decided to confront them all about their pathetic excuses to disapprove of your relationship. After the events that occurred tonight, you knew now that your relationship in the eyes of the public had shifted. They’ve finally accepted what you and Benedict have known all along:

You were his and he was yours. Nobody, not even the Queen herself, could take that away from you both.

If there was one thing the Ton had learned from tonight, it is that Benedict was scary when he was angry. If he felt so passionately about you, then they couldn’t even imagine how you would be when someone tries to disrespect your husband in the future. With that, they realized that your marriage was more than a Cinderella story: it was a love story for the ages, and anyone who thought this wasn’t true would swiftly be reminded by you and Benedict of how wrong they were to think otherwise. They will be reminded about how messing with both of you is like messing with hell itself.

Cressida will know that for the rest of her life, especially after reading the Lady Whistledown issue that was published the next day.

1K notes · View notes

peterpparkrr · 2 years

Text

Pinned (pt. 4)

Series: Pinned

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x f!reader

Summary: Anthony invites our intrepid seamstress to the theater.

Word count: 3.2k

Warnings: some mild references to period typical sexism and classism

A/N: me 🤝 anthony: playing fast and loose with courtship expectations. Anyways, I was in a silly goofy mood and wrote this behemoth of a chapter! Yay progress! (Catch the Little Women (1994) reference)

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“Lord Bridgerton,” You greeted the man who was making his way up the street to you with equal parts exasperation and amusement.

“You ought to be careful, coming to this part of town in broad daylight, what if someone sees you?” You tease him as he comes up to where you’re hanging your laundry on one of the lines that’s set up going between one of your windows and the window across the way.

“Well, it would not be proper to visit at night,” Anthony teases as he leans forward conspiratorially.

You shake your head at him but can’t help the smile that creeps onto your face.

You ought to be concerned about your neighbors, and the gossip you are surely incurring as Anthony looks every part the nobleman thanks to his fine new jacket as he stands in the middle of Lambeth. You find yourself deeply pleased to see that he is wearing the vest that you made and sold to him to visit you, even if it makes him stick out even more than a man who carries himself like a Lord would do in your neighborhood.

But you can’t find it in yourself to admonish the man for his timing, or for his dress, not with the nervous smile on his face as he fiddles with the ring on his pinky finger.

“This is hardly the most scandalous place I could be, my brother galavants with artists all times of day, and this hardly seems like a den of iniquity,” Anthony points out as he glances around at the fairly quiet street, which is nearly deserted here in the middle of the afternoon, save for a few of the wives down the way who are doing their own washing, and very intently trying not to be obvious as they watch this entire interaction unfold.

“How did you know I’d be home today?” You ask as you drop the pair of cotton drawers in your hands back into your laundry basket as casually as you can manage.

“I discreetly inquired as to your work schedule,” He admits as he glances down. “I wanted to come and ask if you’d like to attend the theater with me on Friday night, and I didn’t want to have to do it while you were at work.”

“And I assume whomever you asked for my hours also let slip that I would not be working Friday night?” You ask with a knowing smile. “So that I’d have no excuse to turn you down.”

“I am a very thorough man,” Anthony replies with a smirk.

“I have nothing to wear to the theater,” You start to protest. As your mind already starts to think of all the things that can go wrong, and all the reasons that this would be a horrible idea.

“I will take care of that,” Anthony replies with a wave of his hand.

“It would be terribly public,” You add.

“Courting does tend to be public,” He responds.

“People will talk, it won't take long for people to discover who I am, I am no actor,” You say, shaking your head. It would be easy for any man who shops in the store to recognize you. And the notoriety for you would be career-ruining, forget the scandal that Anthony would bring upon his own family. “It’ll be a scandal. Neither one of us wants that.”

“My family has a box, but I was thinking we could sit somewhere less… visible,” Anthony offers.

“I would prefer that,” You say with a nod. Shocking yourself with your easy acceptance.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” Anthony says. Please that he doesn’t have to strong-arm you into agreeing to go with him.

“Oh, that’s not…” You reply quickly, trailing off your refusal. “I will meet you there.”

Anthony opened his mouth to protest, but the look in your eye assured him that we would not be able to make you budge.

“And I’ll find something of my own to wear,” You add.

“Meet me at the back entrance to The Lyceum at 7:30,” Anthony tells you.

“I look forward to it,” You reply with a nod. “Now go away, before the neighbors have any more to gossip about,” You add as you shoo at him with a damp kitchen towel, causing him to chuckle before he turns to make his way back the way he came.

“Mrs. Haymow said a man came to speak to you this afternoon.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. It’s always facts with your brother. John is a pragmatist above all else. And a succinct speaker thanks to his political inclinations.

He needs to make his points clearly and quickly to get anywhere with the movement.

“Mrs. Haymow has nothing better to do than to stick her nose in other people’s business,” You reply with a huff as you drop John’s plate down in front of him, it clattering loudly against the wood as you move to grab your own plate from the small counter.

It’s been the two of you for a long, long time. And after your parents died John took it upon himself to raise you. And it hadn’t been easy, but you had both been incredibly lucky.

And you’d always be grateful for all John did for you, but you would not let him dictate your life, or but into things that are not his concern.

“She said he was a very well-dressed man, that he looked like a gentleman,” John continues, ignoring your comment entirely.

When you don’t respond John finally looks up from his paper, his eyes boring into yours from across the tiny side table you ate your meals.

“Why did a gentleman come to speak to you?” He asks.

“I- he tracked down my address from someone at work, I don’t know,” You tell him. Always sprinkle in a sliver of truth when you lie. That had been one of the first lessons you’d learned once you were out on your own. “I sent him on his way as quickly as I could, did Mrs. Haymow tell you that?” You ask pointedly as you stab your fork into a potato.

“I just… I don’t want you getting mixed up with one of ‘em,” John replies. “That lot are bad news, always have been for folks like us.”

“I’m a big girl,” You tell him with a shake of your head. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know you can, but I also know men like that will fill your head with all sorts of lies to get what they want,” He replies, glancing at you with a patronizing paternal look in his eyes that requires everything in your power to keep yourself from rolling your eyes at him.

“I know,” You reply quietly as you look down at your plate, before John nods and you both eat your food in silence.

The Lyceum is one of the most beautiful theaters in London. The stately Roman Columns in front of the theater were imposing and gave the entire building a delightfully fitting gravitas.

In another life, you might have been an actress (if you’d been blessed with even a lick of talent, of course). But you always liked to daydream about sewing costumes for the theater when you walked through the West End.

It was a fanciful dream filled with glamor and frivolity, but just possible enough that it didn’t leave you hopeless in your current life.

And walking down the West End tonight you felt like there was an entirely new life to daydream.

The life of a Lady.

You’d spent the rest of the week working on the dress.

Even if you didn’t necessarily feel like a lady, you certainly looked the part.

Your hair stood expertly pinned into one of the styles you’d seen making the rounds in the Ladies' magazines you’d seen some of the other seamstresses passing around. You had been practicing all week to get your hair to cooperate, and tonight you’d finally managed to obtain the look you’d been going for (after an hour of contemplating tearing all of your hair out).

And you’d put hours into hand beading the neckline of your dress. Adding puffs to the sleeves and just enough ruching that you looked elegant and nouveau without tipping toward gaudy.

The fabric wasn’t new, you’d had to scrape together a nice gossamer you’d bought secondhand from a modiste (who had decided it was already out of style for her customers), a simple dress you’d already owned, and some cast-offs that Margery who worked down the street from you as a seamstress had been able to snatch without her mistress noticing.

But by God, it looked like it had come straight from one of the French modistes on Bond Street.

You were terribly pleased with yourself.

The street was packed with fellow theater-goers in their own finery, and no one gave you a second glance or questioned your presence as you made your way through the crowd. You were already smiling as you walked around the corner of the Lyceum when you saw Anthony waiting outside a side door.

“Miss,” He greets you as he bows slightly once you’re standing in front of him.

“My Lord,” You reply, dropping into your own curtsy as you try not to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

Anthony Bridgerton looked like he was born to attend the theater. Or any of these events for the aristocracy. A waistcoat and tails were surely invented with him in mind, and you were not ashamed to admit that he made a dashing and unbelievable handsome image as he stood before you.

“This is…” Anthony starts to say before he trails off.

“Strange?” You offer with a wry smile.

“I was going to say it’s nice,” Anthony says.

“Oh.”

You didn’t know what to do, or to say. You had no clue how proper ladies behaved, or what exactly you were supposed to do in the presence of a gentleman within the confines of propriety.

“I’ve never had to pretend to be a lady before,” You quip as you tug at the shall you have draped over your elbows, the scrap of fabric you’d had left over from your dress.

“You are a lady-“ Anthony replies, already beginning to protest.

“No,” You reply, laughing slightly. “I am not.”

And you’ve never minded before. Unlike some of the other seamstresses or tailors in your acquaintance, you’d never felt a need to dream of a life in the upper echelons of society. You’d never understood their jealousy towards the people who bought the clothes you made. The way they yearned for a life they could never have.

And you weren’t fanciful, you weren’t foolish enough to believe that Anthony would offer that life to you. That he could offer it to you. But you did find yourself wishing he’d spotted you from across a ballroom instead of across the shop floor. That there could have been a semblance of a fair shot for the two of you.

But you pushed those thoughts out of your head. It wouldn’t do you any good to ruminate on the could have, should have, would haves of life.

You were determined to enjoy your evening.

“I’m sorry we can’t watch from the audience with everyone else, I feel like I’m depriving you of the proper experience,” You tell him.

You’re not ashamed of yourself, but you can’t fully put out of your mind the inkling of fear that Anthony will be disappointed once he comes to truly know you. And see the fully unpolished person that you are.

“I don’t care as long as I’m with you,” He tells you gently, taking your hand in his own hand and squeezing it.

“But are you absolutely certain you don’t want to sit in a box? It seems a terrible waste to hide you, especially when you look as lovely as you do tonight,” He adds.

“I’ve never been to the theater, I’d much rather watch the show than be the spectacle,” You admit.

“Then it’s a good thing I got us the best seats in the house,” Anthony replies.

Anthony offers you his arm and you know enough to intertwine your arm with his as he opens the door for you and leads you into the backstage of the theater.

You make your way silently past workers moving sets and candelabras and rigging lights. You watch actors in elaborate costumes muttering to themselves or having hushed conversations with each other all while you watch on in awe.

You suddenly remember who you’re with and quickly shut your open mouth as you glance over at Anthony sheepishly only to see him watching you with a pleased smile.

“I’m sorry, I’ve never seen such beautiful clothing up close,” You tell him quietly.

“Of course, would you like to see it even closer?” He asks as he’s already beginning to pull you towards an actor.

“Oh heavens, no,” You protest quickly as you pull him back before you find yourself being introduced to some highfalutin Shakespearean actor. “I can’t-I don’t-”

“It’s alright, we don’t have to,” Anthony replies. “Maybe next time though,” He teases as he pulls you back along the edge of the backstage.

“So where are these best seats in the house?” You ask as you glance around. You’re not entirely sure what you were expecting, but after refusing to sit in the audience you seemed to have forgotten that there aren’t exactly other seating options.

“Follow me,” He says as he leads you towards the edge of the stage.

“William,” He greets a young boy. “Are we alright to go up?” He asks.

“Of course, sir,” the boy replies with a nod.

“Watch your step,” Anthony says as he offers you a hand to help you step up onto the ladder leading up to the catwalk. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“This isn’t my first time on a ladder, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply as you grab a fistful of your skirt before beginning your climb. Unaware of the fact that your now exposed shins are directly in front of Anthony’s eye line, or the effect that they are having on him.

“So how does a Viscount befriend a stagehand?” You ask once the two of you are sitting on the small bench along the catwalk, a blanket already draped across the seats when you reach the top of the ladder, a detail that did not escape your notice.

“It’s a long story,” Anthony replies as he rubs at his ear.

“Does it have anything to do with the opera singer who used to be your mistress?” You ask teasingly. “I can read, you know, and there is nothing seamstresses love more than reading the gossip sheets about our customers.”

“So you’d read about me,” Anthony replies, waggling his eyebrows at you in a ridiculous manner.

“You have chosen a very interesting part of my response to latch on to, Lord Bridgerton,” You reply with a scoff.

“You don’t need to worry about upsetting me,” You add. “I wouldn’t expect you to have never touched a woman before, that hardly seems fair.”

“The play’s about to start,” Anthony shushes you with a grin as he gestures towards the stage.

The moment the music begins and candlelight illuminates the stage your attention is immediately focused on the stage in front of you. Even from the side perspective of the stage, it’s not difficult for the production to become your sole concentration with the actor’s convictions having you completely riveted.

Thank God it’s Shakespeare and not an opera, the Old English is tricky enough for you to distinguish let alone a different language. You would have been completely lost.

“Is he truly mad? Or is he just pretending to be?” You whisper as you lean over to Anthony in the middle of the performance.

“He is pretending for the others, but that is a point that scholars often debate,” Anthony replies as he turns to you, your own gaze still completely focused on the actors.

You’re invested. And even though you harumph quietly to yourself when Ophelia drowns herself you find yourself deeply emotionally invested in the story.

Your every reaction is written all over your face, and you wince when you ought to, groan quietly when things don’t go the right way, and even gasp quietly when you realize how the story is going to end. Anthony finds himself watching you more than the play. Maybe because he’s already seen Hamlet and knows how it ends, but mostly because you and your face are far more compelling.

It’s easy for Anthony to see that you wear your heart on your sleeve. You're so open, and your emotions play over your face even just at watching the fictional story that is unfolding before you. He understands why you're guarded. Why you feel like you need to protect yourself, but also sees what he had never quite been able to put a finger on before. The reason he had found you so captivating in the first place.

Your every move, your every word, you are unafraid to be yourself. His world is chalked full of people telling him how to behave, with expectations of who he is before they even meet him. Every young lady his mother has foisted upon him is so completely terrified of being a person because they’re all worried that suitors like him won’t like them if they are themselves.

You do not have that problem. You are unapologetic and unflinching in the face of a world that will do anything in its power to crush that down inside of you. You’re a bloody miracle and Anthony has no idea how you’ve made it this far in life.

And he’s also desperate to ensure that you remain so. And terrified of what might happen to you if he does not protect you with everything he has.

In the end, you're clapping just as loudly as the audience as you stand to your feet. Anthony stands beside you, applauding as well, though not nearly as excitedly.

“I would very much like to kiss you,” Anthony whispers in your ear. His warm breath tickles the exposed skin at your hairline.

“You can,” You reply in your own hushed tone as your head turns to look at him.

Your eyes meet his as you grant him permission and suddenly his hand is coming up to the side of your neck as he presses his lips to yours.

You know this is a terrible idea. That nothing good can come from this thing with Lord Bridgerton. That one way or another you’re going to get hurt. That the damage is only reaching deeper and deeper the more time you spend with this man. This man has everything he needs to ruin you.

But with his lips on yours, it’s hard to feel like this is anything other than right.

Like you’re meant for each other.

597 notes · View notes

make-me-imagine · 2 years

Text

Truth Unseen

Plot/Trope: We're best-friends and I didn't realize I was in love with you, until I saw you with someone else.

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x GN!Reader *Used 'Mx.' In place of Miss/Mrs/Mr, etc

Warnings: A kiss at the end, but that's it!

Words: 4k

The sound of mixed conversation, music, laughter and clinking glasses filled your ears as you entered the large room. You swallowed hard, and took a deep breath, your chest tight with anxiety.

"See? Isn't it lovely?" Your mother asked as she ushered you further into the room.

"Yes. Lovely." You smiled at her, trying to subdue your anxieties.

Your first proper ball for your first proper season. You had managed to delay one year, but your parents would never allow you another year off. You had delayed as long as you could, now, you must find a spouse, much to your dismay.

As your eyes grazed over the crowds of people, you felt a rush of anxiety when you met the eyes of an approaching man. Bowing to your mother in greeting he stepped towards you.

"Well, don't you look...shiny." Benedict said, trying to hide an amused smile.

Quickly, you reached out and pinched his arm, unnoticed by anyone else. Letting out a soft gasp he smiled even wider. "Manners." He teased as he reached out his arm for you to take.

Looping your's through his, he lead you further into the room. "I don't need your incessant teasing Benedict, not tonight. I have enough I need to deal with." You attempted to sound playful, but Benedict could easily pick up on your anxiety.

Leaning his head a bit closer, he spoke softly. "You'll be fine."

You locked eyes with him, and he smiled encouragingly at you. Returning the smile, though it held mostly anxiety, you looked out into the crowd of people, wondering how many, if any, would wish to dance with you.

Benedict felt anxiety in his own chest as he saw your nervous eyes flicking around the room. He knew you had been dreading your first season, and he in turn had been anxious for you. Though, the pit in his stomach seemed unusually intense. Just because it is your first season, does not mean you will meet someone.

Maybe it wont happen. Though, surely he wanted it to? For you to meet someone you could fall in love with? Why did that thought seem to terrify him so? Was it the fear of losing his best friend? What if your marriage lead to you being whisked off far away? Yes, that was why he was anxious. He did not want to lose his friend.

"Alright. I think I best be off. I don't want to scare off all your suitors." Benedict said softly as he stepped away from you. Smiling one more time at you with an much encouragement as he could convey, he walked away, leaving you alone in the crowd.

As you watched him walk away, you felt your stomach knot. You wanted to reach out and drag him back to you. Beg him not to leave your side. But more than that, you felt pain shoot through your chest as you forced yourself to accept that those years spent waiting for him to see you as anything more than your friend was over. Time was up.

Letting out a soft breath, you looked around, meeting the smiling faces of some of your friends. Suddenly, your eyes locked with a handsome man you had never met. He smiled at you, and you felt your face grow hot. Then, he began to approach you.

Benedict let out a drawn out breath as he settled beside his brother. The further he walked away from you, the worse he felt. He convinced himself it was his protective bond over you. And an unusual guilt and fear of leaving you to the wolves in a way.

His eyes immediately looked up to find you, but you were lost in the crowd. Feeling eyes on him, he looked to his left, to see Anthony staring at him.

"What?" Benedict started.

Anthony stuck out his lip a bit and shook his head. "Nothing. How's Y/n?"

Benedict instinctively looked out at the crowd again. "Stressed."

Anthony nodded his head. "And you?"

Benedict looked over at him and furrowed his brow. "Well, I suppose I am anxious for them."

"Is that all?"

"What do you mean?" Benedict asked turning towards him.

Anthony shrugged his shoulders a bit. "I'm just wondering if that's all you feel. I expected you to feel...more, is all."

"More? More than wh-?" Benedict questioned as his eyes flicked to the crowd. Suddenly his words dies on his lips when he spotted you arm in arm with a man he did not know. You had a shy smile on your face as you moved to the dance floor with him.

Benedict watched as you began the dance. The man circled you, keeping his eyes on you in an intense stare. He said something to you, and you laughed. Benedict felt his gut clench and his chest tighten.

"Ah, Viscount Hawthorne." Anthony commented, seeing who you were dancing with.

"A Viscount?" Benedict asked. "Surely Y/n wouldn't be interested in him."

"What's wrong with a Viscount?" Anthony asked definsively.

"I just mean Y/n doesn't want a title, nor would they want the duties that come with it. Surely there is someone better they could be dancing with."

Anthony smiled as he watched his brother. "And are you going to tell Y/n that?"

"Well, no. I don't know. Maybe. If I did, I would be acting in Y/n's best interest."

"Are you sure you're not acting in yours?"

"What does that mean?"

"I just mean, maybe you don't want to let go of Y/n."

Benedict looked back at you, watching as you smiled and danced with the Viscount. He felt his heart pounding at the sight. Shrugging his shoulder a bit he looked at Anthony. "Well, I mean, who would want to watch their best friend be taken away?"

Anthony rolled his eyes and shook his head. Lightly patting his brother's shoulder, Anthony gave him a small incredulous smile before walking off, leaving Benedict confused and speechless.

Benedict found himself looking for you again. His eyes watched you as you gracefully danced among the crowd. You were by far the most attractive person there. He found himself smiling fondly at you, admiring the smile on your face. This was the first time he was seeing you dance from a distance. Usually he was the one across from you, the one smiling and talking with you while dancing.

Realizing that the song playing was different than before, he figured out you were dancing twice in a row with the Viscount. If that was so, then you must truly be interested in him.

Benedict felt his heart drop at this thought. Suddenly he thought forward in time. Seeing you less and less as you spent your days with the Viscount. Him courting you. Then you getting married. Him never getting to dance with you again. Benedict watching you smile and laugh for him instead. Watching you love another man. Another man that wasn't him.

Just then, your eyes stretched out along the room, locking with Benedict. Your eyes seemed to brighten a bit, your smile widened, just for him. Only for a moment, but he saw it. For the first time, he saw it.

'Oh.'

Benedict stared at you, his heart racing, his head spinning. The realization coming over him that what he had been feeling all this time wasn't love for a friend. It was more, it was romantic love.

Suddenly everything else flashed through his mind. The way he would seek you out in every room. How you knew all of his secrets, his dreams, and fears. And how you were never afraid to tell him yours. The sudden desire he would get to take your hand in his when you were walking together. The way his heart would race when he saw you enter a room. How happy he was when you danced together. How you could make each other laugh and smile like no one else.

How had he convinced himself that he still only saw you as a friend? When did it change? When had you become more important to him than anyone? When had he fallen so deeply for you?

Suddenly it donned on him what Anthony meant. 'Are you sure you're not acting in yours?' He was. He did not wish to drag you away from the Viscount for your own good. He wanted to do it for his. So he would not lose you. So he would not lose the love of his life.

Anthony had seen it when Benedict did not. Looking across the room, he locked eyes with his brother. Anthony's face changed as he could see the realization in Benedict's eyes, and the uncertainty. Anthony motioned his head towards you before looking back at Benedict and nodding encouragingly.

Benedict's eyes landed back on you. The song was over, another would be starting soon. You were smiling and talking to your friends, sparing a glance or two at the Viscount, who watched you closely, as though you were prey.

Benedict felt another knot of jealousy in his gut, and before he knew it, he was striding across the room. He noticed the Viscount making his way back towards you, and noted another nearby man watching you. Swiftly Benedict stepped up beside you, and your eyes shot up to meet his.

"Ben." You greeted with a smile.

Reaching out his hand he smiled at you. "Dance?"

He could see you were surprised at his actions, having thought that he would stay away from you throughout the night. Leaving only suitors to approach you. But unbeknownst to you, Benedict now saw himself as such.

Though you were surprised and a bit confused, you took Benedict's hand with a smile. You would always be ready to accept a dance with him. Though suddenly, a sad thought passed through your mind, telling you this might be one of the last.

As you began your dance with Benedict, you noted the way his eyes seemed to shine a bit differently. There was something there, that hadn't been before. His eyes never seemed to leave you, and he looked at you in a strange way. Not an unwelcome one, but it was new.

Stepping closer, your hands hovering in front of each others, faces close, you spoke softly. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

Benedict's smile grew a bit more as you stepped away from one another, circling with the music. With a step closer, came his answer. His voice low, but strong, his smile bright, but not teasing. "You look amazing."

Your voice caught in your throat at his compliment. He had never once complimented you like that. He had told you you looked nice, proper, elegant, or he would tease your tailored shiny clothes, or un-moving hairstyles. But never once had he said you looked "amazing" Why was he saying it now? And why did he say it like that.

He noted your loss of words, and the slight change in tint of your face, and smiled to himself. He kept his eyes locked with yours throughout the dance, relishing in the soft touches of your hands or shoulders as you crossed paths during the dance.

Every time he had danced with you before, he hadn't picked up on the electricity that ran through his skin every time you touched. But he knew there was something that always made him want to dance with you, and never stop.

Much sooner than he wanted, the song ended, and you were now standing in silence across from each other. His eyes were still steady staring into yours as he found the courage to speak again. But just as he opened his mouth, he was interrupted when your mother approached.

"Me and your father have someone we want you to meet." Sparing Benedict a smile, your mother began to drag you off before he could say anything.

As you were pulled away, you looked over your mother's shoulder, locking onto Benedict's eyes one more time before he disappeared in the crowd.

Benedict felt his courage falter as your mother took you away. She must think he was working with you to avoid suitors. And though in a way that was what he was doing, it was not for the reason she would think, or expect. For she had long since given up hope that you and Benedict would become betrothed, though the thought had many a time crossed her mind over the years.

Benedict sought you out various times throughout the night, but was thwarted each time. He suffered throughout the rest of the ball, watching as you danced with man after man, and the Viscount two more times by the end of the night.

His mind was racing the entire time, as he pleaded for the ball to end. And by the time it did, he was tormenting himself with 'what if's' and 'what now', as he saw your carriage speed off into the night before he had to chance to see you again.

Anthony must have seen, or understood what had happened, for he did not bother or question his brother. But patted him on the back as he passed.

Benedict thoughts kept him up throughout the night. He sat alone in the studio, paper and pencil in hand as he sketched his thoughts away. At his feet sat a pile of crumpled and thrown out drawings.

Ripping off another page and tossing it to the floor, Benedict sighed, looking around the room at the paintings on the walls. His eyes paused on an old painting, a portrait. As Benedict stared at it, he noticed similarities to you. The eyes were a similar color, but the shape of the face wasn't right, nor the color of the hair.

Suddenly feeling the inspiration to draw you, he began to sketch, quickly, yet precisely. He had drawn you before, when you agreed to help him study the curvature of hands, or how to properly draw a nose. But now it felt different. Your face appeared on the paper from memory, every delicate feature he didn't know he knew so well.

By the time the morning light began to fill the room, the drawing was done. He smiled at it, as he looked at the familiar profile. Every curve, every feature, every freckle or spot, directly from memory, where you lived so permanently. It was perfect. It was you.

Looking at the clock, he began to feel restless, he wanted to see you, needed to. You would be waking soon, and then you would be getting ready to meet your suitors. Rising, he looked down at his disheveled appearance before rushing to his room to change.

-----

You spent your morning watching as your mother paced in and out of the room, making notes on your appearance. Reminding you of the do's and don't's of meeting suitors. All while you sat in a silent panic, worried for what was to come. Looking out the window, your mind wandered to Benedict.

Throughout the rest of the ball the previous night, you often saw him watching you. The look in his eyes, his demeanor, it was different. Your mother even noticed and commented on it, saying he was being protective of you. You knew that could be it, but something in you told you it wasn't, that it was something more. The way he looked at you when you danced, he had never looked at you like that before.

You kept catching yourself imagining he had finally seen that you had feelings for him, causing him to feel them in return. You shunned the thought, thinking it childish. Those kind of feelings, those deep feelings that you had for him, took years to build. Surely he couldn't have suddenly developed them over night.

No, surely not. You would have to accept it. This was it. Your feelings for him would have to be pushed away. You had to accept someone else in exchange. Perhaps the Viscount? He was nice, handsome, and certainly interested in you.

Sighing you shook your head. No, it didn't matter who walked through those doors with compliments and flowers. None of them could hold a candle to Benedict.

"Are you alright Mx.?"

You looked up, seeing the reflection of your maid in the mirror, looking at you with worry. You had known her for so long, she was one of the few people who knew of your feelings toward Benedict. You even mentioned his odd behavior last night.

You smiled, and nodded. "Just nervous."

She smiled at you. "Yes, I can imagine." She paused, seemingly thinking for a moment before she spoke cautiously. "Do you think he'll come?"

You met her eyes in the reflection and then looked down, feeling an ache in your chest. "No. No I don't think he will."

-----

Benedict ran through what he was going to say as he marched down the street. His stride was long and fast, and his face must have been one of determination as people watched him past with wonder, or stepped quickly out of his path.

Walking up to your door, he let out a breath of relief as he saw he had arrived before any suitors. He knew he was far earlier than anyone was expected at the house, but he could not wait any longer.

As you sat in the sitting room, fiddling with the hem of your sleeve, your mother fitted around the room with a servant, preparing for the suitors. Both of you wre surprised when the door swung open, and a visitor was announced

"It's much to early, who would come at this time?" Your mother asked only moments before Benedict appeared in the room. "Oh, Benedict." Your mother exclaimed as she let out a breath of relief. "What on Earth are you doing here so early?"

Your eyes were wide with surprise and uncertainty, waiting for his response. His eyes passed over your mother and landed on you, you saw the nervousness in his gaze, and you held your breath.

Before he could speak, your mother began to talk again. "Oh, is it that you are worried about who will come? Protective as ever. With you here, the suitors might all run off." She joked.

"That's not why I'm here." He finally spoke. "I mean, I'm not here as a friend."

"Has something happened?" Your mother asked, missing the point of his words.

You however understood them, as you stood up quickly, your heart jumping in your chest. His eyes stared past your mothers shoulder, and straight into yours.

Your mother noticed this, and turned to look at you, seeing how your eyes were locked with his. Suddenly realization crossed her features. "Oh. Oh I see. Very well then, I will step out and give you two a moment."

You stood nervously by the couch as your mother all but sprinted from the room, giving you once last glance as she closed the doors behind Benedict.

You and Benedict stood in silence, and for the first time ever, you felt awkward around him. Taking a step forward, you opened your mouth, but faltered.

Seeing that you were unsure of what to say or do, Benedict cleared his throat before reaching into his coat. "I have something for you."

You watched as he pulled out a rolled piece of parchment paper. Walking up to you, he gave it to you. Slowly, you unraveled the paper, and stared wide-eyed at the beautiful and detailed drawing of you.

"Ben, th-this is amazing." You smiled down at the drawing, and he felt his heart flutter.

"I would...like to put it down in paint some day." He said softly.

You looked up, meeting his eyes. "How long have you been working on this?"

He let out a soft chuckle. "All last night. I started it, and didn't stop until it was done."

You looked down at it again, noting the detail in every spot. You wondered how he could have done it in one night so perfectly. "Why?" You asked suddenly, looking up at him. There were so many questions all tied into that one word.

'Why now?' 'What does it mean?' 'Why are you here?'

Benedict smiled at you, it was faint, almost guilty. "Because I love you."

'As your friend' is what you expected to follow, but it didn't. And the look in hi eyes told you that was not what he meant. Your heart seemed to stop for a moment, your breath stopped, your chest clenched. This was too good to be true.

You shook you head and let out a scoff. "Don't say that."

Benedict frowned. "Why not?"

"Don't say it unless you mean it." You reiterated, your voice held a tone of desperation.

Benedict shook his head as he took a step closer to you, he was so close. You looked down at the ground, and closed your eyes in desperation as you felt him place his hands on your arms "Y/n. Look at me."

Taking a breath, you looked up, meeting his eyes. You spoke softly, afraid to speak any louder. "Please don't lie to me."

Benedict felt his heart ache in his chest. "I would never lie to you."

"If this is just some- some, ploy to get me out of having to marry someone I don't know, I, I can't handle that. You can't do that to me. Not after all this time, I've been pushing away these feelings, telling myself you could never feel the same. So don't- don't lie to me Benedict please."

Suddenly, before you could say more, Benedict pulled you forward. His lips crashed against yours, and you fell completely still. His hands cupped either side of your face as he deepened the kiss. Your mind went blank, and you felt yourself begin to give in, just as he pulled away.

Your eyes opened, and met his, as he still held your face in his hands. He whispered softly. "I'm not lying to you." He smiled reassuringly. "I was lying to myself. All these years I convinced myself what I was feeling was just friendship, but it wasn't. Last night when I saw you dancing with that Viscount, I realized I might lose you. And I was so scared of that. And then I realized why. I wasn't just scared to lose you, I was scared I was too late in realizing what I was feeling was love. I love you Y/n, I have for so long. And I am so sorry I was so blind to it. You are not just my best friend Y/n, you are the love of my life."

You felt your eyes beginning to tear up as emotion washed over you. "I was so afraid to lose you too Benedict."

Leaning in, he pressed a kiss to your forehead. "You wont lose me, now or ever."

You smiled at him, bright and gleaming, as relief and happiness washed over you. Seeing his eyes flick to your lips once more, you both leaned in, meeting in another kiss.

You felt as though your body was blanketed in electricity as you kissed. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you leaned against him. His arms wrapped around your waist as he held you close to him.

When you finally parted, you were all smiles as you pressed your foreheads together. Hearing a knock at the door downstairs, you and Benedict shared a similar thought.

"Oh no." You muttered.

"Suitors." Benedict finished.

You both let out a soft laugh. "Do you think your mother would listen if I told her to have them sent away?"

"I guess there is one way to find out."

Smiling at you, he pressed a quick kiss to your lips before pulling away. Walking away from you and towards the door, you watched as he left, sparing you a smiling glance as he disappeared. You stood in silence for a moment, looking down at the drawing of yourself.

Suddenly, from a nearby room, you heard your mother gasp, followed by a loud clap of her hands and a familiar joyous laugh. You laughed under your breath, knowing this was what she had wanted from the beginning of your friendship with Benedict. And a desire, just like you, she had begun to give up on.

xx End xx

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imagines-all-day-everyday · 2 years

Text

The Rake & the Spinster

Summary:

With the Bridgerton's and the Dappleton's having always lived side by side, *yn* Dappleton is the unofficial ninth Bridgerton sibling, and Benedict Bridgerton has been her friend for as long as she can remember. However, when *yn* officially makes her debut into society with every intent of finding a husband, Benedict begins to realise that perhaps it is more than a friendship that he seeks.

Warnings: none, this is pure fluff <3

Notes: This might be one of my favourite fics I have ever written. Big call I know but eeeee!

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

"Miss Dappleton, Lord Dappleton has requested your presence."

*yn*'s brow furrowed, peering over the top of her book at the servant that stood expectantly at the doorway.

"What ever for?"

"He did not specify, miss. He is in his study waiting for you."

*yn* sighed begrudgingly and placed the book on the couch beside her. "Honestly, that man can never do anything on his own." She grumbled under her breath as she rose from her seat.

She made her way through the various hallways and rooms that made up her home before coming to a stop outside the study door.

"Come in." A muffled voice spoke from within in response to her knock. She edged open the door, peaking inside to see Lord Dappleton seated at his desk, his head buried in a mountain of paperwork.

"Ah *yn*, come come." He beckoned her, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her hovering in the doorway.

"Is everything alright father? Do you need assistance with the ledgers again?" *yn* implored as she came to stand in front of his desk.

"The what - oh no no no." He fussed, shaking his head and chuckling as he pushed the papers away from him.

"It's about you. I've made an appointment at Madame Delacroix's for tomorrow at 10 am."

"Madame Delacroix's?" *yn* echoed, her nose crinkling in confusion. "What ever for? I have enough dresses to last me till the end of the season."

"Well you're going to need new dresses if you are to formally make your debut into society."

"My what?" She exclaimed. "But father we agreed-"

"-I know what we agreed. That you would debut when you were ready. But you are one and twenty now *yn*-"

"But-"

"No buts." He cut her off once more. "You know I have always championed your independence, but Lady Bridgerton and I have both agreed that-"

"Lady Bridgerton? Oh so you two have been scheming behind my back to decide my future?" *yn* scoffed, folding her arms in front of chest.

"Now *yn* you know that woman loves you like one of her own." Lord Dappleton scolded. "We both have agreed that this is what is best for you and if you want to have any hopes of finding a decent husband then you must debut this season. Now, Lady Bridgerton has offered to escort you to your appointment tomorrow. You do not have to accept her invitation of course. But, she will be coming over tomorrow afternoon to discuss the details of your debut with you."

"I really do not get a say in this do I?" She murmured as he turned his attention back to the papers before him, signalling that she was dismissed.

"No my dear, I am afraid you do not."

There was a pause as *yn* studied her father for a few moments. Her first instinct was to argue, but there was an edge to her father's voice, one that she had only heard a handful of times in her life. And every single time she had heard that tone, he had always gotten his way.

"She can come to the appointment I suppose." *yn* grumbled.

Her words made a smile twitch up onto her father's lips as he looked at her over his spectacles.

"Excellent, I will advise her."

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

"Well it's official. I'm coming out."

"Come again?"

*yn* brought the cigarette to her lips, inhaling deeply before tilting her head back and letting the smoke waft up towards the moon.

"I am making my debut into society."

"You're having a laugh."

"I'm afraid I am not dearest Benedict, I am to formally debut myself this weekend." *yn* twisted on the swing turning to look at the second eldest Bridgerton.

"At the Cowper's ball of all places no less." Her nose wrinkling in disgust.

"If this is your idea of a practical joke, you've done much better." Benedict smirked, exhaling a puff of smoke as he pushed his feet off the ground to move the swing.

"I wish I was joking." *yn* deadpanned. "Father spoke to me this morning, apparently him and your mother have decided that if I have any chance of finding a decent husband I must debut this season."

*yn*'s body jerked forward as Benedict planted his feet on the ground, the swing coming to a sudden stop.

"You're being serious." He stated, causing her to roll her eyes.

"That is what I have been saying." *yn* huffed as she rose to her feet. "I am to go to the dressmaker's tomorrow morning with your mother."

Benedict studied her for a few moments before he tilted his head back and let out a howl of laughter. "This is bloody brilliant."

"You're going to have to have one of those silly dance cards and everything. And you'll have gentlemen callers, oh you will love that." He cackled, clutching at his sides as he laughed.

"I am so glad you find my predicament so amusing Bridgerton." She huffed, placing her hands on her hips, a smile still on her lips despite her best efforts to look irritated.

"Oh I do, I really do."

"What are you two guffawing about?"

*yn* and Benedict glanced up to see Eloise Bridgerton making her way towards them.

"*yn*'s just informed me that she is making her debut this season." Benedict grinned.

"Oh no, not you too. I thought at least one of us would be spared the torture." Eloise despaired as she came to take a seat beside her brother.

"Unfortunately not dear Eloise. Apparently I am on the verge of becoming a spinster at the ripe old age of one and twenty." *yn* proclaimed causing both the Bridgerton siblings to burst into laughter.

"What about you and Benedict's plan to indefinitely galavant around and terrorise the ton with your rake and spinster ways?" Eloise asked as she glanced between them.

"Unfortunately only one of us has the pleasure of choosing when and if they will marry." *yn* answered, shooting Benedict a pointed look as she came back to join the siblings.

Despite her jokes and sarcasm, the thought of the impending season was making her feel quite ill. It was finally beginning to sink in that by the end of the season, she would more than likely have a husband. One who she might not even love.

"Do not fret sister, I will be enough of a rake for the both of us. Is that not right *yn*?" Benedict winked at *yn* as he pulled out a fresh cigarette.

*yn* ignored the pang in her stomach at his words, "that is right." She answered, forcing a smile onto her lips as she sat down on the grass in front of them.

"I cannot believe our society still demands this of us." Eloise complained as she lit a cigarette of her own.

"Do not despair El, with you, me and Anthony out this season it will at least not be a boring one." *yn* comforted her.

"I suppose you are right." Eloise sighed. "Plus Lady Whistledown has returned, that will make for some titivating drama as always."

"Well let us all pray that a scandal so big happens that Lady Whistledown forgets all about your family this season." *yn* remarked as she rose to her feet.

"You are leaving? So soon?" Benedict asked, straightening up on his swing as he studied her intently.

"Yes I should, I must be up bright and early in preparation for what I am sure will be a thrilling expedition to Madame Delacroix's." She sighed as she smoothed her dress out.

"But we had not even begun to discuss my dear brother's courtship and the sister sent to torture him." He complained.

"Come now Benny do not sulk." *yn* teased as she touched his shoulder comfortingly. "You can tell me all about this sister birthed from hell itself at the Cowper ball, goodness knows I will need something to pass the time." She sighed, shivering at the mere thought.

"El, I will see you at the ball too?"

"Sadly, yes." Eloise grimaced.

"Excellent, well with that I will bid you goodnight Bridgertons." She jokingly curtseyed.

"Goodnight *yn*!" The pair chorused back. *yn* grinned at them, giving them one last wave before she picked up her dress and made her way to the small hole in the hedge that divided their homes.

*yn* and her father had lived beside the Bridgertons in the ton for her entire life. Her mother had been taken by a fever before *yn* could even walk and with her father refusing to remarry, it had always been just her and her father.

Violet Bridgerton and Arthur Dappleton had always been close, and when *yn*'s mother died they grew even closer, with Violet helping a very hopeless single father with raising a daughter. *yn* had grown up with the eight siblings, closest to Eloise and Daphne given the age proximity. But as she aged, she found herself growing closer to the older brothers, particularly with Benedict. Now she would consider him one of her closest friends.

The fact that she had been in love with him for as long as she could remember did ever so slightly complicate things. But overtime she had learnt to suppress it, telling herself that nothing would ever come of it. It was easier that way.

"I cannot believe *yn*'s left me alone with you." Benedict complained once *yn* had disappeared through the hedge. He chuckled as Eloise shoved him playfully in response.

"You know." Eloise began as silence fell over the garden, the faint sound of birds chirping in the distance. "I always thought you two would end up together."

Her words made Benedict jerk upright, so suddenly that he very nearly slipped off his seat. Eloise stifled a laugh as her brother's hand shot up to grip the rope of the swing to steady himself as he turned to look at her.

"Who? Me and *yn*?" Benedict inquired incredulously.

"Do not be absurd Eloise." He shook his head when Eloise nodded. "She is like a fifth sister, to think of her that way-" He cut himself as he felt his cheeks growing flush under Eloise's stare.

"That might be one of the daftest things you have ever uttered and that is the last I will say on the matter." He muttered, taking a deep inhale of his cigarette.

"Whatever you say brother." Eloise mused, a knowing look on her features as she glanced back over at the Dappleton estate.

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

"How long are we expected to be here mama?"

"I too would like to know the answer to that question."

"Hush you two, Eloise you have not even had one dance yet." Violet dismissed her children. Eloise and Benedict both simultaneously rolled their eyes, shooting each other looks of displeasure before following begrudgingly after their mother.

"I have not caught sight of *yn* yet, she better be here." Eloise grumbled to Benedict as they weaved through the throng of people.

Both of them nearly collided into the back of their mother who had come to a sudden halt beside Lady Danbury.

"Oh Lady Bridgerton you have outdone yourself." They heard Lady Danbury say to their mother.

"Why thank you Lady Danbury."

Benedict and Eloise shot each other puzzled looks before hurrying to get around their mother.

"Woah." Eloise breathed out.

Benedict froze when his eyes fell on the source of Eloise's amazement.

He felt like his feet had been knocked out from beneath him as he studied her. She was in a beautiful violet gown with pale purple gloves to match. Her hair had been done in an intricate up style with diamonds adorning her neck, ears and were even woven into her hair. Her arm was hooked through her father's as she made her way through the crowd.

She was the most beautiful woman Benedict had ever laid eyes on. *yn* Dappleton, her best friend. Hushed whispers that circled him made him think that there were many others who thought the same thing.

"Benedict, let's go fetch a drink and then we can say hello." Eloise murmured, her wide eyes never leaving *yn*'s figure as she spoke.

"Benedict." She repeated when she got no response. She finally turned to see him completely mesmerised by *yn*, so much so that he had not heard a word she had said.

"Brother." She spoke, shaking his arm. This finally broke him out of his trance, wide eyed as he glanced down at his sister.

"What?"

Eloise tried to suppress her amused smirk, "I said, let's go fetch a drink."

"Oh yes." Benedict nodded as he adjusted the collar of his vest which had suddenly grown very restrictive. He cleared his throat, "let's do that."

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

"Lady Dappleton, would you do me the honour of another dance?"

"Why thank you Lord Dixon, the honour would be all mine." *yn* curtseyed back, "I am just feeling a bit faint, I think some fresh air will serve me well before we dance."

"Of course Lady Dappleton, I will be waiting for your return." Lord Dixon bowed.

The second her back was turned *yn*'s smile dropped and she rolled her eyes as she made a beeline for the balcony.

She let out a sigh of relief as she stepped outside and into the warm night air. Her feet were aching and she could barely breath in the corset that had been tied ridiculously tight. All she wanted to do was to go home. Or be sitting in the Bridgerton's backyard, on the swing with Benedict, talking about something entirely trivial.

"Psst- Dappleton!" *yn*'s brow furrowed, glancing around for the source of the noise. "Down here!"

Upon that instruction she peered over the balcony. "Benedict." She breathed out a sigh of relief at the sight of the second eldest Bridgerton.

"Where have you been? I have been looking for you everywhere!" She hissed.

"Well I went to go fetch a drink and just happened to spy an open window right beside the punch bowl, it was too good of an opportunity to pass up." Benedict responded, shooting her a cheeky grin.

"Come on, let's go." He continued, waving her down.

"Benedict I cannot go with you. I am unchaperoned. If anyone saw us-"

"No one will see us, come on." He beckoned her frantically. "Unless you want to go back in there that is."

*yn* bit her lip and glanced over her shoulder at the party. She winced at the sight of Lord Dixon glancing around, clearly looking for her. She glanced down at Benedict who was looking up expectantly, that heart stopping grin still plastered on his features as they locked eyes.

"Come on, we can have a party of our own." He urged, shaking the flask in his hand at her temptingly.

She withheld a sigh as she felt her resolve crumbling, shaking her head in defeat.

"I better not regret this Bridgerton." She grumbled before swinging her legs over the balcony railing.

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

"I just cannot believe Dixon thought he actually had a chance with you." Benedict remarked.

"Oh come on, he is not that bad." *yn* mused as she pressed the flask to her lips, wincing as the liquor burned her throat.

"*yn* dearest, the man perpetually smells like off milk." Benedict's smile widened as he practically felt *yn*'s mouth drop as she turned to face him.

"How on earth did you know-"

"He was called The Milkman at university, why do you think my brothers and I always avoid talking with him for too long at these things? The stench seeps into your clothes. Impossible to get it out of them."

"And you did not think to forewarn me about this?" *yn* gaped. Benedict shrugged his shoulders and locked eyes with her, the pair eyed each other for a few moments before bursting into fits of laughter.

*yn* clutched her sides, feeling her eyes growing wet from how hard she was laughing.

"Oh we are horrible." She giggled, inhaling deeply as she tried to catch her breath.

"Maybe, but at least we are not dreadfully boring." He chuckled.

*yn* hummed in agreement as she leant her head back against the trunk of the tree. Her veins were singing with warmth from the liquid provided by the flask. Her body and mind were relaxing more and more as the minutes ticked by as the alcohol seeped into her.

The warm summer nights breeze was a beautiful reprieve from the Cowper's overcrowded and stuffy room. Her and Benedict were sitting side by side underneath an oak tree, so close together that their arms were nearly touching.

"I must get back soon, before anyone notices my absence." *yn* sighed after a few moments of peaceful silence.

"A full dance card?" Benedict queried, unable to help himself as he peered over her shoulder to catch a glimpse of the men who had requested a dance with her.

"Surprisingly, yes." She answered as she flicked her fingers through the pages of the dance card hanging from her wrist.

"Really?" Benedict spoke as he studied her, "I do not think it is the least bit surprising." He remarked, unable to hide the edge in his voice as he took a deep swig of liquor.

"And why is that?" *yn* mused, fully preparing for some sort of sarcastic jab as she looked up at him expectantly.

"Because you look absolutely breathtaking tonight."

*yn* felt like the wind had been knocked out of her at his words. They were so matter-of-fact that for a brief moment she thought that she had been hearing things. Her lips parted slightly as she studied him, trying to rack her brain for something to say.

"At least that is what I heard Lord Dixon and a few of his friends say anyway." Benedict added quickly as he looked down at his feet.

And just like that, the moment passed.

"Oh right." *yn* nodded, swallowing thickly as she tried to hide her disappointment. "And here I was thinking that Benedict Bridgerton was actually going to give me a compliment." She forced a teasing tone to her words.

"A compliment? Please you know me better than that Miss Dappleton." His words made a soft chuckle emit from *yn*'s lips as she fixed her eyes on her dance card, flicking through the pages absentmindedly.

Benedict silently cursed himself for saying those words out loud. They were meant to be his thoughts and his thoughts only. To remain in his head. Most definitely not thoughts for *yn* to hear. But when she had looked at him with that breathtaking smile on her lips, the words had spilled out of him before he could restrain himself.

"Lord Dappleton, I found them!"

The voice made the two spring up onto their feet, panic flooding both of them. They both exhaled when they saw Violet Bridgerton marching towards them.

That relief was short lived when they saw the furious expression on her features, one which was unfortunately mirrored in Arthur Dappleton's face who was hot on her heels.

"We have been looking for you everywhere, do you know how long you have been gone?" Violet demanded.

"Mother I am sorry we just-"

"-Benedict I do not want to hear it." She snapped, holding a hand up to stop him. "We were worried sick. And to find you both here, and unchaperoned of all things." She shook her head as disappointment radiated from her.

"I thought we taught you both better than this."

*yn* folded her arms in front of her guiltily as she glanced at her father who was yet to say a word. She did not recall the last time she had seen him look so disappointed.

"Come *yn*, we are leaving." He finally said after a few moments of tense silence passed.

*yn* nodded, knowing better than to argue. She shot Benedict a glance before following after her father who had already begun to make his way to their carriage.

"Honestly Benedict, do you know what would have happened if someone else had caught you two out here like this, unchaperoned?" Violet snapped as Benedict watched *yn*'s retreating figure.

Benedict knew the answer. He knew that it meant that the two would have had to marry with haste. Just like Daphne and Simon.

His worst nightmare of course, I mean marriage? No. Absolutely not.

Although, there was a small voice in his head that was telling him that being married to *yn* might not be so terrible.

In fact, it would not be so terrible at all.

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

The ride to the Dappleton estate was done so in complete silence.

Neither *yn* nor her father uttered a single word in the carriage, nor did either of them say a word as they traipsed up the stairs and into the living room.

"Sit." That was the first word uttered by Arthur as he pointed to the couch.

*yn* complied. She watched as her father locked his hands behind his back and began to pace the length of the room.

"Do you have any idea what would have happened if Lady Bridgerton had not been the one to discover you?" He began. "It would have ruined you."

*yn* sat in guilty silence.

"I know it has always been just you and me in this house. And perhaps it was my fault that I have let you run around, doing what you please. Maybe I erred in not remarrying and finding a wife suitable to help raise you. To try and provide you with a brother to help care for you." He muttered, more to himself than to *yn* as he continued to pace.

"I did not need a step-mother. I have you. I have Lady Bridgerton."

Her soft words made him come to a stand still in front of her. "And I did not need another wife, you are all I need *yn*." He clarified as he studied his daughter.

"But I will not always be here for you. One day, when I am gone, this-" He gestured around the room. "- will go to my closest male relative. He will become Lord of this house. Not you. And you will need someone to provide for you, to give you a roof over your head, safety, company."

"But I do not want to have someone provide for me." *yn* spoke, her voice shaking with frustration.

"I know, but this is how our society works." Her father answered her firmly. "And I will not see my daughter left in destitute, I will not." He spoke forcefully, his voice increasingly growing louder as his anger also grew.

"And I will not let you throw your future away over that Bridgerton boy-

"It was not his fault he-"

"-Benedict has always done as he pleases, whenever he pleases *yn*, and he will continue to do so, with little consequence. You cannot pine for this boy any longer *yn*. He has made his thoughts on marriage very clear-"

"I am not pining for Benedict!" *yn* exclaimed, her cheeks growing red in embarrassment. "He is my friend."

Arthur's expression softened at her words, sympathy splashed across his features. "*yn*." He spoke gently. "You do not have to pretend with me."

She swallowed as she felt tears pricking at her cheeks. She stared down into her lap as the couch dipped beside her as her father sat down next to her.

"I love him." Her voice quivered as she spoke.

"I know." Arthur answered, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

"But it is time to stop waiting around for him." He continued softly. "It is time for you to find your happiness."

There was a pause as *yn* fiddled with her fingers, blinking back tears as she did so. "Do you think I will find a love match? Like you and mother?" Her voice was so small that Arthur had trouble catching her words.

"Of course I do." He smiled sadly as he wrapped his arms around her and brought her into a tight embrace.

"But you must actually make an effort with these suitors. Promise me *yn* that you will." He murmured as she melted into her father's embrace.

She sniffed as she clung to him, trying to push thoughts of Benedict from her mind.

"I promise."

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

"Sorry I am late, what have I missed sister?"

Daphne glanced up at Benedict before turning her attention back to the dance floor. "Well, Anthony and Miss Edwina have been dancing all night, much to her sister's distaste." Daphne mused.

Benedict plucked a glass of wine from the tray of a passing waiter, his eyes searching the Featherington's ballroom for a particular figure.

"If you are looking for *yn*, she is dancing with Lord Mayfair."

"I was not looking for-" Benedict began before pausing as Daphne's words sunk in. "Lord Mayfair?" Benedict he exclaimed incredulously.

"Indeed, this is their third dance of the evening." Daphne remarked as Benedict's eyes finally found *yn*, indeed dancing with Lord Mayfair, a radiant smile plastered on her features.

"I think they look quite good together, do you not agree?" She continued, studying her brother's facial features intently.

"I suppose." He bit back as he tilted his head back and downed the entirety of his glass.

"He is quite the catch you know. He comes from an exceptional family." Daphne continued, an amused smirk on her features as she watched her brother glare at the pair.

Benedict merely grunted in response as he grabbed another glass just as the song ended. He watched as *yn* curtseyed to Lord Mayfair after finishing up their dance, laughing at something he had said.

"I will see you later sister." He spoke, not even giving her a glance as he watched Lord Mayfair head towards the drinks table, leaving *yn* unattended.

"I am sure you will brother." Daphne mused, shaking her head as she watched him go.

"There you are Dappleton."

*yn* turned around to find herself face to face with Benedict. Her stomach dropped at the sight of him, her father's words echoing in her ear.

"I have barely seen you this past week."

"I know I am sorry, I have been busy." She lied.

Benedict's brow creased, immediately picking up on her uneasy nature. "Never mind that, come on let's go."

"Go where?" *yn* queried, her brow furrowing in confusion.

"I spotted an easy escape route from one of the parlour rooms." Benedict answered, opening his jacket up to reveal the flask stashed in his pocket. "Come on, before Lord Mayfair comes back." He grinned.

"Benedict, do you not remember what happened at the Cowper ball?" *yn* blinked in disbelief, "That could have been a disaster."

"Ah but it was not." He winked. "Come on do not tell me you would rather spend the evening in here for heavens sake."

"I promised my father I would take this seriously." She shot back causing him to raise a brow. "Fine, dance with me then. That way you are technically not shirking your responsibilities." He grinned, extending a hand in jest.

"I said seriously, Benedict." *yn* snapped back, feeling herself growing irritated at his laissez-fair attitude. "I know it is all well and good for you to make a mockery of these events but I do not have that luxury. I cannot afford to when I intend on finding a husband by the end of the season."

Benedict's hand dropped to his side, all traces of humour vanishing from his face as he studied her.

"You are being serious." He stated in disbelief. He glanced over his shoulder to ensure Lord Mayfair was not in sight before turning back to her.

"With Lord Mayfair of all people?" His voice lowered as he leant in closer to her. "I mean come on Dappleton."

"Yes Lord Mayfair of all people." *yn* shot back, her voice nothing more than a hushed whisper as her cheeks grew red. She glanced around to make sure no one was paying attention before turning back to him.

"He is kind, well respected and has an excellent sense of duty towards his responsibilities as a future viscount, in particular the importance of finding a wife." She could feel herself growing increasingly angry the longer she spoke.

"I know that may be a foreign concept to you, but it is important to me. Which is why I cannot afford to galavant around with you at these events any longer" She hissed.

Benedict blinked, his mouth slack in disbelief as he stared at her.

"Now, if you will excuse me I must go find Lord Mayfair, I expect he is looking for me."

With that, *yn* stepped past him and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Benedict standing speechless and utterly shocked.

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

"Why is Benedict sulking?"

"Hmm?" Daphne queried, tearing her eyes from the dance floor to glance at her sister.

"He has been attached to that pillar for the past hour, the only thing that has changed is the amount of wine in his glass." Eloise remarked.

Daphne followed her gaze to see her brother stood leaning against one of the pillars in the corner. His eyes were glassy from drink, unwavering in their fixation on something, or someone, on the dance floor.

"Ah." Daphne murmured in realisation. "*yn* and Lord Mayfair."

"Ahhh." Eloise realised, nodding her head.

"Well I must say he is in quite a state. I saw him nearly trip over his own feet a few moments ago."

"Maybe it would be best if he retired for the night." Daphne remarked, her brow creasing in concern as she watched her bother pick up another glass of wine.

Daphne had only had her head turned for a few moments to see if she could spot her mother when Eloise tugged on her arm.

"Daphne, I think we have a problem."

Daphne turned just in time to see that Benedict had pushed himself off the pole and was making a beeline for the dance floor. Towards *yn*, who was mid-dance with Lord Mayfair.

"Oh no." Daphne breathed out and with that the two sisters rushed to intervene.

"Lord Mayfair." A slurred voice remarked. Lord Mayfair turned at the feeling of a tap on his shoulder to see Benedict Bridgerton swaying in front of him. *yn* felt her stomach plummet to the ground.

"I would like to steal the lovely *yn* for a dance."

"Miss Dappleton and I are in the middle of one, but you are more than welcome to ask her once we are finished." Lord Mayfair answered calmly.

"But I want to dance with her now." Benedict frowned.

"I am sure you can wait a few minutes." Lord Mayfair answered, this time irritation evident in his tone.

"She is going to say no. Because I am not 'serious' enough." Benedict mocked, hiccuping as he swayed dangerously close to them.

*yn*'s eyes darted around to see that people were beginning to stare at the spectacle that was unfolding.

"Benedict, I will talk to you about this later. Let me finish my dance. Please." She pleaded desperately.

"Brother, there you are!" Much to *yn*'s relief Daphne and Eloise appeared from behind Benedict, both looping an arm through his.

"I am so sorry Lord Mayfair, our brother is quite unwell. It has been making him act a bit out of turn." Daphne apologised, curtseying politely. "We were just escorting him home now."

"It is quite alright Duchess." Lord Mayfair bowed back.

"Unwell? I am not-" Benedict hiccuped. "Unwell, I am fine... see!" Benedict pulled out of Eloise and Daphne's grip, seemingly to demonstrate his sobriety. However, instead he tripped over his own feet, sending the contents of his nearly full champagne glass flying into the air.

Gasps echoed throughout the room as gravity pulled the liquid down and hit their mark.

All over *yn* Dappleton.

*yn* let out a gasp of her own as the cold liquid drenched her entire front, instantly seeping through the fabric and right into her bones. Her hair was sopping wet too, plastered to her skin as she felt her makeup begin to run.

"Oh my Lady Dappleton, are you alright?" She heard Lord Mayfair ask her, his voice faint in the background as her head pounded.

She glanced around to see people whispering and pointing, Cressida Cowper and her cronies giggling in one corner as they studied her.

"I- I-" She cut herself off as she glared at Benedict, who was staring at her wide eyed in shock.

"I have to go." She heard herself say. She could hear people calling out her name as she picked up her dress and hurried off, trying not to collide with anyone as she weaved through the crowd.

"*yn* wait!" Daphne called out but to no avail as *yn* disappeared into the throng of onlookers. She sighed, her hand falling to her side as she glared at Benedict.

"Well, I hope you're happy brother."

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

"What in heavens is wrong with you?!" Violet demanded.

Benedict swallowed as his eyes darted around the room. He was met with disappointed and angry looks from all of his siblings, not a single sympathetic look in sight.

"First you take *yn* out into the garden unchaperoned, and now you publicly humiliate her in front of everyone in the ton. Including Lord Mayfair who has been vying for her attention since her debut and has every intention of courting her! Honestly Benedict, what would your father say about this?"

"I am sorry, I do not know what came over me." He answered guiltily, avoiding his mother's disappointed gaze.

"What has gotten into you Benedict? I thought you cared for *yn*."

"I do care for her!" He shot back, "of course I care for her."

"I think that is precisely the problem." Daphne remarked, earning a glare from Benedict.

"What ever do you mean Daphne?"

"Honestly mama, is it not obvious?" Daphne laughed as she folded her arms in front of her chest.

"Benedict is in love with *yn*."

"I am not in love with *yn*." Benedict scoffed.

"Oh please brother enough, even a blindman could see it." Anthony cut in.

"Anthony is right." Colin agreed.

"I have known it for quite some time too." Eloise nodded, "we all have, even mama I suspect."

Benedict glanced around at his siblings to see them all nodding in agreement, even young Hyacinth and Gregory were moving their heads.

Finally he turned back to his mother who was studying him intently. There was something in her expression, a softening of her features as she looked at him. One of sympathy. Of understanding.

"This is preposterous I do not love her, she is a close friend, nothing more." Benedict defended himself, although even as he was saying it, he knew it sounded unconvincing.

His words caused that sympathetic expression vanish from his mother's features, instead replaced by a hardened one as she glared at her son.

"Then you should have no problem in leaving her be for the rest of the season and letting Lord Mayfair court her." Lady Bridgerton answered him matter-of-factly.

"Because that girl is like a daughter to me and I will not let you ruin her future because you are too selfish to let her be happy with someone else. Do I make myself clear?"

There was a pause as Benedict studied his mother before once more glancing around the room, searching for any sign of help. When he received nothing but more disappointed looks he let out a sigh and nodded.

"Understood."

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

*yn* felt her stomach do flips as she stepped into Lady Danburry's ball.

It had been two weeks since the incident at the Featherington ball and she had not seen Benedict since.

Daphne, Eloise and Penelope had all paid her visits to make sure she was alright. With both Eloise and Pen assuring her that surely something much more scandalous would happen before Lady Whistledown's next issue was to be penned, enough so that the incident would be entirely forgotten.

By some good fortune, they had been correct. When the next edition of Lady Whistledown arrived, *yn* was relieved to see that her scandal had not even been mentioned by the gossip writer.

She had been both relieved and hurt that Benedict had not paid her a visit. Every night since she had stepped out onto her balcony that overlooked the Bridgerton's backyard. And every night she would see Benedict sitting on the swing, alone.

She wondered if he was waiting for her.

Even though every bone in her body was desperate to join him, the memory of the humiliation that he had caused her sprang to the forefront of her mind. No, if he did not even have the decency to apologise then she most certainly was not going to make the first step towards reconcilliation.

To make matters worse, Lord Mayfair had stopped calling in the past week. It was safe to say that the last thing *yn* wished to do was spend an evening at yet another ball with the rest of the scandal hungry ton.

"See? I told you the ton had an impressively short memory." Her father murmured to her as they made their way through the crowd. Indeed, the socialites barely even glanced in the Dappleton's direction, all too caught up in their own gossip and stories.

"You are always right father." *yn* mused.

After an hour of making small talk with a few acquaintances, *yn* was yet to spy Benedict or any other Bridgerton for that matter. She was beginning to wonder if that was intentional. A body colliding with hers made her break out of her thoughts.

"Oh my apologies Miss-" *yn* looked up to see Lord Mayfair standing sheepishly in front of her. "Oh Miss Dappleton, hello." He greeted, bowing politely.

"Lord Mayfair." She greeted, curtseying in reply. "Are you well?"

"I am indeed Miss Dappleton."

"That is a relief to hear, I thought you might have taken ill."

"Why would you think that?" He puzzled.

"Oh well, you have not called in the past week so I thought..." She trailed off, her cheeks growing pink in embarassment.

"My apologies Miss Dappleton but I am afraid I am vexed." Lord Mayfair spoke, his brow furrowing.

"I was under the impression that you were being courted by another gentleman." He continued when he noted the confused expression on her features.

"Another..." *yn* trailed off in surprise, "who ever told you that?"

"Oh it was..." Lord Mayfair trailed off as his eyes landed on something just behind her left shoulder. *yn* swung around, following his gaze.

She felt rage bubble within her as her eyes landed on none other than Benedict Bridgerton who was leaning against a pillar, staring at the couple. His eyes widened when he realised that he had been spotted.

The pair studied each other intently for a few moments before Benedict darted around the pillar, making a break for the patio.

"If you will excuse me Lord Mayfair." *yn* gritted her teeth, manoeuvring past the Lord to follow Benedict.

She faintly made out Lord Mayfair say something in reply but it was lost in the crowd as she hurried after him as quickly as she could without attracting attention to herself. She thought that she had lost him when she caught him sneaking out of a window and into the garden.

She glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was paying attention to her before she followed him into the garden. Goosebumps instantly rose on her skin as the crisp night air hit her with force. He was still quite a distance away as she picked up her dress and hurried after him.

"Benedict!" She called out. Thankfully his pace had slowed, allowing her to come within earshot.

"Do not dare walk away from me Benedict Bridgerton!" She shouted just as he reached the trunk of a giant oak tree.

He came to a stop at her words, causing *yn* to slow down as she approached him.

"Apparently Lord Mayfair is under the impression that I was being courted by another gentleman." *yn* spoke, her voice wavering with anger.

Benedict did not utter a word, his back still turned to her.

"Do you have any idea how he may have come to such a conclusion?"

The silence that she received in return gave her the answer she already knew to be correct. She let out a scoff, shaking her head as she folded her arms in front of her chest.

"I thought we were friends." Her words finally forced Benedict to turn to face her.

Benedict felt guilt flow through him as he saw the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

"We are friends, of course we are friends." He spoke quietly.

"Really? Clearly you and I have a very different definition of what it means to be friends. Because last time I checked, friends do not publicly humiliate each other and try to ruin their futures."

Benedict bit the inside of his cheek, glancing down at the ground to avoid her piercing gaze. His silence only fuelled her anger, her fists clenched at her sides as she took further steps towards him.

He had to clench his fists at his side as the smell of her jasmine scented soap consumed his senses. It was the first time he had been this close to her in what felt like an eternity, so achingly close to her that he could just reach out and-

"What have I done wrong? Was it something I said? Something untoward?" She pestered him, causing him to snap back into reality.

"What?" A perplexed look flashing across his features. "Of course you have done nothing wrong."

"Really? I must have done something for you to despise me so. Because as far as I can tell, the only logical reason for your behaviour towards me is that I have offended you in some horrific way."

"You have not-" Benedict cut himself as he inhaled sharply. "I could never despise you *yn*." He muttered as he began to pace back and forth in front of her.

"Then tell me what is wrong!" She demanded, her voice wavering as she felt angry tears threaten to spill down her cheeks. "Tell me why you have been acting this way."

She watched as Benedict took another deep breath and stressfully forced a hand through his thick hair. "I cannot paint." He murmured, so softly *yn* almost missed it.

"What?" Her brow furrowed in confusion. "What are you-"

"I cannot paint, no matter how hard I try to find inspiration. I cannot draw, I cannot eat, I cannot sleep." He continued, "because all I can think about is you."

His words made *yn* scoff and throw her hands up dramatically. "Well that is just splendid. You are telling me that I have done something so abhorrent, so reprehensible, so deplorable that you cannot even do what you love the most. Excellent, really, thank you Benedict."

"Good god *yn*." Benedict hissed in frustration, placing his hands behind his head as he looked up to heaven for some sort of solution. "For the last time you have not-"

"Just tell me what I have done that has aggrieved you so badly Benedict, please I-"

"I am in love with you, *yn*!" Benedict bellowed, his eyes wild with desperation as he finally stopped pacing and stood in front of her.

"Are you happy now?" His shoulders slumped in defeat, his breath ragged. "There is your answer."

*yn* grew completely still, a breath lodged in her throat as she stared at him. She thought that her heart might burst out of her chest and her feet give out beneath her.

"I am supposed to not care for marriage or commitment, I am supposed to go to art school and write poetry and cause Anthony and mother grief." He shook his head, letting out a bark of laughter as he began to pace once more.

"And then I saw how terrified you were of not finding a husband and I asked myself, how do you not realising that you are the most breathtaking woman that has graced the ton?" Benedict was on a roll now, talking so feverishly that *yn* barely had time to process his words before he was opening his mouth once more.

"Because I am not the only one who thinks this *yn*. No, no, I see how the rest of our society looks at you. You are the envy of every lady and the object of every lord's desires."

"Ben-" *yn* took another step toward him.

"And then I look at myself, an artist who cannot even get into art school - without his brother bribing them might I add, who no one takes seriously or even gives a second glance, and I know that I am not good enough for you." He muttered bitterly, shaking his head as he came to a stand still once more, finally turning to lock eyes with her.

"I know that someone like Lord Mayfair is worthy of you. But when I see you two together, it feels like my heart is being ripped out of my chest and every fibre of my being is screaming at me to stop it." He continued as he watched *yn* close the gap between them, standing so close to him now that her gloves were nearly brushing his.

"I know it is selfish, I know how I have acted is childish and petulant." He spoke weakly, his voice growing hushed as he talked. "And for that I am truly sorry, please believe me when I say that."

They were both crying now, their breaths visible in the chilly night air as they exhaled shakily.

"Of course I believe you." *yn* managed to croak out as she brought a hand up to cradle his face, brushing a stray tear from his cheek with her gloved thumb.

"I will leave you two alone now." *yn* shook her head at Benedict's words, signalling for him to stop but he could not control his frantic rambling. "I will explain everything to him, I will tell him that he should propose and-"

*yn* did not know what came over her. She knew it was completely unacceptable, scandalous, totally un-ladylike, the sort of action that would utterly disgrace the Dappleton name. But in that moment, all she could think about, all she craved, was Benedict's lips on hers.

So she leant up on her toes and pulled his head down by the base of his neck, pressing her lips clumsily to his. Benedict did not even have time to process what was happening before she had pulled away.

"I-" *yn* cut herself off as she looked up at him with wide eyes, taken aback by her own actions.

"I love you Benedict." She heard herself say as she tried to control her breathing, "it has always been you."

Benedict studied her for a brief moment, letting out a shaky breath before a relieved smile appeared on his face.

"You have bewitched me, body and soul, *yn* Dappleton." He whispered against her lips, as he brought a hand up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.

His words made her knees weak and her heart pound. Benedict Bridgerton, the starving artist, had always had a way with words, with romance. But this was the first time that they had been directed at her, and it was enough to make her head spin.

This time, when *yn* tilted her head up and their lips met, Benedict was ready.

*yn* felt like she was seeing stars as their lips collided. Benedict's arms snaked around her waist, pulling her flush against his chest. *yn*'s head was spinning as the kiss deepened, one of her hands automatically burying itself into his hair. Benedict let out what could only be described as a sort of whimper at the contact. His hands dug into her hips as he tried to remember to breathe, to get some sort of oxygen to his brain, as he grew dizzy from being completely and utterly consumed by her.

The sound of a twig snapping made the pair spring apart. Relief washed over them when they saw that the cause of the sound was merely a bird poking around in the grass.

"We best get back to the ball." *yn* murmured, disappointment washing through her at the realisation that they could not stay out here like this for an eternity.

"Yes." Benedict nodded as he ran a hand through his hair, "Although I would probably give my right arm to stay here with you, we should."

"I will go back first, to avoid suspicion." *yn* spoke, trying to ignore the butterflies in her stomach as Benedict smirked down at her, his hand brushing against her lower back.

"If I ask you to dance in there, will my request be taken seriously this time Miss Dappleton?"

"You, Benedict Bridgerton, want to dance?" She queried, raising a brow in disbelief.

"I am capable of doing more than causing you grief, you know." He remarked causing a small giggle to escape her lips.

"Yes Benedict, your request will be taken seriously." Her answer made him grin as he shook his head in amusement.

"I was supposed to be a life long rake." A wry smile on his features as his eyes shone with happiness.

"And I a spinster."

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"I am sorry, do my eyes deceive me or is that our dear Benedict willingly on the dance floor at a ball?"

"No, your eyes do not deceive you brother." Daphne shook her head, her eyes brimming with amusement.

"Well I'll be." Anthony shook his head in amazement.

"It really is a sight to behold." Colin remarked.

"Is that- oh my." Violet gasped as her and Arthur Dappleton joined the Bridgerton siblings to view the spectacle unfolding before them.

"They finally did it... the spinster and the rake." Eloise remarked, shaking her head in disbelief.

"What was that dear?" Violet asked, glancing down at her daughter.

"Oh nothing mama." Eloise spoke hastily, covering her mouth to stifle her giggles as her and Daphne exchanged smirks.

"Well, well, well." Lady Danbury spoke as she came to stand beside Lady Bridgerton and Lord Dappleton.

"Your match-making skills continue to amaze me Lady Bridgerton." Lady Danbury remarked.

"Please I cannot take all the credit, it was mainly Lord Dappleton's idea." Violet answered her.

"Is that so?" Lady Danbury asked, raising a brow as she studied the Lord.

"You are too modest, Lady Bridgerton. Everything I learnt, I learnt from you." Arthur's praise made a small blush appear on Violet's cheeks.

"Who would have thought all it would take for them to admit their feelings would be to get *yn* to debut." Lady Danbury mused.

The three of them joined the other onlookers as they watched *yn* and Benedict twirl around the ballroom floor. They both had grins that stretched from ear to ear, their eyes shining with adoration as they spun. Their hands mirrored each other, never touching but tantalisingly close as they circled each other. They were in their own little world, oblivious to their surroundings as they stared into each other's eyes.

Not even a fool could mistake them for what they were, there was no doubt.

A love match.

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I LOVE THIS FIC SO MUCH <3 I'm so proud of it, I think I was born to write period pieces lol. As always, feedback would be super super appreciated and you can give it back HERE!

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lydiimae · 28 days

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

18+ MDI

Based on a request you can find here <3

Warnings: angst, mentions of family member death, mentions of alcohol, arranged marriage, awful reader relationship with mother,

A.N: Hello my loves, and hello to my lovely anon. I'm so sorry for being MIA, I had midterms and good god they almost killed me ‘︿’. Anon- I hope that this is what you wanted, I am not the most experienced in writing angst but I found this quite fun (perhaps my love of making a dramatic story lol). Thank you all for the love, as always. Mwah ≧◡≦

He did not expect you to change so much in your time away. Sure he expected you to mature in the four years you were gone, you were coming back at the new age of twenty-one. He just did not expect all of the light, the light he loved, to be gone. His Y/N had changed. She had gone from warm to cold, from happy to sad, in such a short time.

Your father and his father were close friends. Both of them being Viscounts meant that they spent a lot of time together. You, being the eldest of your family but also too young and rowdy to really click with Anthony, got on just as well with Benedict. There was always an unspoken love between the two of you that neither of you were brave enough to admit.

The only one with who you got on better than Benedict, was your father. It was apparent for anyone to see that the two of you had a unique bond. A bond that you most certainly didn't hold for your mother. She was cold and extremely cruel, your father had only married her for convenience. So, when your father died, Benedict expected you to be devastated. Who wouldn't be? He had been sick for many years before his death, a case of scarlet fever that just never went away. It was expected, but that did not mean it was less painful.

The night he passed, you showed up at his family's doorstep in tears begging for the footman to bring him down. So, after being woken up by said footman, he tugged on a robe and rushed down the stairs. He saw you and immediately knew. He rushed to you and scooped you up in his arms before taking you up into his bedroom and soothing you into sleep. Proper decorum be dammed, he stayed with you the entire night and then had a carriage bring you back home at dawn.

A week later, you, your mother, and your younger sister showed up at the Bridgerton's door dressed in all black. Violet led you all into the drawing room and gathered the rest of the Bridgertons as well, after hearing your mother mention that she would like her dear friends to be present for a big announcement, always the attention hog. Benedict was dragged in by Eloise, expecting another lecture about the upcoming social season, but his face quickly fell when he saw you.

You already looked so defeated, so tired. You looked up and forced a sad smile, moving over on the sofa so he could sit next to you. He walked towards you quickly, and sat down next in the space you made, discretely offering his hand. Your face softened, and he could tell you were holding back tears, but nevertheless, you gripped his hand tight in your own before focusing your attention on your mother.

"We are going to France, where my family lives. I feel the girls should get to know the rest of their heritage now that their father has passed on." She says bluntly, the cold look on her face never changing. His eyes widen and instantly snap over to you, internally pleading with whatever power he can think of that this is not true. That you will not be swept away before he even has the chance to try and win you over.

You are chewing on your bottom lip, the anxious habit you have had ever since you were young. You look over at him slowly, your eyes filled with unshed tears that he knows you will not let fall. That is when he knows that it is true. His Y/N is leaving. For God knows how long. To be stolen by God knows who.

You sigh as you get out of the carriage that has trapped you for the past eight hours, stretching out your limbs before taking in the scenery. That damn two-day carriage ride from the port had been nothing but exhausting. The estate you grew up in is standing tall right in front of you, and yet it is almost unrecognizable now.

It looked the same, sure, but something about it seemed a lot less colorful without your father. The impending doom of your arranged marriage hanging over your head probably didn't help that fact either. Your mother had been clear in what she wanted when you got to France, a rich man. Not for herself, but for you. Someone who could expand upon the rather large dowery your father had left you. Someone who could make her rich, your happiness be damned.

And so that is just what you found. The hunt for a suitable husband had begun a year after you arrived in Paris, your eighteenth birthday coming and going without a peep from anyone but your sister, Lucy, and a long letter from Benedict. Your grandmother was just as cruel as your mother, if not more so. She quickly introduced you to a man named Noele Beaumont, a man in high-up places in French nobility. An extremely wealthy man.

In the three and a half years you had known him, the two of you had done nothing but fight. Well, the fighting consisted entirely of him shouting at you until you were either in tears or hidden away in the closet somewhere, your chest rising and falling much too fast. It seemed that cruelty was, in some sick and twisted way, attracted to you.

Your mother, after much convincing, had allowed you and Noele to take your home in London upon marriage. That, and, she had allowed for the marriage to be held in England. You were home, finally home, and now you were realizing that it does not matter if you are home or not. The world had lost its color.

"Y/N, whatever is the matter?" Lucy piques up from beside you, taking your hand. "I miss him, Luc. That is all. I miss him and I wish that he were the one here instead of mother." You whisper, wiping an escaped tear from your eye with the back of your hand before turning to your sister. "But at least I have you, and at least we are home." She smiles sadly in response, gently leading you inside.

Your mother greeted you both with a flat expression, having insisted on traveling home a week before to make sure nothing had gone awry in the years that you had been gone. Noele and his family will join you in a month, during the week of the marriage. It seems that neither of you wish to spend more time with each other than necessary. "You have a letter already, Y/N. From one of the Bridgerton's. Do make haste of reading it, we have no time for silliness." She mutters, handing it to you before walking off with your sister.

You sigh and walk into the drawing room after handing your cloak to a maid with a smile. You look around the familiar room and breathe deeply, hoping for the comforting smell of the tea your father used to brew, but are quickly disappointed when all you smell is your mother's obnoxious perfume. You sit down on the chair by the bookshelf and open the letter.

You recognize the handwriting immediately, Benedict. He wishes to see you as soon as he can, but more importantly, he has asked you to be a model in the latest portrait he is painting for his classes at the academy. You smile softly to yourself, taking in the woodsy scent that comes off the letter, the world getting a bit brighter if only for a moment. You sigh and walk up to your bedroom, smiling at the comfort that washes over you, before sitting down and drafting a letter of your own, telling him that you will make time for him come noon tomorrow.

You run your fingers over the parchment when you have finished signing your name. So many words left unsaid. You smile sadly and fold up the letter, sealing it with the wax crest of your family before passing it to a maid with instructions to take it to the Bridgerton household before the evening comes.

Oh, how you despise your mother. After about two hours of arguing yesterday, she had finally given up and allowed you to go and see Benedict. You were used to the names she called you, 'whore' and 'harlot' being the two she most often used, but she had far stepped over the line yesterday.

She had run out of insults to call you and moved on to Benedict. Insulting his artwork, his standing in his family, his habits, anything she could grasp at she used.

"You are to be married to a nobleman in a month, Y/N! You will be tainted by that boy, he is nothing but a disgrace! His head has always been in the clouds, you know that!" She shouted from where she stood in your bedroom. You grit your teeth. "Take that back this instant, you moron! That family has done everything for us! He has done everything for me, he cares more about me than you could ever dream of!" You shouted right back.

She had gone on for at least a half-hour more, finally giving up when Lucy walked in and pleaded with the both of you to stop. "You are nothing but a whore looking for attention, Y/N. You will ruin yourself with him. You will, and I will not help you out of the hole you dig yourself into." Your mother huffed, before turning and walking out of your bedroom.

Your sister had stayed with you last night. You had fallen asleep in her embrace, nothing but a mess of sobs. You wished for nothing more than to go to him right now and run away to the countryside, and leave all of it behind. But you had a duty, you had to look out for Lucy's happiness so she would not be doomed to the life that you are now forced to live.

You had woken up in the early morning, your lady's maid helping you into a dark blue dress before leaving you to your own devices. You spent the hours up until eleven reading and avoiding your mother like the plague. You walked downstairs once it was time to leave for the Bridgerton estate.

A short carriage ride later and there you are, in the same position that you were four and a half years ago, knocking on his door with tears in your eyes. You had become emotional about five minutes out, overcome with the joy of finally seeing him. Finally being able to speak to him, rather than imagining what his voice sounded like when you read his letters. You had missed the feeling of home when you were around him, you had missed how the world looked when he was in it. You had missed him.

He had been unable to sleep once he had written your letter, and unable to do anything but read in the drawing room in the hours before your arrival. He was sitting on pins and needles, waiting for the familiar sound of a knock on the front door to come so he could rush to it before any of the servants. He wanted your welcome home to be comforting, as he had known how much you had been through in France.

When he had gotten the letter explaining the marriage you had been dragged into he locked himself in his studio for weeks on end, being unreachable to anyone, even Eloise. He had spent the first two laying on the chaise, looking up at the ceiling with an unstoppable rush of tears slipping down his cheeks which only stopped when he fell into a restless sleep.

The tears turned to anger, which he let out through pages upon pages of poetry. Confessing his love, damming his foolishness or lack of words, berating himself into oblivion for why could he be so stupid as to not tell you to wait for him? To hold onto hope that he would save you?

Then the weeks of anger turned to inspiration, hours spent drowning his sadness with art. Countless paintings of you, of your favorite flowers, of the hill the both of you held so many memories upon, anything that could get him out of the depression he had been sucked into. It was the point that he was at now, a melancholic feeling lingering over his head that he refuses to let himself feel.

The knock comes right when the clock strikes twelve and he practically throws his book to the side, rushing to the door and throwing it open. You are finally home.

The tears start before you can stop them and he quickly tugs you inside, closing the door before wrapping his arms around you. You bury your face into the crook of his neck, and finally, after months of not allowing yourself to cry, you sob. You sob hard, a million pent-up emotions releasing like the snap of a string in your chest.

You look up at him through your teary eyes and smile. "I have missed you dearly, Benedict." You whisper a hidden meaning you hope he can uncover buried beneath your words. He flashes that silly crooked smile you have come to adore before ruffling your hair. "I have missed you too, Y/N. You will never know how much I missed you." He says, wiping your tears before taking a step back.

"You have grown up. You look so... mature." He comments, almost as if he is trying to figure out something about you. Something that even you cannot decipher. You smile in return. "You have as well. I believe I have the right to call you an old man now." You hum, beginning down the hall to where you know the room he has painted in his entire life is.

He chuckles from behind you, before following. "I am but eight and twenty." He whines playfully and you laugh. "That is two years away from thirty, and if Anthony is old then so are you." You opine, looking back over your shoulder at him before stopping in front of his studio's door. He grins and nudges your shoulder before opening the door for you.

You marvel at the surrounding room when you walk in. You knew that he was a good artist, it came naturally to him, but he had improved in your time away. You walk into the center of the room, walking in a slow circle to take in all of his works which line the walls and stack up upon the floor. Most are of women in various states of dress, ever the lady's man Benedict Bridgerton.

You are glad that some things do not change, but it also makes a strange feeling of longing bubble up in your chest. You wish to be naked like the women in the paintings, talking and flirting with him for hours on end. Making love to him when the heat of the room becomes too much. You wish to wake up to him beside you in the morning, for every morning for the rest of time.

You shake the feeling off and look over at him, noticing that he has already taken his place behind the easel. It looks as if he has already started his sketch. "It is gorgeous in here, Ben. You are the most talented artist in all of England." You say, a look of pure adoration in your eyes that he immediately picks up on.

You wish to die with nothing but the image of that sweet pink color that overtakes his cheeks to remember. He quickly turns his attention to his canvas and nods slightly, clearing his throat. "And you are the best flatterer in all of England. Thank you Y/N." He says quietly. When you begin to turn to face him fully he holds up his hand. "I quite liked the position you were in when you were looking over your shoulder. If it is not too uncomfortable, might you hold it? You had the most beautiful look in your eye." He says kindly, looking up to meet your eyes.

It's your turn to blush at both his kindness and his way of complimenting you. He had always said these types of things in passing, not realizing how much they affected you. You nod and take your original place in the room making him smile. "Perfect, as always." He whispers to himself before returning to the sketch.

After about an hour and a half, your legs grow tired. "Benedict, might we take a break? My legs are getting achy." You say, and he meets your eyes. "Of course, I shall have the maids bring us some tea and you can tell me more about your time in France." He says, gesturing with his arm for you to sit on the chaise that sits by the window.

You do so gladly, taking in the image of him wiping his hands of charcoal. You blush at the thought of the feeling of those hands around your waist, or cupping your cheeks. God, this is torture. You wait for him to come back, which only takes a moment.

He sits down next to you and offers his hand. You look down at it and smile softly, taking it in your own just like you used to. What happens next, you could have never predicted in a million years. He lifts your gloved hand to his mouth and kisses the back of it. Your eyes widen and you open your mouth to speak, but you are quickly cut off by him slowly kissing up your arm.

"Benedict stop." You whisper in a tone that is a far cry away from the authority you wished for that statement to have. He doesn't, he presses kisses to your elbow, continuing to work up your arm. "Benedict, I am serious we mustn't." You say, a bit firmer as tears gather in your eyes, but he still does not relent. "Benedict!" You shout, ripping your arm away and standing up.

"Oh please." He scoffs. "Do not tell me you did not wish for me to do just that." He says, standing up with you and stepping close. "Have you gone utterly mad?! I am to be married by the end of the month!" You shout in return. You wish for nothing more than for him to continue but he cannot. You have a man to marry, a sister to set free. Nothing can come between that.

"You do not love him! You have told me those words exactly!" He shouts back and you shake your head, beginning to walk out of the room. You get all of two feet away before he grabs your arm, pulling you to his chest. He leans down, his breath ghosting over your ear. "I have loved you since we were children, Y/N." Your heart shatters when he whispers the word love in your ear.

"You cannot do this now." You say, trying to tug out of his grasp but he keeps his hold tight. "I have to say it now, I have been a fool. I have kept my mouth shut for far too long, but I can save you. I can take you far away from this place, I-" He starts, but you are quick to cut in.

"How could you possibly save me, Benedict?!" You shout, finally getting away. You turn around and look at him dead in the eye, your eyes beginning to water. "By running away?! We cannot! My sister will be left to deal with that woman all by herself and then my fate will be hers! I cannot let that happen!" You shout, tears streaming down your cheeks.

"I left and came back married and suddenly you gain the confidence to say this now?! It is far too late!" You sob. His face softens and he brings you into a tight embrace, one hand at the back of your head while the other runs up and down your back. "You are too late. Why did you wait?" You sob into his chest and he says nothing, allowing you to cry.

He places his chin on the top of your head as he rubs your back, rocking you from side to side. "You must think of yourself, Y/N. Your happiness. Your father left you his money for a reason, you know that." He whispers after a few minutes of listening to your sobs. You look up at him and he cups your cheek with the hand that was on your head. "Your mother, however terrifying she may be, does not hold the power over you she once did. Your father made sure of that." He continues.

"You own the estate, you have the money, and you can make your own decisions. You just need to tell her, you must be brave." He whispers as your crying calms. "But what if she... what if she does something to Lucy-" "She will not. She will not have the power to." He interrupts.

Lucy is capable, you know that much is true. You also know that he is right, you have the money and the house, and therefore you have the power. A final gift from your father that you were too scared to realize. You look up at him and before you can think twice about it, you press your lips to his.

He smiles into the kiss and pulls back after a moment, pressing his forehead to yours. "You are a fool, Benedict Bridgerton." You whisper, taking a deep breath. He chuckles. "Perhaps, but I am also a fool who wishes for nothing more than to marry you." He says and you smile. "I shall do what you suggest, what my father meant for me to do." You whisper and he nods. "And I will be right there with you." He murmurs before kissing you again.

After an hour of warm tea and affectionate words, he takes you back to your estate. You go back and forth with your mother for an hour, trying to be kind, but it is when she starts the insults that you snap. You threaten to sell the house in France and never speak to her ever again, let alone give her any money, and she quickly shuts up.

You write Noele and the engagement is called off within the week. For once you thank the man's hatred of you, for it made him all too eager to get away. The engagement between you and Benedict is announced the next week, and the wedding is planned for two months in advance. The ton gossips about the timeline, of course, but the two of you pay no mind. You have both waited far too long to get married, why wait even longer?

You lie restless in bed the week before your marriage, your thoughts filled with nothing but him. The kiss you shared when he confessed running through your mind, sending tingles between your legs. The hot feeling that overcomes your body makes you want to do the things you saw men and women do in the paintings that lined the walls of your favorite salon in Paris.

Sex. You knew what it was, anyone who spent more than five seconds in Paris knew what it was. You had fantasized about it before, only ever with Benedict. You wanted his hard cock buried deep inside of you for hours on end, you wanted his head between your thighs, your lips around his length. You wanted all of it, yet he had insisted on waiting until your wedding night.

You sigh, tugging on the silk sheets and rubbing your thighs together to try and ease the dull ache that settled in your core, whining in frustration when the feeling did not go away. You hear the tapping on your window, almost as if it was hailing in the middle of May.

You stand and walk to the large window that leads out to a view of the garden. A pebble hits the glass and you jump, placing a hand over your now racing heart, and look down at the garden. You grin when you find your fiance looking up at you with the crooked grin that has such a hold on your heart. You open the window and lean out.

"What on earth are you doing down there?" You laugh, leaning your elbows on the window and placing your chin on your hand. "You are meant to say something about Romeo." He calls back, his grin only widening as you giggle more. "I shall not. You must answer my question." You smile.

"You are no fun." He groans, dropping the pebbles on the ground. "I wished to see you. I have been nothing but restless tonight and I thought I would spend that restlessness with you. Might I come up?" He calls, already beginning to climb the lattice that lines the estate walls. You nod, even though he did not wait. "I am quite restless as well." You sigh, watching him climb. "You do not need to sneak, mother is already back in France and Lucy cares not of what we do." You hum as he climbs through the window.

He wraps his arms around you and picks you up. "It is more romantic to sneak through the window." He murmurs in your ear as you wrap your legs around his waist. "It was very romantic, I promise you." You whisper as he lays you back on the bed, stripping down to his trousers before sliding into bed with you and pulling the covers up over the both of you.

He nuzzles your neck and places his hands on your hips, pulling you close. It's quite an innocent gesture, but it sends that tingle you were experiencing earlier to your core. Arousal begins to dampen your panties and you press yourself against him, silently asking for more.

He smirks against your skin when you rub up against him. He presses an open-mouthed kiss to your neck before leaning back to look at you. "It seems you were restless for the same reason as I was, love." He teases, which makes you blush. He chuckles and cups your cheek, running his thumb along your cheekbone. "Might I request something of you?" He whispers.

"Of course." You return, leaning into his touch and closing your eyes. "I wish to make love to you, now. I cannot wait one more second, and I most certainly cannot wait until our wedding night" He whispers in your ear, kissing the skin below it.

He makes a trail of wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck, making you moan softly in response. "Please." Is all you can manage as he bites down on the skin of your shoulder, making sure to leave a mark. He grins and pulls back, pressing a soft kiss to your lips. You return it eagerly, wrapping your arms around his neck. This time, a moan slips past his lips and his hands tighten around your hips.

He moves his hands down your legs, slipping them under your nightgown and cupping your breasts. You whine and break the kiss, pressing your forehead to his as you pant. He watches the look in your eye as his thumbs swipe over your hardened nipples, making your mouth fall open. He groans at the guttural moan that escapes you before taking his hands away and throwing back the covers.

"Benedict please." You breathe, grasping at his arms. He grins but shakes his head. "Patience my love. It will feel so much better if I tease you." He opines, unbuttoning his britches. You gasp when they come off, leaving him in nothing. His cock stands proud against his stomach, it is big and thick, much bigger than you imagined. You grow antsy with the fear that it will not fit inside.

He senses your apprehension and bends down, peppering your face with kisses. "Worry not, dearest, you need only to tell me to stop or to wait and I shall." He whispers, patting your hips as a signal to sit up, which you do. "I will get you plenty warmed up for me, I promise." He breathes against your skin, making you shiver.

He lifts your nightgown up and over your head, throwing it to where the rest of his clothes lay against the floor. He groans at the sight of you in nothing but your panties, his cock twitching with delight. He unties the ribbons that hold your underwear up on your hips, throwing them across the room before capturing your peaked nipple in his mouth.

Your head shoots back and you cry out, laying back on the bed. He follows, situating himself on top of you without releasing your nipple. His tongue swirls around the hardened bud as his other hand cups your other breast, his thumb and pointer finger tweaking your nipple.

Arousal drips down your thighs as you cant your hips up, desperate for more. He growls when the soft skin of your stomach meets his already weeping cock. He pulls back from your nipple, moving the hand that is not occupied with your breast down to your hips. He presses down on your hip bone and you whine when you realize you have lost your ability to brush against him.

"You are doing so well, darling. You mustn't move, it is making me want to bury my cock inside you right now and fuck you until you see stars." You moan at the thought, wrapping your arms around his neck to bring him into another kiss. He grins against your mouth, letting you kiss him for a moment before pulling away and moving his hand off of your breast.

He moves that hand down to your hips, pressing down with just as much force as the other did. The one that was on your hips moves to your breast just as he takes your nipple into your mouth, giving your breasts the same treatment as before.

You are a moaning mess beneath him, your thighs and cunt soaked with your arousal as sweat drips down your neck. "Please, Ben... Need more. I... more." You whine, tugging on his hair. He lifts his head and smiles, making your heart flutter. He can go from a growling, groaning man to a loving partner in just seconds. It's intoxicating.

"Tell me where you need it, sweet girl." He whispers, kissing down your stomach and stopping just above your pubic hair, inhaling almost lewdly with a groan. You whine and your cheeks turn rosy with embarrassment.

"Between my legs..." You whisper, pressing your face into the pillow as the embarrassment of wanting him so much washes over you. He pats your thigh gently, making you look down at him. "Louder. Do not be ashamed. I want it just as much as you do." He murmurs, pressing a kiss to your abdomen.

You smile softly, warmth blooming in your chest. You sigh and let out a breathy moan as he sucks on the skin just above where you wish he would. "I want you between my legs, Benedict. Please. I.. have thought of nothing else for nights." You beg, loudly now as his kisses turn sloppy.

He groans at the thought of you laying in bed, unable to sleep because of the thought of him fucking you, of him pleasing you with his fingers or your tongue, with your hand between your legs. Rubbing at your swollen clit until you come calling his name. He wishes for nothing else than to watch.

He runs his fingers through your soaked folds, the both of you moaning in unison. He rubs his nose through your patch of hair before pressing his tongue against your engorged clit, sucking and swirling as he pushes one of his long fingers into your body, making you cry out.

You silently thank God that Lucy insisted on sleeping in the room downstairs, as now you do not have to silence the steady stream of moans that slip from your lips as he sucks and fingers you into a headspace you have never been to.

You clench around his fingers as he slips another one into your tight hold, his tongue still swirling around your clit. Your hand shoots down to grab at his hair when he starts thrusting and curling his fingers into your body, the other grasping the silk sheets that rest across your bed.

You scream his name when his fingers find a spongey spot inside you that sends a bolt of pleasure right to your already abused clit, and you see stars. You gush down your thighs and his chin, and he pulls out his fingers. He peeks up from below, wiping his face with the back of his hand before sucking your juices from his fingers.

The sight sends you back into a state of arousal so strong that all you can think about is his big cock ripping you open as he fills you to the hilt. He grins when he sees the look in your eye, coming back up so he can give you another open-mouthed kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist and he moans deeply, an almost feral noise coming from somewhere deep inside him.

He breaks the kiss and presses his forehead to yours once more, kissing your nose. "Can I?" He gusts, his breath hot against your skin. "Please." You whisper back, taking one of his hands in yours, the other resting upon his shoulder.

That is all the incentive he needs, he slowly pushes into your body, groaning loudly at how tight you are. You cry out, your nails digging into the skin of his shoulder. He bottoms out and moves his forehead to rest on your shoulder, waiting for you to adjust. God he's so close already, the thought of being the first and only one to take you enough to make him come, but he holds back.

After a moment he looks up at you and you nod, needing him to fuck you hard. That is just what he does. He sets a brutal pace, his thighs meeting yours as your ankles rest on his hips. You cry out and squeeze his hand as his tip nudges the same spot his fingers do, making you clench.

"Fuck." He grunts, picking up the pace as he chases his release. He pounds into you now, making you nothing but a moaning piece of putty ready to be molded by his hands. "Benedict- Again.. I'm going to..." You whine and he nods, pressing his lips to yours as his thumb finds your clit.

Your back arches as you reach your peak once more, dragging your nails down his back and leaving angry red marks on his skin. That is what sends him over the edge, spilling his seed deep inside of you before collapsing on top of you.

After a moment he pulls out and rolls onto his back, catching his breath before standing up and walking to the bathroom, leaving you on the bed to do the same. You rest your arms over your eyes as your breathing calms. He comes back with a washcloth and cleans up the mess he made before snuggling up to you in bed.

You flip onto your side and snuggle up to him, his arms encircling your body immediately. He presses a kiss to your forehead and traces the ridges of your spine with his fingers. "I love you." You whisper, already half asleep.

He smiles at the sight of you drowsy and flushed, his hand coming up to stroke your hair. "And I love you, my heart." He whispers back, closing his eyes and quickly following you into slumber.

Oh, what a joy it is to finally feel at home.

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writtenfangirl · 11 months

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Dancing

A short one this time! I just wanted to write a really fluffy piece without drama although, yes there is a very small conflict if you squint hard enough. I wanted to write another fic that made me feel good just cause life's been extra hard lately.

Although I have a ton of ideas for this one so a sequel if people really enjoy this. I briefly wondered making Y/N be Lady Whistledown and pairing her up with my favorite Bridgerton brother to see what would happen.

TW: People being mean. Gossiping mamas. Cressida Cowper mention.

The ball, as most balls tended to be as the night waned, had grown stale and boring. The dancing had ceased despite the wonderful string quartet that played their music and people had broken off to their own parties. As the guests become accustomed to the taste of alcohol, words began to flow with reckless abandon.

“Did you hear? Viscount Dotsfield has a bastard with a scullery maid!”

“The Earl of Blackfield is said to engage in… relationships with Sir Lockling.”

“There are rumors going around that one of the Colton daughters has a French paramour whose name is Ravilli. An ambassador of sorts…”

Gossip is what fueled the ton, the very lifeblood that had men and women of varying ages coming to these balls in the first place. No one in the ton wanted to be caught unaware and one could never be too careful of the rumors that could be fabricated about you. According to Y/N’s mama, the only people who didn’t come to balls and to the gatherings hosted by members of the ton were those of them whose reputations were in ruins. You were either gossiping or you were the one being gossiped about.

So she came and endured even if she was bored out of her mind.

It wasn’t anything she wasn’t use to anyway. She was a woman and women were seen and not heard. Not only that, but she was a wallflower. Wallflowers were hardly seen at all.

“Lady Y/L/N.”

She knew that familiar voice, smooth and deep yet somehow still bright. If sunsets could speak, Y/N imagined they would have his voice.

“Mister Bridgerton,” Y/N said as she spun around, hiding her smile behind her bejeweled fan. “I half expected you to have taken your leave by now.”

“Under usual circumstances, I might have. But I have yet to dance with the most beautiful girl in the room.” Benedict said with a crooked smile. “And my mother has always told me that dancing is one of men’s greatest assets to encourage affection.”

“There’s hardly anyone dancing,” Y/N said bashfully.

“All the better reason to do so.”

Y/N wasn’t naive. She knew Benedict was only speaking to her because his mother asked him too. She’d always rather liked Lady Bridgerton and she had a penchant for forcing her sons to dance with the wallflowers. At every ball Y/N attends, her dance card, though usually empty, always had three names: Anthony Bridgerton. Benedict Bridgerton. Colin Bridgerton.

And there was no man who made he heart beat faster than Benedict Bridgerton himself. Because it was Benedict who offered to fill up all of the other spaces in her dance cards even though he didn’t have to.

All the Bridgerton brothers were kind to her but Benedict was more than that. Anthony and Colin were polite but Benedict laughed with her and conversation flowed between them like water from a fountain. And though she knew Benedict was unlikely to return her feelings, she occasionally let her delusions run wild. She often spent her days imagining what their future would look like. Would their children have his eyes or hers? Their hair would probably be different too. And their noses—

“Y/N?”

Blast! What a bloody idiot! She shouldn’t have let her mind wander like that! And now Benedict was looking at her expectantly with those luminous blue eyes and she couldn’t focus her mind to remember what it is he’d asked of her.

“Yes?” She asked, fighting to stop herself from sounding so breathy.

“Excellent,” Benedict grinned with an outstretched hand.

The dance. She’d forgotten about the dance!

She briefly wondered if she could find a way out of it. Getting on that dance floor would shift everyone’s focus on to them and she already knew what people would say.

“The Bridgerton charity case.”

“Of all of the young ladies, he chose her?”

“He deserves better.”

She glanced around nervously. Everyone else was too engrossed in their own conversations to pay them any heed but those conversations would instantly stop the moment she and Benedict stepped on the dance floor alone.

And she knew that if she were to reject Benedict’s advances, her mother would kill her. Though Anthony was but a Viscount, his fortune was considerable large. His father before him had managed their estate well and Anthony was known to make cunning investments that grew their already large fortune, a fortune that would also provide cushy lives for the rest of his brothers. Perhaps not the large estate of a Duke but certainly nothing to scoff at. And Y/N didn’t doubt for one second that the rest of the Bridgerton brothers weren’t as smart as Anthony was when it came to their finances.

It’s why Y/N had constantly heard her mother’s say, “you will marry a Duke or a Bridgerton. Anything less is unacceptable.”

Luckily for Y/N, her mother wasn’t around to see her reject Benedict.

Still, with the way Benedict looked at her, it was hard to say no.

“Just one dance,” Y/N ceded with a sigh, slipping her gloved hand onto his.

His smile widened considerably. “You mustn’t be nervous.”

“Easy for you to say,” Y/N huffed. “You look perfect everywhere you go.”

“Oh?”

Damn. Damn damn damn. Damn the world. Damn herself. And damn Benedict Bridgerton.

“You think I look perfect?” He asked, cocking a brow in question.

“U-uh, I m-mean, that is to say, I don’t—“

“You truly must calm your nerves, my lady,” Benedict said with a chuckle as he pulled her to her feet and led her to the dance floor. “I am only teasing.”

Y/N could hear the stream of gossip stop as members of the ton watched them. There was a pregnant pause and then the chatter began once again. She couldn’t hear the full conversations but she heard enough.

“…fat…”

“…ugly…undeserving…”

“…he is too kind…”

It made Y/N want to curl up into a ball so that the earth may open up and swallow her whole.

“Pay them no heed,” Benedict muttered as he pulled her close, his hand resting on the small of her back as his other hand found hers. “Focus only on us. And tonight, you look beautiful.”

“Only tonight?” Y/N joked in a bid to ease the coil of tension tightening around her core.

“Every night.” Benedict’s tone was too serious to be called teasing.

Soon the new music started, washing away the ton’s horrible words. She could still feel their watchful eyes on her skin, felt the way they judged her.

“Focus on me,” Benedict muttered before he began their dance by swaying them back and fort.

She let the music fill her, weaving through the muscles in her body. Their dance was a complicated one and though she wasn’t an accomplished dancer by any sense of the word, with Benedict leading it was hard to fail.

In and out, push and pull, with complicated lifts and turns yet somehow always finding their way back to each other. It was as if their bodies were magnetized, attracted only to the other. As the music swelled, she forgot all about the gossiping ton and their prying eyes. Instead she only felt Benedict’s body heat, the hard chords of muscles hidden beneath his jacket, his hands steady around her waist.

His gaze on her felt soft, like staring at the afterglow of of dusk. She was never much of a drinker but Benedict always had the ability to make her feel drunk, as though each of her inhibitions left her the moment his luminous blue eyes landed on her.

When the last notes of the song echoed between them and Y/N and Benedict detached from each other to curtsy and bow at one another, the entire ballroom erupted into applause.

A soft gasp left Y/N’s lips. She’d completely forgotten about the ton watching them with Benedict commanding all of her attention.

She raised her head, meeting Benedict’s eyes once more.

“You were marvelous,” Benedict muttered with a grin as he took her hand and placed a chaste kiss against it before leading her out of dance floor. The ton’s eyes had grown less hostile and more appreciative on and, for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt exhilarated.

“I would like to call on you tomorrow, Ms. Y/L/N.” Benedict said, letting his voice be carried throughout the ballroom. His words brought on another wave of whispers. “If you would let me?”

Y/N was absolutely sure she would be the center of gossip tomorrow. Perhaps until the end of the season if Benedict’s intentions are what she thought them to be.

To call on her would mean Benedict would like to get to know her better, to suss out if she would make a good wife or not. And with him a Bridgerton and her a lowly Y/L/N, they would make waves with the ton. She could practically feel Cressida Cowper glaring daggers at her back.

But she didn’t care about that right now. She was still riding the high of their beautiful dance. She was no great beauty, that much was true. But with Benedict, she felt beautiful. And his opinion mattered to her more than the Queen’s and the whole ton’s combined.

“Of course you may call on me, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said graciously, ignoring her fast beating heart. “I’ll have the cook prepare that raspberry marmalade you enjoy so much.”

Benedict grinned. “I am much obliged. I shall see you tomorrow. I hope you have a good evening.” He took her hand again, placing another gentle kiss on her knuckles before he straightened and walked away.

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d4yl1ghts · 29 days

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Hi could I request an Anthony bridgerton x wife(reader) angst where he married his wife who used to be from the lower class and they end up having a fight because she did something that is “out of class or wrong” so she ends up giving him the silent treatment

unfair (1)

(mean?) anthony bridgerton x wife, fem!reader

summary: after benedict makes a rude comment about your past and anthony doesn’t do anything about it, you and anthony end up having an argument

A/N- i hope this is alright, i felt the need to make it have a happy ending

part 2

Your husband of three months sat beside you with your hand gently clasped in his. You were at his family’s house for a meal and Benedict had been getting on your last nerve, he had arrived drunk for a start. He had also been attacking your social status as you were from a lower class family. Anthony knew this was getting to you, so he took your hand in a way to calm you. “So, Y/N, how was it growing up in the streets?”, Benedict obliviously questioned. You knew he was only saying it because he was drunk but this was too far. “Would you please stop going at me for where I grew up?!”, you raised your voice slightly as you stood up.

“Darling, sit down.”, Anthony carefully whispered to you, as if one wrong move would set you off. “No, I’m not going to sit down! Are you just going to let your brother treat me like that?”, you said lowering your voice towards the end. “Of course he has no right to treat you like that but darling, there is no need to raise your voice.”, the eldest Bridgerton replied.

You sighed in defeat. How was he going to just allow this? You arose from your seat again, tucked your chair in and stormed off into the room the two of you were currently staying in.

Violet watched you leave and turned to Benedict: “You can not act like such towards your brother’s wife, Benedict.”

Benedict just watched her in amusement but she knew he would regret this when he had sobered up. “I do not care if you’re drunk, tomorrow morning you will apologise to Y/N as she has done nothing wrong.”

“And Anthony, will you go and check on Y/N instead of just sitting there?! She is your wife, you know!”, Violet exclaimed. Anthony rushed off silently, realising he had acted impulsively. He lightly knocked on the door of your shared bedroom. “My love?”, he tenderly called out to you through the door, making sure he was alright to come in. “Go away.”, you yelled back at him. He could hear light sniffles and sobs. He felt awfully bad.

“Can I please come in?”, he tried again. Silence. He took this as a sign to go in. He was met with you weeping into the sheets of your king-sized bed. “Come here darling, it is quite alright.”, he hushed you but you pushed him away, ignoring his presence. “That was out of class, my love.”, he’d whisper, caressing the back of your hand. You instantly removed your hand from his. “How dare you speak to me like that?! Get out.” He saw the build up of tears in your eyes and knew he must leave you alone for the moment.

Why did he say that? What caused him to say that?

He sat idly against the back of his bedroom door, listening to you silently crying. Anthony felt horrible, he caused this! After half an hour, you opened the door to an asleep Anthony. He looked so peaceful- until you opened the door and he fell back. “Are you okay?”, you asked, trying to hide your laugh. “Yes, I am fine I believe.”, he smiled, watching you laugh. He let out his own quiet chuckle. “About before, I’m so sorry, my love…”, he began. “I do not know what got into me, I’m so sorry.”, he said with a longing and genuine look in his gorgeous eyes. “If you are truly sorry then I guess it is fine, you do have such an impulsive nature.”

Anthony sighed with pleasure as he brought his lips up to yours and hastily and passionately kissed you, breathing you in.

#anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton x you #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x you #bridgerton x female reader #bridgerton x y/n #bridgerton oneshot #fem!reader

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captainsophiestark · 6 months

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A Perfect Match

Anthony Bridgerton x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: Bridgerton

Day 19 Prompt: "What if we're wrong?"

Summary: Anthony and Y/N have been dancing around each other for far too long. Benedict and Colin decide to do something about that.

Word Count: 1,726

Category: Fluff, minor angst

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

Benedict's POV

"Colin!" I hissed, poking my head into the study where my brother sat journaling about his travels. He looked up at me like he had no idea why I could be bothering him. "Lady Y/N is here."

"Oh!"

He shot out of his seat, and I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. We'd only been putting together our plan to get her and my brother together for a week. How he could've forgotten was beyond me.

"Alright, she's having tea with Eloise in the drawing room. I'm going to go get her and bring her to Anthony's study," I said as Colin and I walked through the halls. "You just be ready to come give me a reason to leave once we're in there."

Colin nodded, then paused.

"Benedict? What if we're wrong? About their feelings?"

I sighed. Anthony and Y/N truly did butt heads at every opportunity as if they hated each other. But it was hard to miss the longing looks and the way one of them got distracted just by the other walking into the room. I shrugged.

"Well, I suppose if we're wrong, they'll probably kill us."

Colin gave me a look, but I completely ignored it as I marched into the drawing room.

****************

Y/N's POV

"Y/N!"

I turned from my tea and the book spread between me and Eloise at the sound of Benedict's voice, giving him a friendly smile as he entered the room.

"Hello, Benedict. Lovely to see you."

"Likewise. Actually, I was wondering if you could spare a moment to accompany me upstairs? Anthony mentioned needing to see you for something, and I told him that since I was on my way down, I'd bring you back up."

"Anthony wanted to see me?" I asked, working very hard to keep my tone neutral. Benedict nodded.

"Yes, if you don't mind."

"Actually, we do mind," Eloise chimed in. "Tell Anthony he can get his own friend."

"Eloise, Mother wanted to see you as well," Benedict responded smoothly. "She's in the garden."

Eloise narrowed her eyes, and I watched the staring contest develop like a tennis match. Finally, after a few moments, Eloise gave in and stood with a sigh.

"Fine. I shall go find her. But if this is a ruse, Benedict-"

"For what purpose? You are entirely too suspiscious sister."

I hid a laugh behind my hand as Eloise glared at Benedict on her way out of the room. I truly loved the Bridgertons, and watching them interact was more entertaining than the most competitive horse race.

"Lady Y/N," said Benedict, offering his arm to me with a smile. I took it, my mind racing as Benedict and I made our way upstairs. Anthony and I had a rather unusual relationship, and although I'd never admit it, I had developed strong feelings for the Viscount over the course of knowing him. The curiosity over why he wanted to see me was eating me alive.

"Did Anthony mention what he wished to discuss?" I asked, trying to keep my tone casual.

"No, he only asked me to hurry," Benedict responded. We reached the door, and Benedict held it open for me. "After you."

I stepped inside, feeling a bit nervous. Anthony was hard at work, scribbling away at papers on his desk, but he looked up when he saw me.

"Lady Y/N! Hello, uh..." He cleared his throat and shuffled some of the papers into a neater pile absentmindedly.

"Here she is, brother, like you asked," said Benedict as he came to stand beside me. Anthony's brow furrowed like he was confused, but Colin poked his head into the study before Anthony could say anything.

"Benedict!" said Colin. "Mother sent me, she needs to see you immediately."

Now it was my turn to be a bit confused, especially as Benedict grimaced like Colin had some something wrong. Before I could say anything, however, Benedict was moving quickly towards the door.

"Right, well, then I'd better not keep her waiting."

With that, he and Colin ducked into the hall, closing the door behind them. A moment later I heard the door lock, and then a sound like something heavy being pushed against it from the other side.

"Did they just..."

I stared in shock at the door for a few moments, whirled around to look at Anthony, then turned back to the door again. Benedict and Colin had just locked me in here, with Anthony, who looked as surprised as I did.

After a long moment of inaction, Anthony pushed back from his desk and quickly crossed the room. I watched as he tried the door and it didn't budge, then tried it again. Finally, he shoved it a bit with his shoulder as if it were stuck, and still nothing worked.

"Benedict! Colin!" he shouted through the door. No response.

"Anthony?" He whirled around to face me, eyes a little wild. "Did you actually ask Benedict to bring me up here to talk about something?"

"What? No, I haven't seen Benedict all morning."

I crossed my arms and shook my head, turning away from Anthony.

"I can't believe those two. I can't believe them."

"What are you talking about?"

I huffed an irritated sigh, then answered without turning around.

"Benedict dragged me away from tea with Eloise, telling me you'd asked to see me, right away. I don't know what on earth he and Colin were thinking, but now I'm stuck in here with you-"

I stopped abruptly, not trusting myself to continue speaking. Anthony and I butted heads plenty, but there was no denying how much I enjoyed spending time with him. Sparring with him when we disagreed and never feeling angry, just excited. Laughing as he complained about having to participate in the season but feeling jealous when one of the other girls or Mamas got their hands on him... I loved him. But I wasn't sure I wanted to admit it.

"Is it really so awful?"

Anthony's voice was thick, more vulnerable than I'd really ever heard it before. I turned around to fix him with a questioning look, and he held my eyes, although he looked ready to run at a moment's notice. Unfortunately for him, we had nowhere to go.

"Is it really so awful to be stuck in here with me?" Anthony continued when I didn't answer him. "Do you really hate me so much?"

My heart shattered in my chest, especially at the tentative sadness in his voice. My answer didn't come right away, and after a second or two of silence, Anthony turned away.

"I'm sorry. Forget I said anything-"

"Anthony no I- I'm sorry." I started crossing the room to him, but stopped halfway, thinking better of it. "I have fun giving you a hard time and arguing over silly things with you. But if I've done that to the point that you feel I truly hate you... then I'm sorry, I should never have let it go that far."

Anthony turned to face me again, a guarded expression on his face.

"So you do not hate me?"

"No. Quite the opposite, actually."

I took a deep breath, steeling myself to say what I needed to say next. I trusted Benedict and Colin not to do this to me unless they had some idea that my feelings for Anthony were mutual. Hopefully, that trust wasn't misplaced, but even if it was, denying my feelings had only hurt Anthony and I both. It had to end.

"Anthony, I'm sure this will be considered entirely too forward for me to say as a lady, but... I rather think I love you. You challenge me in a way no other man ever has, and when we are aligned, our teamwork knows no equal. There may be other men who would treat me well, and there may even be other men who would respect me as a partner, but none of them would be you. You, Anthony... you are my perfect match. And if I've led you to believe I hated you, then I am truly sorry. I assure you I do not."

Anthony just stared back at me, not taking his eyes off me the entire time I spoke. He didn't respond right away after I finished, still just staring, his expression unreadable. I started to sweat and fidget, immediately regretting my words and wishing I could take them back.

"You know, Anthony, actually-"

Before I could finish the thought, Anthony rushed to close the rest of the distance between us, sweeping me off my feet and spinning me around in his arms. I yelped, but when he set me down, we both had massive smiles on our faces.

"I apologize. That was rather improper of me," he said, not sounding the least bit sorry. I smiled back and leaned into him a little more.

"No more improper than my confession, or your brothers locking us in this room together."

Anthony hummed, leaning into me and pulling me close to him again, one hand tangling in my hair as he murmured into my ear.

"I feel the same, you know. I have for some time. I just never imagined that you would care for me as much as I cared for you."

I smiled, wrapping my arms tight around Anthony and holding him close. After a few seconds, we pulled apart, and although I wanted to kiss him, badly, I held back. We'd already crossed quite a few scandalous lines, after all. And now that I knew he felt the same way as I did, I didn't think I'd have to wait long for our courtship to make quite a few more things I wanted to do 'acceptable'.

"I suppose we owe your brothers a thank you for getting us to confess our feelings to each other," I said with a sigh. Anthony scoffed.

"Absolutely not. They still tricked us and physically locked us in a room. No matter how happy I am with the results, they deserve some payback."

I grinned. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Anthony led me back over to his desk where the two of us sat shoulder to shoulder, plotting and planning the downfall of his brothers. I had no idea how long they intended to leave us in this room, but every additional minute meant more time to plan revenge.

Happily, it also meant more time with Anthony. And with any luck, the rest of my life would be filled with more time with Anthony.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

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ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff · 10 months

Text

Subtle-tea (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Summary/Prompt: “You’re only semi-lucid and are sort of reaching for my face, and for various reasons I shouldn’t kiss YOUR face but your hand is right here and I still need to convey affection.” AKA. You and Benedict drink too much of Colin’s special tea and it spurs you to act upon previously hidden feelings.

AN: Benedict is the bee’s knees, just a silly lil art guy. I got inspired and I’ve got two more Benedict fics coming out rip. But it’s just so difficult to write for Bridgerton cus you can’t write any gay stuff without it being tragic and/or a secret. Oh well, don’t expect me to write much more female reader content of my own volition/not inspired by my friends.

Content warnings: Reader uses she/her, use of Y/N and L/N, is referred to as “wife”

Masterlist // AO3

You had no idea what on Earth was in that tea. But you would have to ask later, because currently you felt as light as a feather and giddy as a giggle, laying on the sofa in the art studio as Benedict was launching himself between two walls, orating about his great desires to create. By far, you were experiencing the greatest emotions on the whim of your artistic associate.

“There’s just so many colours that we are privy to, and we take every single shade for granted!” He declared, his arms wide open to the heavens.

You pointed at him in an accusing manner, “Have you seen purple recently? It’s glorious! No wonder it was the colour of status in the Roman Empire, I too would want it all for myself and my friends.”

“How selfish you are, Miss L/N,” Benedict scolded, “Surely everyone should be given the chance to wear such a colour.”

His anger faded fast. As endearing as it was, it was nothing compared to that grin of his. So naturally you decided to make him smile even more with a ridiculous notion that just jumped into your woozy mind.

“Do you know what would happen if my mother knew where I was?” You said in a loud whisper.

Benedict pouted and nodded, riddled with pantomime guilt as he leant over, “You. Me. In a room. Alone.”

“Unchaperoned,” You said then gasped, your hands clapping against your cheeks in shock, “I would be ruined!”

Benedict mimicked your appal by dropping to his knees before you, “We would have to marry to save your reputation!”

“Imagine me, your wife!” You threw your head back as you flashed your bare left hand to him. Somewhere in the back of your mind, an inhibition screamed at you to stop lingering so openly on something your sober self was set on not happening

But your heart grew gleeful as Benedict grasped your hand gently.

“I shall imagine it!” He declared and lowered his lips, and planted a loud kiss upon your knuckle - right where the engagement and wedding bands would sit. You lowered your chin just in time to see this with your own eyes before Benedict met your gaze again, still beaming with roguish delight, “Oh what a beautiful imagining it is.”

Your legs curled up beneath you on the couch, and you fell over in hysterical giggling. You clasped your hand to your chest and cradled it like a newborn. As you lay sprawled out, Benedict popped into your field of view with his hands either side of your head, tactfully avoiding your hair.

“Your laugh is like music! As your husband, it would be my purpose to make you sing at least once a day.”

“Then kiss me again, you silly man!” You squealed, offering your hand once more.

Balancing on one arm, and completely unaware that this compromising position was aiding in your dizzy frenzy, Benedict kissed the same spot then turned the palm against his cheek. He held it there as he said:

“Look, it’s like you were sculpted to hold me.”

Euphoria ran riot across your body, your heart beating so fast you thought you would die from delight.

“And you were carved to be held by me.” From your vantage point, with newly founded confidence, you tried to pull his lips down to yours, but Benedict resisted.

“We shall not kiss ‘til we are married.”

Eyes wide, you squeezed the back of his neck to keep him close, “Is this a proposal?”

“I do not think we are in the right state of mind to make rational decisions,” and Benedict bumped his nose to yours, causing a little laughter before continuing: “But marrying you is the sanest idea I’ve had all evening.”

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict reader fanfic #benedict bridgerton oneshot #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton oneshot #my writing #r: fem #wc: <1k

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sxftmusings · 2 years

Text

when he sees me

summary: you have always been scared of the idea of marriage, but that all changes when you meet benedict

warnings/tags: fem!reader, brief mentions of abuse (nothing happens to reader i promise!!)

You have heard many stories of the horrors of marriage, how husbands would control their wives, while they have the freedoms to cheat on them with mistresses, and some go as far as to beat their wives. You never had the best model of marriage growing up, your parents were always fighting and were never affectionate, only ever being close in the public eye to maintain their image.

You grew up to believe true love wasn’t real, it was just something written in romance novels, and after hearing of your friend's cruel marriages, you were convinced love doesn’t exist.

You swore to yourself you would never get married, not wanting to live an unhappy life under someone’s authority and having the limited freedom you had as a woman taken away from you. But your life took a turn when you met Benedict.

You first met Benedict at a ball. You had successfully avoided any man that wanted to dance with you that night, and you were trying to blend into the walls, until you bumped into the brunet, causing the drink in your hand to spill all over your dress. His face morphed into shock and he apologized profusely. He tried to find something to help clean your dress, but you just giggled at his actions and insisted you were fine.

You and Benedict spent the rest of the evening outside in the fresh air, away from the stuffy, overcrowded ballroom. You two slipped into conversation easily, bonding over how much you hated social events and how you would much rather be doing what you love. You mentioned how you wish you could be writing at this moment, and he looked at you with intrigue.

“So you are a writer?” He asked.

“Well, it’s just something I do to pass the time, although I am very passionate about it. I will admit, I am not the best at it though.” You explained. “And what about you, Lord Bridgerton? What would you rather be doing than to be stuck here?”

“Sketching, or even painting.” He sighed, remembering his latest piece he was working on.

“So you are an artist then?” You have never heard of any Bridgerton being interested in art. It fascinated you.

“Yes, but much like yourself, I do not think of myself as any good.”

“Oh, I must see one of your sketches.” Your curiosity got the better of you, surely he can’t be as bad as he claimed to be.

“Only if I get to read what you have written. I am sure you humble yourself and that you are a skilled writer.”

“How can you be so confident in my skills when we hardly know each other?” You asked and he shrugged.

“Just a feeling.” Benedict sent you a warm smile, making you smile back at him. Your conversation continued until the ball ended, and a part of you was disappointed you had to leave him, wishing you could continue to talk with him until the sun rose.

After that night you and Benedict have become very close friends. As promised, you exchange one of your poems for a sketch of his. You admired it all day, impressed by his natural skill. The next time you saw him you told him how beautiful his art was and how it captivated you. He returned the compliment, saying how you have a gift of evoking strong emotions with just the written words. You could’ve sworn you blushed, but you brushed it off as someone complimenting your work for the first time and nothing more.

You two became inseparable. It was common to see you two together almost everywhere, your arms linked together, laughing at his jokes. For the first time in years, you have shared not only one dance but multiple dances, with Benedict. You never enjoyed dancing, especially when the men you’ve danced with before have talked too much and never let you state your opinion. But Benedict was different, he listened to everything you said and let you speak your mind freely. It was refreshing, and you wished all men could be like him.

You started to enjoy the social events more, feeling excited as one approached. You found yourself putting more effort into how you looked, and you mentally slapped yourself for it. You knew you were doing it for Benedict, and you told yourself you couldn’t fall for him, you refused to.

The next day, Benedict surprised you, visiting your house with flowers in hand and asking to court you. You were shocked but quickly gained your composure.

“I truly am sorry, Benedict. It seems I have led you on somehow. I have no interest in marriage.” You revealed and watched Benedict’s face fall, which broke your heart. He excused himself and you watched him leave, a feeling of regret sat inside you.

Your mother and father scolded you over how you could let such a perfect man get away, but you paid no heed to their words. You wished things were different, but you couldn’t court Benedict. It could lead to marriage, a concept you will always despise.

When you two met again, Benedict told you to forget about all the events that transpired. He told you he would like to remain your friend if you would allow it. You were relieved to hear that. You were certain he would distance himself from you after rejecting him, and you weren’t sure how you could live a life without him. Of course, he didn’t make his feelings forgotten. He would subtly drop hints to remind you of his interest in you and you reminded him of your disinterest in marriage.

You admitted to yourself it felt nice that he tries so hard to get you to change your mind. You never had a man interested in you like this before. If you were to reject any other man, he would have moved on to another lady, but not Benedict. You could tell he was determined to show you he was the one for you and it pained you to not accept him.

One day, you two were walking in the park. You wanted to feed the ducks and Benedict insisted on keeping you company. Currently, you were standing on the bridge, wanting to enjoy the view for a few moments. There was a comfortable quietness until Benedict spoke.

“You have denied my hand in marriage and make it clear you have to intention to marry, but may I ask why? You do not have to tell me if you do not wish to, but I do wish to know if it is something that I have done. Have I made you uncomfortable in any sort of way?”

You shook your head and said. “My refusal had nothing to do with you, my lord. You have been very sweet and kind to me. But you do deserve to know why I rejected you.”

He looked at you, ready to listen to every word you said. You explained, “All my life, I have been surrounded by unhappy marriages. My parents may seem like they care deeply for each other, but it is all an act. I have grown up in a household where my parents would scream at each other, and refuse to be near each other. I always believed love does not exist in the real world. Then all my friends got married, and it is horrible. They tell me how their husbands control them and how they have no say in what they do in their own life. Some of them even go as far as to bash their wives. I thought it was the most absurd thing. People are supposed to protect the ones they love, not harm them.

“I swore I would never get married. I am content living the life of a spinster. The only reason I participate in the season is because my parents force me to. I would rather keep whatever freedoms I have than be trapped in a miserable life.”

You looked out to the view, not wanting to see the look on Benedict’s face, and he sighed. “I am a fool. I could not show you just how much you truly mean to me.” He took your hands into his own, forcing you to focus on him. “Y/N, I-I love you. I love how passionate you are, how you don’t worry about how others may view you, and how kindhearted you are. I could never imagine stopping you from doing what your heart desires. I would rather die a thousand, painful deaths than ever hurt you. I love you.”

“I’m sorry, Benedict. I can’t.” You could see Benedict’s heart drop and you couldn’t stand being the cause of it. Overwhelmed with emotions, you tried to excuse yourself, pulling your hand out of his. “I have to go.” You ran away and didn’t look back.

You haven’t seen Benedict in days, which was the longest time you have gone without seeing him ever since you first met him. You kept replaying your last conversation in your head and how you wish you had the courage to tell him how you truly felt. Your mind kept reminding you of your vow but you could tell your heart was trying to tell you something else, so for once, you listened to it.

You knew deep down how you felt about Benedict. You loved him too. He was different than any other man you have met. He made you feel safe and happy. You could imagine a life with him, getting married and having children together. You knew what you had to do.

You showed up at his house with a single orchid in hand. You saw him sitting outside painting and you were relieved his family was nowhere near, wanting to see him in private. You walked up to him and he didn’t acknowledge your presence, which hurt a bit, but you did not let it affect you.

“May I sit?” He nodded, not looking away from his painting, and you sat next to him.

There was silence for a few minutes, before he asked, “What is the flower for?”

“It is for you.” You smiled, holding it out.

Benedict furrowed his eyebrows and finally looked at you, taking the flower from you. “For me?”

“I wish to court you.” He grew more confused and you clarified, “I realize it is not traditional, but everything else we have done is unusual, like falling in love before we have courted.”

“You mean-“

You nodded before he could say anything else. “I love you, Benedict. I have been denying my feelings for too long, living in fear of what I thought all marriages are, a loveless trap. But you showed me that I was wrong. You never made me feel inferior to you, you listened to me and showed me you care about me. I know I would never feel miserable with you, not when I feel like I can be my true self around you. I love you.”

Benedict didn’t say anything at first, which made you nervous that he would reject you. You knew it was a possibility with the way you rejected him first and ran away from him when he confessed his love. But before you could get up to leave, he pulled you in for a kiss. You quickly melted into it, but before it could go any further, he pulled away and said, “Yes, I will accept your courtship.”

You giggled and kissed him again. You felt fireworks erupt inside you and you knew this is what true love felt like.

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